#Book geralt LOVES his bard so so so much and tells him all his problems and likes his songs and rides with him and worries about him

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Why did they do that tho

Every once in a while I think about how in the books, Geralt does anything and everything for his Dandelion, and goes murdercrazy when Dandelion is threatened/captured, and Geralt loves and looks after his Dandelion at every point And the netflix show made Geralt hate him, ignore him, and barely acknowledge his pain after getting TORTURED I just- YOU DON'T NEED TO BE AN ASSHOLE TO YOUR FRIENDS TO BE A 'BADASS HERO'!

In my heart they are happy and in love and geralt's not a cunt <3 I am a okay with the the half of the fandom that is firm on them just being friends, hell yeah they're friends! Amazing ones, at that! But you know who we all hate? The people who agree with TWN!Geralt's treatment of his bard... For shame... For shame....

[shy-urban-hobbit]

There it was again; Aiden’s fingers tapping out a now familiar rhythm against Lambert’s bicep before sliding down to rest on top of his hand as they dozed in the sun. It had started shortly after they’d been reunited on The Path, a scarcity of jobs forcing them apart for a few weeks in an effort to cover more ground to find paying work (a gamble which ended up paying off as they both found pretty lucrative contracts in opposite directions).

Tap – pause - Tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

Lambert mentally shrugged, too comfortable to think on it too closely.

Lambert could feel himself slowly going crazy. He’d finally asked Aiden about his new habit after he’d been tapping against Lambert’s chest incessantly during their drawn out goodbye. The Cat had merely smirked in response and told him “You’re a smart pup, figure it out.” Before kissing the end of Lambert’s nose and mounting up, turning his horse Southwards. Lambert had stayed where he was until the other was just a speck on the road.

That was how he’d found himself in Kaer Morhen’s library, surrounded by books and paper and tapping the rhythm out again for the thirtieth time that hour.

“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d be met with. Lambert reading. Should I be checking you with silver about now?”

“Fuck off, bard.” Lambert sighed like an exasperated parent.

Jaskier merely grinned impudently from where he was leaning against the back of one of the chairs, “What’s all this?”

“Research.” Lambert answered curtly.

“For....”

“Nothing.”

“Research for nothing. Melitele’s bosom you must be bored.”

“Jaskier. Either sit down and shut up or go and bother Geralt.”

Jaskier mimed locking his mouth before taking a seat opposite the youngest Wolf, making a show of leaning back and looking around at the overcrowded shelves, “Soooooo....how was Aiden when you parted ways?”

“Fine.” Lambert put down the old journal he’d been flicking through in an attempt to find clues (maybe it was some old Witcher thing Vesemir had forgotten to teach them seeing as it wasn’t directly linked to monster slaying) before tapping the rhythm out again.

“What’s that?” Jaskier asked.

“Something that damn Cat told me to figure out and when I see him, I'm throwing him to the nearest drowner.”

“Oooooh, a riddle!” Jaskier gave an excited wiggle, attention well and truly caught, “Perhaps I can help? I am a master wordsmith after all.”

“No words involved in this, master wordsmith.” Lambert said, just to be contrary.

“Don’t be too sure.” Jaskier leaned forward slightly, “Humour me.”

Lambert tapped it out once, and then twice again at Jaskier’s request before the human’s expression morphed into one of childlike glee.“I do know this! Oh, I haven’t used it since I was at Oxenfurt, but I know it.”

Lambert felt his eye twitch, because of course it was just his luck Geralt’s bard would know it.”

“Well, what is it?”

Jaskier’s smile shifted, “Aiden told you to figure it out. I’ll help you, but I’m not telling you the answer. Oh, Lambert.” The Wolf swallowed. He'd had no idea the bard was capable of looking devious as he continued, “I think you’ve just become my main source of entertainment for the winter.”

Lambert shared a look with Eskel as Jaskier left the hall, throwing another declaration of love towards their white haired brother as he did so. They had nothing against the casual displays of affection per se, but you knew it was becoming a problem when even Eskel the not so secret romantic was starting to find it a bit much. Geralt had merely shrugged in the way that meant he was just as clueless as the rest of them when his brothers questioned him about it.

“Alright, what are you playing at?” Lambert had asked him one night, the bard blinking up at him guilelessly, “You said you’d help me with, you know, and all you’ve been doing is swooning over Geralt.”

“Lambert, love. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Jaskier replied slowly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The other day in the library.”

The bard sighed through his nose petulantly before walking away, muttering something about how he was this close to pushing certain dumb Wolves down the mountain.

Lambert stared at the note. It was actually for Geralt but was it his fault Jaskier had left it out on the main table in the hall for the whole world to see? He blinked as he took in the last three words, the thick black line of ink underneath them making them impossible to miss. Melitele’s arse, now that he was seeing it written down, Jaskier wouldn’t have to push him: Lambert would quite happily throw himself down the mountain, cursing himself the entire time for missing something so simple.

“You’re early!” Aiden exclaimed happily as he leaned down to throw his arms around Lambert, letting the other man pull him down from his horse and into a proper embrace, the taps quickly following, as expected.

Lambert tilted the Cat’s face up with a whispered, “You too.” Feeling Aiden grin into the kiss as Lambert tapped gently against his temple.

Tap – pause – tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

I – love - you

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

Part of the family

Well, this is a subject I'll always come back to, it seems. But when I am in a dark mood, I just need my blorbo to be loved and having all the cuddles, but he is not, so I am 😫.

I wish a lot of things for S3, but I am not waiting for them. Things will grandly depend on the thematics chosen for the main arcs. But there is one little thing I need, it's Jaskier's kind of belonging with Geralt and his "family". It's time for him to be accepted. I don't want it to happen in the hansa only.

Don't get me wrong, I love the hansa ! But I will find it heartbreaking that the only way Jaskier can be part of any group with Geralt is when everyone in it is the strangest person you would choose to be part of it.

Even if he is too "noisy" sometimes, in the books, Jaskier has no problem to fit in groups with Geralt.

That family rejection is something that irritated me a lot on the show. Because we saw a more open Geralt, calling people friends, smiling at them, caring and sharing. That was lovely. But then when Jaskier is back in his life (because Geralt chose to, may I add), nothing applies anymore for him. Sure there is the hug and the little smile. We understand that he trusts the bard. We have lovely glimpses like in S1, but where is the new Geralt with him. He is just as closed as before in front him. Like, he knows how to navigate his shenanigans to get what he needs but that's all the way he would go to connect with him.

And the bad part is that Jaskier had learnt his lesson from the mountain. He knows when to step back, when to really shut up, while he is around him. He was WAY more intrusive in S1.

In S2, he is waiting more of a clear signal that he can actually interact with him and don't overstep the threshold as much as he used to. So why he isn't rewarded for his efforts. It's like telling him he is still too big and annoying or strange.

Harder, the only moments he tries to push a little bit to connect with people navigating around Geralt, he is pushed out. The dwarves (I wish we could have a Yarpen Zigrin more like in the books btw), Ciri and the witchers.

It's pretty clear to me, from S1, that Jaskier wants to be part of Geralt's world