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kueble · 1 year

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Blossoms

This was written for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows prompt: Romantic. It’s very silly and lighthearted, so I hope you enjoy it.

Explicit. Warnings: None. 3,100 words.

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Jaskier is at his wit’s end.

How can one man - one who has been alive over a hundred years - be so gods-damned stupid? Jaskier has tried everything he can think of to woo him: providing romantic candlelit dinners, serenading him beneath the full moon, gifting armfuls of trinkets. Hell, he even rubbed chamomile oil onto his bare ass! Either Geralt is the most idiotic witcher to ever live, or he is being purposefully dense.

Jaskier decides to go back to the basics, to keep things simple. Geralt is off hunting for their dinner, so he is left alone with Roach to set up the campsite. He makes quick work of it, cutting corners here and there, and then backtracks to the field of wildflowers they walked past earlier. The sun hasn’t set yet, and the field looks gorgeous all lit up in the late afternoon sun.

He’s pretty sure artists refer to this as the golden hour, which is fitting since he’s here to gather a bouquet for his golden-eyed love. He twists the phrase around in his mind, trying to piece together a song, but nothing sounds quite right. There’s a melody behind it, though, so he ends up humming to himself while he gathers the prettiest blossoms he can find.

There was going to be a theme - reds and pinks for love - but all the different flowers look so stunning swaying with the gentle breeze that he ends up with an armful of a little bit of everything. Rather than put the bouquet together here, he makes his way back to camp. It’s a pleasant walk, especially with the fragrant blooms held against his chest.

Only a complete fool would ignore such a lovely gesture.

Geralt isn’t back yet, so he gently sets down his plunder next to his bedroll. He drags his pack over, digging through it for the rest of what he needs. It takes him a moment to find the scrap of twine he saved for this purpose, but he emerges with a triumphant shout. Roach snorts at him, so he just blows her a kiss and gets to work.

The sun starts setting as Jaskier slowly pieces together the bouquet, making sure the best flowers are showcased in the front. He ends up starting over a few times when one color clumps together, but it just makes him more determined to get this perfect. His tongue sticks out between his lips as he bends over his lap and painstakingly creates a masterpiece.

Once the twine is wrapped around the bunch of flowers, he holds it in one hand and twirls it slowly to see if it is as beautiful as he hoped. Turns out it’s even more gorgeous than planned, so he dips his head down with a grin to inhale the sweet scent of the colorful blossoms. He hears Geralt stomping back towards the campsite, so he jumps to his feet and holds the gift in front of him.

“Welcome back!” he chirps as Geralt tosses a couple of pheasants down at his feet. He grimaces and steps over them so he can stand in front of Geralt.

“What’s this?” Geralt asks, tilting his head in that adorable way he always does when humanity confuses him. Jaskier ignores the way his chest tightens at the look and presents the flowers with a dramatic little bow.

“I picked these for you, my dear. I thought a man such as yourself might appreciate the simple beauty in everyday things, since you are in fact beautiful each and every day,” Jaskier says, holding out the bouquet for Geralt to take. There’s a beat of silence and then Geralt grunts and accepts the gift.

This is it! He’s going to realize that Jaskier’s heart beats for him and him alone. Surely he’ll swoon and admit his own feelings. Jaskier looks up at him with the most earnest look he can manage only to see Geralt frowning at the gift.

“This is very helpful, but it would have been easier to sort them for potions if you had grouped them by flower,” Geralt mumbles before reaching out to pat Jaskier on the head. He straightens up, ready to shout at how absurd this all is, but Geralt is already halfway across the campsite, the lovely bundle of flowers tucked under his armpit.

Jaskier has no idea how he fell in love with such an uncaring brute of a man.

His heart hardens as he watches Geralt pluck a fat blossom from the bouquet and feed it to Roach. Clearly the feeling in his gut isn’t love but simply indigestion. With a huff, he bends down to start dressing the birds for dinner. There’s a handful of herbs in his pack that will liven things up, even if his romantic prospects are slowly dying. How is he supposed to win Geralt over if he can’t get the message through that thick skull of his?

But the night ends up as brilliant as any other. They chat while their dinner roasts, and Geralt even tells him he enjoys the new melody he’s been humming all night. They sit side by side in front of the fire, sharing stories and pheasant alike, and Jaskier knows that if this is all he manages to get from Geralt, he’ll still be a happy man right down to the end of his days.

There is a chill in the air, a promise of Summer’s end, and they lay their beds together and seek out each other’s warmth. Jaskier falls asleep with Geralt’s slow breaths tickling the nape of his neck, his head full of new plans to confess his feelings.

—

“Going to ask a few questions about my contract, since everyone should be loose-lipped at this time of night, especially after your raunchy performance. I’ll be quick about it,” Geralt says, pulling Jaskier out of his bedtime routine.

“Now?” he asks a bit stupidly, because he has plans that very much involve Geralt.

“Yes, as I just explained,” Geralt says, rolling his eyes as he leaves.

Jaskier watches the door shut behind him and then throws himself back on the bed, sighing with all the dramatics of one of the maidens in his ballads. How is he supposed to casually seduce Geralt if he leaves the room. Since outright declarations of love don’t seem to be working, he figures maybe if they fuck first, he can sort it all out later. Besides, he’s been lonely ever since he realized how gone he is over the man. Brothels and adoring fans quickly lost their shine in comparison to his heart’s desire.

He realizes he’s flopping around the bed like a fish on dry land, and he sits up to glare at the empty room. Instead, he catches sight of the bouquet Geralt had so rudely shoved into his saddlebag earlier. Suddenly, he’s struck with the most brilliant idea he’s ever had, and that’s saying a lot.

Why bother being subtle when his love is ridiculously thick both in body and mind?

Jaskier strides across the room and snatches up the flowers, quickly untying the twine and tossing them in a pile at the foot of the bed. There don’t seem to be quite as many as he hoped, but he can still pull this off. Maybe he just needs to shorten his message a little? Oh! And he can use the stems as well, not just the petals.

There’s a flurry of activity as he yanks the blossoms from their stems and starts spelling out his message. He has to start over twice, not sure it’s concise enough. There can’t be any doubt to what he’s after, especially since Geralt has ignored even his most romantic of gestures. Once he’s done, he stands back and looks at the message spelled out in stems and petals.

“Jaskier, you genius,” he mutters to himself before looking down at his attire. He was halfway undressed before Geralt left, and his original thought was to put on the chemise he sleeps, but this looks much better. These trousers highlight his strong thighs, and the bow above his ass makes him look like a present ready to be unwrapped.

He’s debating the best place to seductively drape himself when the door opens again. With a squeak, he ends up perched on the edge of the bed. He braces himself with one leg out and an arm behind him and tries to appear as casually sexy as possible. Geralt shoots him a confused look before slowly stepping close enough to look at the message on the bed.

“Please fuck me?” Geralt reads aloud, flushing as he turns to face Jaskier. “Expecting someone else?”

“Oh for Melitele’s sake!” Jaskier cries out, throwing up his hands. “No! It’s for you, you idiot! You’ve ignored every single grand gesture I’ve so lovingly set at your feet, so I figured being direct might work better.”

“I…what?”

“The romantic dinners! Singing you love songs written about you! I swear I’ve read you all of the classic love poems, even the most sordid ones! And you…you sit here telling me you have no idea I’m trying to confess my undying love to you?” Jaskier rushes out, sagging back against the bed with a pout.

“You…you did all that? For me?” Geralt asks, stepping closer with his palms held up as if Jaskier is some kind of startled mare.

“I, yeah, I did,” Jaskier snorts out. He runs a hand through his hair, surely looking deranged at this point. “How did you not catch on?”

“Don’t be upset, but I tend to just…zone out when you start talking in prose?” Geralt admits, moving even closer. He kneels in front of Jaskier and smiles up at him. “Not in an offensive way, but…I don’t have a head for anything poetic. So whenever you start rambling about anything soft and sweet, I just tune out the words and focus on the sound of your voice instead? It’s very melodic. Calming. I like it.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, not quite sure what to say. He thought Geralt had been ignoring him, and he was, but it was kind of sweet.

“I will, of course, break the habit now that I am aware of the stress I’ve caused you,” Geralt tells him before nodding at the floral message on the bedspread. “So…it seems that you care for me?”

“Geralt, you fucking idiot,” Jaskier murmurs before reaching down and yanking him into the bed. “I am so unbelievably in love with you. Apparently you’ve ignored several much prettier confessions, but hopefully that’s enough for you?”

“More than enough. If you’ll still have me?” Geralt asks softly, as if Jaskier didn’t just promise to love him to the end of his days.

“Never letting you go,” Jaskier whispers against his mouth before claiming it in a kiss.

He means to be gentle, but years of sexual tension explode around them, and he nips at Geralt’s bottom lip before licking across the seam of his lips, begging for entrance. Geralt groans into the kiss, chapped lips parting so beautifully for him, and Jaskier growls in response. He cups Geralt’s face in both hands and presses his tongue on one of his fangs, moaning at the sharp sting of it.

Geralt whines deep in his chest, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. It set fire to him, his body buzzing and skin burning everywhere they touch. Jaskier grabs a handful of Geralt’s ass and grinds up against him, and it’s almost overwhelming, even through layers of fabric. But he needs more, needs to feel Geralt’s pale skin, and he shoves his hands down the back of his trousers, searching for more.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunts out as he breaks the kiss to sit back on his heels and frantically tug at the bow at the small of Jaskier’s back. He lifts his hips to help, whimpering as the cold air hits his hard cock. Geralt doesn’t bother taking them all the way off, just shoves them down to Jaskier’s knees before undoing his own laces to free his prick.

Jaskier can’t help touching, using one hand to drag him into another kiss while the other wraps around Geralt’s hard length. It’s hot and heavy in his hand, and Jaskier pumps it a few times before rubbing his thumb over his slit. Pre-come leaks out, and he uses it to ease the slide as he strokes him rougher.

“Jask, wait,” Geralt chokes out, and he immediately stops and pulls his hand back.

“Second thoughts, love?” he asks, heart racing in his chest. Please don’t take this from him before it even starts.

“No, just, uh,” Geralt flushes and looks over his shoulder at the petals and stems now scattered around the bed. “Your message. Do you want me to find some oil?”

“Next time,” Jaskier says with a grin. “Right now I just need to touch you. This is perfect.” He emphasizes his words by cupping Geralt’s balls in his hand, which seems to set something loose in him.

One second he’s in control and the next he’s being pushed into the mattress as Geralt braces his hands on either side of his head and starts to roll his hips. Jaskier runs his hands down Geralt’s sides, his nails leaving satisfying red streaks as he bucks up into Geralt. They’re both leaking now, the wet mess helping as their cocks slide together.

It’s intense and sticky and absolutely fucking phenomenal.

Geralt dips down to kiss him harshly, more fangs and tongue than anything. Jaskier leans into it, chasing his tongue past his lips and trying to maintain finesse even as his world is exploding in sensations. He fails spectacularly and ends up nipping at Geralt as they pant into each other's mouths. The steady grind is quickly pushing him towards release, and it’s all he can do to grip Geralt’s narrow waist and ride it out.

Jaskier turns his head to offer up his neck, and Geralt takes the hint. He nips at the base of Jaskier’s neck before sucking gently, sure to leave a mark. The hint of fang pressing against his sensitive skin is enough to have Jaskier teetering on the edge. Then Geralt grazes his teeth over that perfect spot just below his ear, and Jaskier feels his balls pull tight.

He comes with a shout of Geralt’s name, clinging to him as he spills between their stomachs. Geralt keeps thrusting, grinding down into him even as Jaskier is coating them both with hot splashes of his seed. His whole body feels electric, his limbs shaking as he rides the high. Geralt doesn’t stop, just keeps rocking against him until he whines at how overwhelming it feels.

“Can I?” Geralt asks, kneeling up and wrapping a hand around himself. Jaskier nods, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch Geralt come all over him. He reaches out and takes hold of Geralt's thigh, stroking his soft skin while he watches him.

He starts fucking his own fist, hips wild as he stares down at Jaskier with wild eyes. They’re almost completely black - like he’s full of potions - and Jaskier shivers as another wave of lust washes over him. His cock gives a half-hearted twitch, but he’s spent for the night. This is the best orgasm he’s had in ages, and he feels completely wrecked.

“Come on, Geralt. Want to see you come for me,” he moans, running a hand down his stomach to play with the mess pooling there. He trails his fingers through his own come and brings two up to his mouth, wetting his lips before sucking them clean.

“Fuck, Jask,” Geralt hisses out before tensing up. He spills over his own hand, hot bursts of come coating Jaskier’s already filthy stomach. He revels in it, arching his hips as Geralt continues to come. He looks gorgeous, eyes wide and lips parted as he thrusts into his own fist. It seems like he comes for ages before finally collapsing on top of Jaskier.

They’re fucking covered in come, and Jaskier couldn’t be happier.

Geralt not so gracefully slides off of him, and Jaskier rolls with him, not willing to let go just yet. They lay on their sides, just grinning at each other, and Jaskier can hardly believe this is real. It seems like he’d fallen in love years ago, and it’s so surreal to see Geralt looking back at him with affection in his eyes.

But then Geralt starts to move, and Jaskier whimpers, tangling his legs around him. Geralt snorts and gestures at the growing mess between them, but Jaskier won’t have it. It’s all too fresh, and he doesn’t want Geralt out of his arms right now.

“Leave it, just cuddle me,” Jaskier whines, pouting at him. Geralt rolls his eyes and breaks free of his hold, ignoring his poor lonely heart. He chuckles as he hops out of the bed and walks over to the basin of water on the table.

“Oh don’t give me those big doe eyes of yours. You’re completely out of your mind if you think I’m going to deal with you bitching about being sticky come morning. Besides, this just gives us a reason to dirty ourselves up again, right?” Geralt suggests as he wets down a cloth and comes back to the bed. Jaskier expects him to hand it over, but instead he gently wipes Jaskier clean before taking care of himself. He could get used to this sweeter side of his witcher.

“I should be offended by that, but I’ll forgive you since you’ve finally fallen for my many charms,” Jaskier tells him with a giggle. That earns him another eye roll, but Geralt is grinning as he slides back into bed.

“Fallen despite them,” Geralt teases, easily dodging the elbow Jaskier throws his way. He grows somber, though, looking serious before adding a soft, “I do, you know. Love you.”

“I know dear. I can feel it in the way you touch me,” Jaskier murmurs before taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. He brings their clasped hands to his lips and presses a lingering kiss to the back of Geralt’s hand. “Just don’t forget to say it out loud every so often, because the words sound amazing in your voice.”

“I’ll tell you as often as I can,” Geralt tells him, and it sounds like an oath. Jaskier lets go of his hand but tucks himself close before pulling the blanket over them. He falls asleep with the slow beat of Geralt’s heart beneath his cheek.

---

NSFW tags: @tothedesert @mayastormborn @allinthebones @selectivegeekwithstandards @trickstermoose67 @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @larawrmonster @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @gryffinqueen-blog @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @lokibus @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @feral-jaskier @hayleynzlive @answrs @jaskierswolf @holymotherwolf @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool @singerin @flawney @viking1919 @peanitbear @blues-tunes @panerato @nephilimeq

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#my fic #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #witcher bows and arrows #witcher valentines #bows and arrows 2

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liaonyxrayne · 1 year

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Prompt: First for @witcher-bows-and-arrows . First Touch of Kindness. :) SFW!

#lambert #i shook a witcher and intergenerational trauma fell out #witcher bows and arrows #prompt first #witcher fanart #digital painting #small artist #commisions open

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dhwty-writes · 1 year

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whatever a sun will always sing

hello witcher fandom :)

Summary: After Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia had given up on counting first times. Instead, he had taken up counting last times. A few years after Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia is lonely and downtrodden with not many bright spots in his life and starved for human contact. And in contrast to his brothers, he finds he can't even sate that hunger with sex. Enter Jaskier, travelling bard extraordinaire, who wears his heart on his sleeve and is continuously irked by lovers who want him in their life rather than just their bed. Over the years, they learn to love each other in a way not even they seem to be able to describe. Written for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows event.

for @flowercrown-bard

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First times were almost never easy.

Not because new things were scary or something along those veins. Cowardice was beaten out of witchers at a young age, after all. No, first times were almost never easy because a vast majority of Geralt of Rivia’s first times meant pain.

He dimly remembered the first time he had braved the killer with Vesemir bringing him to Kaer Morhen, how he had wailed and sobbed and begged for his mother to rescue him. And while he did not remember it, he knew the sobbing had not stopped for the first week in the fortress. The older witchers had used to tease him for crying himself to sleep every night.

The first Trials had been a nightmare, poisons and potions rushing through his veins while his body fought tooth and nail to keep him alive. Although the second Trials had arguably been worse.

The first time he slew a monster out on the Path was a bitter memory, too. Not the slaying per se, even decades later he had no qualms about killing the bald man who had attempted to violate a young girl. Her fearful reaction to him, however, had never lost its sting. She had looked at him as if he was the monster and Geralt soon learnt that he was in the eyes of the world.

Neither did he like the taste of the first time he was turned away at a tavern upon the innkeep catching a glance at his golden eyes. Nor the first time an alderman withheld his pay on the grounds of some ridiculous, flimsy excuse. And certainly not when Mivrit, the only witcher in his year besides him and Eskel who had survived the trials, had failed to return to Kaer Morhen one winter. They had drunk to their fallen brother that year, speaking of his life and attempting to bury the thought of him in an unmarked grave beneath the taste of White Gull. ‘An unmarked grave if he’s lucky,’ Geralt thought bitterly even though half a century had passed since then.

Perhaps, he mused glumly, it was just a witcher’s life that was filled with so much shit that there just weren’t any good first times. In a normal life there had to be some good ones, else why would anyone ever try something new?

After Blaviken there weren’t a whole lot of firsts – most of the terrible things that made up his life had already happened before. They just got worse.

After Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia had given up on counting first times. Instead, he had taken up counting last times. The last time he had received his full pay had been nearly two months ago. The last time he had slept in an inn the year before. The last time a human had touched him had been a week ago, although he wasn’t sure if a fist to his face should count.

The path had always been lonely, but Blaviken had definitely made it worse. There had been a couple of years where Vesemir had to threaten to throw Geralt out of Kaer Morhen, with Aard if need be, to get him to leave at all. He knew his brothers frequented brothels to ease the loneliness, but even if he were interested, where on earth would he find a whore willing to bed the Butcher of Blaviken?

Also, he wasn’t. Interested, that was.

The only really friendly human being he had met since Blaviken was the bard that had annoyed his way into Geralt’s contract in Posada. The last time he had seen the him had been in the waning summer of the year before, right after Geralt had managed to get rid of him in Hagge. That had been five months and two and a half weeks ago, to be precise. Not that he was keeping count.

The bard was a strange thing to stumble into his life. He wasn’t used to joy and laughter and songs. At first, they annoyed him endlessly. A witcher thrived in silence and solace and the bard was their polar opposite.

In addition, it somehow felt like a trap. Geralt just didn’t know what to do with any of it. So, he grit his teeth and prepared for the pain.

That didn’t come.

If anything, it made him even more suspicious.

Geralt was still ruminating on that last time they had seen each other, how the bard had smiled and waved him goodbye, wondering when —if— he would see him again, when he was hit with a first.

He was walking down the road in a no-name town in Kovir, ignoring suspicious glances and hissed insults when suddenly two arms snaked around him and Geralt nearly punched his assailant in the face.

Only the whiff of a familiar scent gave him pause. And when he looked down, he recognised the bright blue doublet – always open, always displaying the finely embroidered shirt beneath – the brown mop of hair, the never-ending stream of words that engulfed him.

“Geralt! It is so good to see you again. When you abandoned me in Aedirn after out little adventure in Dol Blathanna I thought that would surely be it, but no, the gods are good and here you are!” the bard blabbed and held him tight. Geralt froze up beneath him. For some stupid reason he wanted to melt into it, but he was a witcher, so he could surely not. “Look at you! Still a-witchering I take? Do my eyes deceive me or do I spy a new scar on the cheek of my muse promising me a story that is ever so enticing?”

At this point, the bard had thankfully taken a step back, but he was still holding onto his shoulders, gripping them tight. Geralt glared at him. “What are you doing?” he growled.

“What- what am I doing?” the bard spluttered, not quite the intimidated reaction he had been aiming for. “Why, I am greeting my very good friend who has saved my life in more ways than one by now. Look, Geralt, thanks to the success of the song I wrote about your heroic deeds, I could afford a new doublet. What do you think?” Finally, he let go of Geralt and did a little twirl, showing off his new clothing. It looked very soft.

“Hmm,” Geralt answered. The bard could surely not still be singing that wretched Toss a Coin song, could he? “Why?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Why what? Am I asking for your opinion? Well, truth be told, I am not so sure about that either given that you’re being entirely unhelpful, good sir.”

Geralt grunted and tried to escape the bard, tugging on Roach’s reins and continuing his way to the alderman’s house. As always, such subtleties evaded him and Jaskier started to follow. “Anyways, what brings you to this thorp at the arse-end of the world. I mean, technically we met at the end of the world, but phew, this place could really give Posada a run for its money.”

“Hm,” Geralt said and ducked his head to hid his smile. As an answer he just threw open one of the bags he was carrying.

Jaskier shrieked. “What is that?” he demanded to know. “No, don’t tell me, that’s just disgusting. Dear gods please let that satchel not have touched me-”

“Foglet heads,” Geralt replied before he knew why he even dignified that with an answer. “Alderman promised fifty bezants for them.”

“So, you come fresh from a contract? Why didn’t you say so? Allow me, I’ll have dear Roach fed and stabled in no time while you go collect your bounty and then we can both sit down for an ale and a chat, how does that sound, hm?” Jaskier blabbered on and made to grab for Roach’s reins.

“Didn’t give me a bloody chance to open my mouth,” Geralt growled and jerked the reins out of his reach.

“So, that’s still a no on touching your horse? No matter, I’ll just go ahead, I trust you’ll find your way to me, yes? There is only one tavern in town, after all, and I believe it is just as nameless as this godsforsaken settlement. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said and then the bard was gone in the same flurry of blue silk and enthusiasm he had arrived in. Roach snorted and nudged his shoulder with her head. “What?” he groused.

She looked at him with big, reproachful eyes.

“Hmm.” He continued to walk towards the alderman’s house. “We’ll see about that.”

If he were thinking straight, Geralt would leave the town right after he had collected his bounty. Fifty bezants was a nice sum of money for a couple of foglets but not enough to be wasting it on a featherbed or a warm meal he did not need. He could camp in the woods, set up snares to catch a rabbit. He should camp in the woods.

He did not know why he turned to the inn instead, throwing a couple of coppers to the stableboy to take care of Roach. Certainly not because of the blaring that rang from the lunchroom. Definitely not because of the scant promise of company and a friendly face. He didn’t need the kinds of Jaskier around and neither did he want him.

Still, he pushed open the door to the tavern. A cacophony of unpleasantness bombarded him – the smell of sweat, cheap ale and piss, barely concealed by the rushes on the crude compressed earthen floor, the taste of overcooked mutton in under seasoned stew served with wine tart enough to pass as vinegar. Barely a score of patrons populated the roughly hewn tables on rickety stools, all of them talking too loudly and washing too little.

Geralt could feel their eyes upon him as soon as he pushed through the narrow doorframe. What had been a buzzing backdrop of noise to the tavern was reduced to a lone voice accompanied by a lute.

Geralt almost left again immediately. Humans. Always the same with them.

Before he could turn craven and run, a voice called out. “Oi!” He turned his head to see the barkeep motioning at him, a bald, beer-bellied ox of a man. “You the witcher? The White Wolf or what’s he’s called you?”

Geralt nodded and strode over to the counter where the barkeep was already tapping a beer. “I have coin,” he offered. “For bed and board.”

“It’s on the house,” the barkeep shrugged and pushed the tankard towards him.

“Hmm.” Geralt furrowed his brow. He didn’t like this. It felt like another trap. Suspiciously, he sniffed the beer. It appeared to be completely ordinary. He took a cautious sip. Well, ordinary besides the truly atrocious quality at least.

“You can keep drinkin’,” the innkeeper said and pointed behind Geralt’s shoulder, “so long as he keeps singin’.”

Well. That was a first. He nodded and took another deep gulp before he finally turned around. Jaskier was standing in the middle of the room on a makeshift stage fashioned of the largest table in the room where the patrons were laughing as they hastily rescued their drinks from the bard’s dancing feet. One of them was too engrossed in the conversation with his neighbour and not fast enough, so he ended up drenched in his own drink, but instead of upsetting them, it made the people laugh even more. Jaskier was strumming his lute and singing at the top of his lungs.

And so, to gain my lady’s fairest love

I’ll gift her honey laced with lies to taste,

An amber -hilted dagger for her waist,

A crown of silver spun from clouds above!

“Above, above, above!” the crowd shouted a dissonant answer when Jaskier pointed at them.

But with the morning light will come the dawn,

The sun reveals the silver clouds are grey

That have drawn me a hundred miles away

For with the morning light, I will be gone.

“Begone, begone, begone!” the crowd cried.

Geralt allowed himself a small smile, which he was quickly forced to hide behind his tankard as Jaskier spun around unexpectedly and spotted him.

When the bard smiled in turn, it was like the sun rising in the black of night.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed.

That was a first as well.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #witcher bows and arrows #whatever a sun will always sing #my writing

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borealwrites · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Intersex Alphas, Rutting, Knotting, Fantasizing, Exhibitionism, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top/Bottom Versatile Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top/Bottom Versatile Jaskier | Dandelion, Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Pining, Scent Kink, pillow humping, Witcher Bows and Arrows Valentine's Day Event, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Not Beta Read Summary:

When Geralt finds that Jaskier has accidentally left one of his chemises in Geralt’s pack, Geralt does his best to ignore it. But winter means it’s time for Geralt’s rut, and all too soon finds himself pulling the chemise out to indulge himself in the scent of his bard. And, perhaps, doing a little more than indulging.

For day 7 of Witcher 🎀 Bows 🎀 and 🏹 Arrows 🏹 2023: Yearn

Thank you to @witcher-bows-and-arrows for the prompts!

#the witcher fic #geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher bows and arrows

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witchertits · 1 year

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Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you to @witcher-bows-and-arrows for another amazing event!

#my art #witcher valentines #bows and arrows 2 #witcher bows and arrows #gerlion #tw3 #blood and wine #the witcher 3

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wordsbyarwen · 2 years

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Friends, it’s been absolute ages since i posted a fic update here! And although i’ve been a bit slow, a lot has happened in my Yennaia fic since my last post! And so, some links for your perusal:

still your hands and still your heart (all the morning glows anew) - Rated M - 32,555 words (ongoing) I posted the link to chapter 1 of this fic over a year ago, but chapter 8 is up now! the little florist au that i said i wouldn’t write, full of terrible crushes, awkward flirting, and Triss Merigold trying her best to be a good wingwoman. Everyone ships Yennaia except Jaskier, but he’ll come around. Instagram is a major plot element? Characters: Tissaia, Yennefer, Jaskier, Triss, Margarita Ships: Yennaia, with a side helping of Rita/Tissaia Chapters: 8/18

(and you knelt beside) my hope torn apart - Rated G - 2,922 words Written for the Witcher Bows and Arrows Valentines event day 11 prompt: home. Yennefer spends a year wandering the Continent in search for a means to regain her magic. Tissaia has finally given up the search. Characters: Tissaia, Yennefer Ships: Yennaia

like a river loves a stone - Rated E - 10,719 words Written for the Witcher Bows and Arrows Valentines event day 4 prompt: fantasy, and a rewrite of the bath scene in “what is lost” with... more. Compliant with the canon of ‘stone in your water’, but not spoilery for the future of the fic. Characters: Tissaia, Yennefer, Sabrina, Triss, Murta Ships: Yennaia, with a hint at Sabrina/Triss

if you let me - Rated E - 3,233 words Written for the Witcher Bows and Arrows Valentines event day 5 prompt: service. Gosh, if only Yennefer knew how to communicate her needs to Tissaia, she might be able to have them met! I’m a cowardly ace with squicks, don’t @ me Characters: Tissaia, Yennefer, Yennefer’s inability to have an honest conversation Ships: You guessed it.. Yennaia

after the storm - Rated M - 621 words I’m realizing just now that there is no chapter 2 to this fic... which means i never remembered to hit publish on the second chapter. :grimace emoji: So now i have to go find that i guess? This one follows a bit of Sabrina and Triss’ time after Sodden and was written for the Witcher B&A Valentines event day 9 prompt: recovery. Stay tuned for when i dig up where in my files i hid chapter 2 i guess. Forgive me for the sloppy writing in this one, it was written with speed in mind, haha. Characters: Triss, Sabrina Ships: Sabrina/Triss

I think that about covers it! Go forth and enjoy?

#Tissaia de Vries #Yennefer of Vengerberg #Yennefer #Yennaia #The Witcher #Netflix The Witcher #Sabrina Glevissig #Triss Merigold #fanfic #r:g #r:m #r:e #promptfill #CW: dark themes #(for after the storm)#Femslash February #witcher bows and arrows #Sabrina&Triss

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spellwing777 · 1 year

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finally got a scan up instead of just a shit photo of the sketch. Little late, but for the 'silk' prompt for @witcher-bows-and-arrows Lambert enjoying a slightly more subtle crossdressing with a silk robe and just a touch of purple eyeshadow/lipstick, and doubtless showing off for an appreciative Aiden.

#lambert #the witcher 3 games ver #the witcher 3 #the witcher #witcher bows and arrows

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dawnsplaceyt · 1 year

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look I made something move and it’s Jaskier!

#witcher bows and arrows #jaskier #the witcher #jaskier witcher

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witcher-bows-and-arrows · 1 year

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If you haven't joined our discord, please feel free to!

#the witcher #witcher bows and arrows #bows and arrows 2

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msthunderfrost101 · 2 years

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Dear Jaskier

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Words: 2,269

Rating: T

Summary: Dear Jaskier—

I spoke with Eskel. He called me an idiot. I think that that is perhaps the understatement of the century.

Eskel… has always been far more emotionally competent than I. It… stung, to come to him and tell him about those things that I said to you, about you. He is dear to me… just as you are, but… different. I’ve known him for a very long time, and his opinion… it matters a great deal. To know that I’ve somehow disappointed him is almost as painful as knowing that I’ve hurt you.

Find it here

#The Witcher #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #Eskel #Geraskier #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Eskel Lives #S2 Fix-It #One-Shot #SFW #Witcher Bows and Arrows #The Apology Jaskier Deserves

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silvertonguelover · 1 year

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@witcher-bows-and-arrows

Day 4 NSFW: Silk

I tried I really did....Jask in a silk robe. Geralt having fun disrobing him. UwU💖😂

I really have forgotten how to draw normal sized people after drawing only Chibis for months.💀 Excuse my terrible anatomy. 😭🙏

#jaskier #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #witcher bows and arrows #bows and arrows 2 #witcher valentines

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kueble · 1 year

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Like a Desperate Thing

Here is an extremely late fill for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows prompt “More.” This is dedicated to @jaskierswolf who requested some thigh love. Thanks for an amazing prompt!

Explicit. Warnings: Mild breathplay, rough oral sex, Dom/sub. 1,600 words.

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Once the last email is sent, Geralt closes his work laptop and stands, stretching his arms up over his head since he’s been at it for so long. He checks the clock and realizes he maybe went a little too long, but he knows Jaskier will still be right where he left him. With a smile on his face, he leaves his office and heads back to the living room.

Jaskier is indeed right where he left him, kneeling on a yoga mat in front of the couch. They’ve tried pillows, but Jaskier doesn’t like the way they make him fidget, claiming they’re too lumpy to work. Geralt reaches down and runs his hands through Jaskier’s hair, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. He’s completely naked, clasping his own wrists behind his back.

He’s absolutely perfect.

“Sorry I took so long,” Geralt apologizes, and Jaskier just beams up at him. “You didn’t move the whole time, though. Such a good boy for me. Good boys get rewarded.”

“Please sir,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt runs his thumb over his lips. He’s painted them pink with some sort of gloss, and the look really works for him. The eyeliner is a lovely little touch as well, because it really makes his blue eyes brighter.

Jaskier darts his tongue out, lapping as the pad of his thumb, and Geralt can’t help sliding it inside. He presses down on Jaskier’s tongue, drawing a quiet moan out of him. His eyes start to go hazy, and Geralt increases the pressure, giving him something to focus on. He leaves his thumb there until Jaskier is whining and drooling around it.

“What do you want?” Geralt asks, and it takes Jaskier a moment to respond. He blinks slowly, already going under, and Geralt revels in how amazing he is at this. He was born to be on his knees like this.

“Can I suck you off?” Jaskier asks before hastily adding, “please.” They don’t use titles when they play like this, since neither of them really care for them. Jaskier’s little pleases are more than enough for him.

“Of course you can,” Geralt tells him before stepping out of his sweats and boxers. He takes his shirt off as an afterthought, wanting to keep it clean. He sits on the couch, legs spread and cock ready for his perfect little pet. Jaskier waits until he gestures him over with a wave of his hand to crawl over to him. He kneels between his legs awaiting more instructions. “Go on then,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier leans in.

Geralt is half hard already, and he quickly hardens the rest of the way as Jaskier wraps his slender fingers around his cock and strokes him slowly. Apparently he’s not in the mood to rush things tonight. He looks up at Geralt through his dark lashes, and Geralt brings a hand down to cup the back of his head. It’s just to hold, no real force behind it.

The first lick is tentative, just a flick of Jaskier’s tongue across the head of his cock. He moans softly before lapping up the bead of pre-come gathering there. Geralt groans when he sucks the tip into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it as he does. Jaskier’s mouth is hot and wet, and Geralt barely manages to hold himself back from thrusting into it. But no, he’ll give him his time to explore before he takes over.

Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed as he swallows Geralt down, moaning as he takes him so well. He works Geralt’s shaft with his hand, unable to fit all of him inside. Geralt knows he can deepthroat him, but he lets Jaskier draw this out. He looks gorgeous like this, lips stretched wide around Geralt’s thick cock. His lip gloss is already smearing, and Geralt knows it’s going to be completely ruined by the time they’re done.

“So good for me,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier keens under the praise. “It’s my turn now, though. Gonna fuck this pretty little mouth of yours.” Jaskier whimpers around him, sending a shiver through him. He stills, though, giving Geralt complete control of him.

Geralt starts gentle, just a slow thrust of his hips as he holds Jaskier in place. His eyes are unfocused, and Geralt knows he’s deep in subspace right now. He looks so stunning like this, and Geralt can’t help increasing his speed, bucking his hips roughly as he buries himself to the root. Jaskier just whines and drools around him.

He is so pliant right now, just totally slack as he lets Geralt fuck his face. Geralt moves his hand from Jaskier’s cheek to the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his soft hair. He tugs sharply, and Jaskier gasps, clearly desperate for more.

Since he’d give his pretty boy damn near anything when he’s so good like this, Geralt slams his hips into him again. He holds him there, watching Jaskier bliss out as Geralt cuts off his air. He’s crying now, eyeliner smudged as fat tears fall down his cheeks. Geralt pulls back right before he hits his limit, slipping all the way out and watching as Jaskier gasps to fill his lungs.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this. Such a pretty little slut for me. You’re absolutely beautiful when you’re crying your eyeliner off,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier preens under the praise. He reaches down and swipes a thumb through the runny mess under his eye, and Jaskier leans into the touch. “Want me to finish in your mouth or on your face?” he asks, and Jaskier just stares up at him stupidly for a long moment.

“Face please,” he slurs out, and Geralt grins down at him.

“Good boy, using your words for me,” he whispers, making Jaskier groan again.

And then he takes himself in hand, stroking his cock quickly. He’s close already thanks to Jaskier’s clever mouth, and his orgasm builds at the base of his spine as he looks down at Jaskier’s eager gaze. His mouth is slack, tongue stuck out as he waits for Geralt to come on his face. It looks like he’s ever wanted anything more in his entire life, and that thought is what sends Geralt’s hurdling over the edge.

The first splash of come hits Jaskier on the cheek, and he moans wantonly as Geralt aims for his tongue next. He sits there with his mouth open, catching as much as he can as Geralt frantically strokes himself through his orgasm. He grunts as the last dribble falls and clings to Jaskier’s lip.

He looks like sin personified, and Geralt couldn’t love him harder if he tried.

Jaskier is shaking now, his own neglected cock red and leaking between his thighs, and Geralt knows he shouldn’t tease him any longer. Still, he can’t help reaching down and trailing his fingers through the pearly stripes painted across his cheek and sliding it into Jaskier’s mouth. He whines and sucks it clean, rocking on his knees, his hips humping the air uselessly.

Risking oversensitivity, Geralt rubs the head of his flagging cock against Jaskier’s pink lips, moaning when he swipes his tongue across it. Geralt hisses and twitches though it’s too soon to get up again. Still, he stays there until Jaskier has licked him clean, petting his head in appreciation before slumping back against the couch.

He pats his thigh and Jaskier scrambles into his lap to straddle it. His cock looks so hard it must ache, but he hovers above Geralt’s skin and waits for instructions. Geralt leans in and kisses him lazily, swallowing down each whimper that comes up until he’s sure Jaskier must be ready to burst. He pulls back with a grin and settles his hands on Jaskier’s hips, not gripping but just light enough to ground him.

“Good boys get to come,” Geralt tells him softly, dragging another whine out of him. He looks down at where Jaskier’s dick is leaking onto his hairy thigh and nods sharply. “Get yourself off, no hands, just use me.”

It’s like a switch flips, and Jaskier goes from perfectly still to humping him like a desperate thing. He buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, gasping as he rocks his hips against him. He’s so wet that his cock slides easily across Geralt’s muscular thigh, and he just holds it still and lets Jaskier find his pleasure.

It doesn’t take long, and Jaskier clings to Geralt as he finds release, his fingers digging into his shoulders as he shakes in his lap. He whines, breath hitching while he grinds down into him and shoots off in bursts of hot come between them both. Geralt whispers praise into his ear, the brush of his lips against him making him whimper brokenly. Jaskier keeps rolling his hips until he’s drained and then collapses onto Geralt.

“Such a good job,” Geralt murmurs into his hair while he runs his hands up and down his sweat-slicked back. Jaskier shivers and pants against his neck, drooling on him in his fucked out state. “I’ll give you a few moments before we head to the bathroom. I’ll draw you a hot bath and get you cleaned up and fed before I tuck you into bed. So good for me, love.”

Jaskier sighs happily and melts into his embrace, practically emanating trust and affection and Geralt’s heart feels so fucking full.

---

NSFW Tags: @tothedesert @mayastormborn @allinthebones @selectivegeekwithstandards @trickstermoose67 @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @larawrmonster @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @gryffinqueen-blog @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @lokibus @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @feral-jaskier @hayleynzlive @answrs @jaskierswolf @holymotherwolf @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool @singerin @flawney @viking1919 @peanitbear @blues-tunes @panerato @nephilimeq

If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know. Thank you!

#my fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw dom/sub #cw breathplay #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #witcher valentines #witcher bows and arrows #bows and arrows 2

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liaonyxrayne · 1 year

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Witcher Bows and Arrows day 6: Silk. Yennefer, emerging from the bath. :) @witcher-bows-and-arrows

#cakeshopart #yennefer #witcher bows and arrows #prompt silk #digital painting #commissions open #witcher fanart

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dhwty-writes · 1 year

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whatever a sun will always sing - chapter 2

Written for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows event.

Read on AO3

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Jaskier, travelling minstrel of the Continent, bard of the White Wolf, troubadour extraordinaire and the greatest poet of all time, disliked second chances on principle.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Jaskier, travelling minstrel of the Continent, bard of the White Wolf, troubadour extraordinaire and the greatest poet of all time, had no problem with second chances at all. It was third chances he disliked on principle and the kind of people that came begging for a fourth, a fifth, a sixth – the sort of people that just couldn’t take a hint.

Like Valdo fucking Marx.

He couldn’t deny that there was a certain something between the both of them, he had come back more than once, after all, but in the end, their separation was inevitable. Usually, Jaskier liked to try and make a quiet exit — ’like a thief in the night’, Valdo liked to hiss disdainfully — no use in making more of a fuss than it was going to be anyways.

This time, he was afforded no such courtesy. No, this time, his exit was nothing short of a spectacle, for Valdo Marx accosted him in the middle of the Academy courtyard while he was bidding some old friends farewell.

“Leaving again, Pankratz?” a voice that raised the hairs on Jaskier’s neck taunted far too loudly and Jaskier gripped Priscilla’s hand tighter on instinct, his smile growing cold and insincere.

“Just ignore him,” his friend said with a smile no less frozen than his.

He should. He knew he really should.

Jaskier turned around. “Yes,” he answered as pleasantly as he could, “as I already told you yesterday. Alas, adventure is calling and true heroics are among the few things that cannot be found within the ancient and venerable walls of this honoured establishment.” In his head he added, ‘As you are indubitably about to demonstrate.’

“Ah, yes. The prodigious prodigal progeny of this school has to satisfy his wanderlust again, hm?” The troubadour sauntered closer and Jaskier knew they were beginning to draw stares of nearby students.

He smiled. Who was he to deny a willing audience? “How kind of you to recognise my talent, which we all know to be far superior to yours.”

Marx snorted, apparently ignorant to the small crowd gathering around them. “What we all know, is that you are a talentless wastrel who panders to the tastes of the massed.”

A couple of the spectators oohed and ahhed at that and Jaskier glared at them. Such a paltry comment was hardly deserving of any praise.

“Wastrel or no, I can hardly be talentless. At least people are singing my songs when I perform, instead of booing me off the stage,” Jaskier retorted. “Say Valdo, how did your performance in the Three Little Bells go?”

That elicited some quiet sniggers. The Three Little Bells had been packed three nights ago and he did not doubt that at least a couple of the onlookers had been present to witness Valdo’s pretentious performance at the end of which Jaskier had been asked to provide the audience with some real music.

He sneered at his companion with derision while Valdo was gasping for breath indignantly. “This has all been very droll, but I’m afraid, I really have to go. Thank you for your attention. The day is not getting any younger and I would like to cross the Pontar and be well on my way towards Cidaris before sunset.” He bowed with a flourish and turned back to his friends.

Priscilla hugged him tightly and wished him well, while their other friends pat him on the shoulder and told him to write a new masterpiece before he returned. Distantly, Jaskier heard Valdo grumbling, but did his best to pay him no mind as he extricated himself from his fellow bards and started towards the gate, where his new horse Pegasus was waiting.

Of course, he didn’t manage to get quite so far without Valdo offering unsolicited advice one last time: “You know, you had a good thing here,” he called after him and Jaskier couldn’t help but roll his eyes. ‘One would think even someone as thick as him could learn a lesson.’ But still, the bard went prattling on: “One day you’ll regret this, Julek. One day you’ll leave someone and they won’t welcome you back.”

“Has that day yet arrived for you? I know I’ll rejoice the rejection that rids me of you and you know what I’ll say to that? Good riddance. Stay within these walls if you please, I am not like to return. I think I’d rather grow beyond their scope. Hard for you to imagine, I know, since you can’t seem to see beyond the tip of your own nose. I’d recommend investing in a pair of spectacles, I hear they’re quite helpful.”

—

The farewell Valdo had given him irked Jaskier until he reached Gors Velen. Yes, he was leaving, yes, it had happened more than once. But he had never been anything but upfront about it. If anything, it was Valdo’s fault for continuing to allow him to return to his bed while erroneously assuming time and again that would entitle him to Jaskier’s heart. He had made it more than clear on multiple occasions that he had no interest in romantic entanglements whatsoever.

It was something that kept happening, not just with Valdo. A lot of people just assumed that a few kisses, a ballad about their lovely looks, and a roll in the hay meant that Jaskier would profess his undying love on the morrow and they all were bitterly disappointed when he sooner bid them farewell. He tried to laugh it up as perpetuating the image of bards, but he couldn’t deny that it stung sometimes, especially when it came from someone with whom he shared a deeper connection than just an acquaintance of a night or two.

It wasn’t that Jaskier was disloyal — though most people in his life, including his parents and a vast array of lovers would beg to differ — as much as that he liked to roam. ‘You’re a songbird,’ Priscilla had told him once, laughing, ‘piping and preening to follow a pretty mate to their nest, but sooner or later you have to spread your wings and fly away.’ She wasn’t so wrong about that. And their friendship should be proof enough that Jaskier wasn’t disloyal at heart.

He had reached the Adalette when he realised, he didn’t really know where he was flying towards. There was a bardic festival in Cintra that he had thought about attending, but Valdo had threatened entering as well, so the taste of that idea soured in his mouth. Instead, he turned his horsed north on a whim.

—

He was performing in a tavern in Zavada and had just finished his third reprise of Toss a Coin to your Witcher to sit down at the bar and enjoy an ale and meal on the house. It was a good meal, a hearty stew, dark and thick, with carrots, leeks and onion, chunks of beef swimming within that melted as soon as he touched his tongue to them. The innkeep served it with two slices of black bread with butter almost as thick as the slices themselves. Jaskier was just sucking the last of the grease from his fingers and washed it down with a swig of brown ale when a grizzled looking blacksmith with a beard as black and coarse as wires sat down beside him.

“Good evening,” Jaskier greeted amiably and hurried to swallow the mouthful of ale.

“Evening,” the man replied and looked him over sceptically. Just as Jaskier was about to ask what this was about, the man asked: “You really know the witcher? The White Wolf, I mean?”

“I do,” he replied enthusiastically and gifted him a dazzling smile. “As a matter of fact, I am the very bard to bestow that name upon him. Why do you ask, my good sir?”

“Don’t know,” the man seemed amused. “You just seem a wee bit young, I s’ppose.”

“Young I may be, though let me assure you that that in no way lessens my talents and qualifications. You may count yourself as living proof for my proficiency, seeing as even you have heard of the moniker I crafted. And let it be known that ordinarily I aspire to at least know the names of my critics before subjecting myself to their judgement.”

The blacksmith snorted a laugh. In a way, he reminded him very much of Geralt. “Stevo,” he replied and shook his hand. “You know my sister’s been to Maribor not two days past. Claims to have seen the White Wolf with her own eyes.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up. “Does she now?”

Jaskier played another set that night and then followed Stevo back to his smithy, where he made sure to thank him thoroughly for his information. The next morning saw him leading Pegasus on the road northwards to Maribor before the sun was up.

It had been close to three years since he and the witcher had last parted ways in Kovir. That time, it had been Jaskier who had abandoned his friend instead of the other way around, in favour of a lucrative position at a duke’s court, that kept him well-fed, well-clothed, and well-paid for close to ten months. He would have stayed longer still, had he not been kicked out for sleeping with the duke’s younger sister.

Afterwards, he had travelled Cintra for a while. He had hoped to maybe cross paths with his witcher there but had not been so lucky. On the other hand, he hadn’t been actively looking for him either.

Oxenfurt had seduced him with the promise of a relatively stable position at the Academy. Nothing too extravagant, he just taught one course about 9th century elven poetry to mostly disinterested students. In such close proximity to each other, it had been only a matter of time before Valdo and him fell into bed with each other again. He sighed. With the kind of farewell, he had received it might be best to shun the city of a year or two. At least.

Not that Jaskier was in such a hurry to return. He had missed travelling the Continent and performing in a different venue each night, although much had changed since he had last done so. For one, he was better equipped now, with Pegasus and boots that were both sturdy as well as stylish. For another, people recognised him from time to time. He was far from the only bard who had taken up Toss a Coin and sometimes even his lesser songs were familiar to the audience that would hum along. He no longer contended with bread in his pants; instead innkeeps more often than not offered him bed and board for his performances now. Sometimes, they even paid to hear him sing.

Briefly, Jaskier wondered how Geralt would react to him returning. ‘Maybe he won’t even recognise me,’ he mused. He had grown another inch since they had last seen each other and he had begun to keep the fashion of a delicate goatee, as was popular in Oxenfurt.

For his part, he was excited to see his witcher again. For all his grunting and pointed glares, he suspected Geralt did enjoy his company. Else he surely would have left him in Posada and not indulged his presence up until Hagge. And he definitely wouldn’t have allowed to travel with him through Kovir. It would be nice to travel with a friend and perhaps the witcher would even take up an interesting contract or two that inspired him to a new ballad.

The ride from Zavada to Maribor wasn’t far and Jaskier had left early, he reached the city gates right as the sun was about to set. He dismounted and led his horse through the dwindling bustle of the masses in the search of an inn and stable. Stevo had told him his sister had seen Geralt right when he was about to set out on some dangerous contract, so it was more than possible that he hadn’t yet returned.

If it truly was an important contract, it was very possible that the duke himself had employed the witcher, but the hour was late and he was but a bard, so Jaskier did not have any hopes to be admitted to the castle before the morrow. Despite his lucrative performances during the past months, the fares in the inns close to the castle were too rich even for his tastes, so he turned towards a more modest part of town instead. He had stayed in the Ugly Goose before and knew it to be frequented by travelling merchants and traders that always enjoyed some entertainment with their supper.

He would begin the search for his witcher once the sun was up.

Jaskier entrusted Pegasus to a young stableboy, after he had convinced himself of the quality of his horse’s accommodations, and gave the boy two apples for his troubles, one for the gelding and one for himself. On his way to the door, he was startled by a snort closer to his ear than he expected.

With a yelp he leapt away and stared quizzically at the horse that had snorted right into his face and it took him a moment to recognize— “Roach!” Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. “Oh, what a sight for sore eyes you are, my good girl. Say, you wouldn’t know where your master is, would you?” Carefully, he extended a hand to her, to pet her head.

“Still wouldn’t do that,” a voice behind him growled.

Jaskier was very proud to say of himself that this time, he didn’t startle. Instead, he spun around with a wide smile and even wider arms to hug his witcher with. “Geralt! I was just looking for you, this is a fortunate day, indeed. I hope you didn’t think you’d seen the last of me, my friend.”

Awkwardly, Geralt pat him on his back. Jaskier saw that as an improvement to the last hug, which the witcher had endured silently and stiff as a board. When Jaskier pulled back to look at him, he was satisfied with the sight before him: Geralt wasn’t quite as bony as before, his hair seemed clean and well-cared for, as far as he could see, and no new scars adorned his face. The scowl was the same, but Jaskier took the improvements he got; he couldn’t expect miracles, could he?

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked gruffly.

“Why, I crossed the Continent in hopes of seeing your handsome face again.” The scowl deepened. “I was in Zavada when I heard you were in Maribor and came as fast as I could, for I hoped my muse might bless me with a new, exciting tale about his adventures.”

“Hmm,” he replied, verbose as always. ‘One of these days I’ll figure out what he means by that,’ Jaskier vowed. “The beard is new.”

“It is indeed! You are astute as always, my dear, I am glad your eyes are not waning with your age.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched upward at that, which in Geralt-speak was as good as uproarious laughter. “Do you like it?”

“Hmm,” he replied again.

Jaskier chose to ignore that: “Well, anyways, do you have a room already or might I ply you with the promise of a bed and a drink for some tales of your exploits?”

“I do. My treat this time.” Well, Jaskier wasn’t about to say no to a free meal and room in an inn.

Together, they found a secluded table at the Ugly Goose and shared a meal while Jaskier shared his account of what had happened to him since they had last seen each other. He left out his last conversation with Valdo; there was no need to bring that up quite now. After the bard had bought a round of ale, he even pried the story of Geralt’s latest contract out of him. As the hour grew late, Jaskier grew too drunk to get his own room key, much less to object to sharing a bed with. The bed was big enough, after all, and he might be drunk but not blind and not fool enough to turn down a night in those well-muscled arms.

The last of his hopes was ultimately disappointed, but it made no matter to him; Geralt’s company was pleasant enough as it was. After they ate breakfast — well, Geralt ate breakfast, Jaskier was miserably nursing a cup of tea — they stood awkwardly in front of the stables, reins of their respective horses in hand.

“So,” Jaskier drawled, right as Geralt blurted: “Where are you going next?”

He laughed at that, in part because he was relieved, in part because he was still feeling nervous. “Actually, I was about to ask the very same thing. If you would not mind a travelling companion, that is.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. He interpreted it as I don’t.

“In that case, where are you headed to?”

The witcher shrugged and looked away, down the road that led southwards out of the city. “Where do you- Hm. Any preferences?”

Jaskier followed his gaze. The summer had barely begun, there was still enough time to reach most any place on the continent. He would not say no to following that road, however. Perhaps he could even winter in the south and evade the cold entirely. Smiling, he turned back to his witcher. “How about Toussaint? I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

Geralt hummed and tugged Roach’s reins down that road and Jaskier thought, ‘Perhaps third chances aren’t so bad after all.’

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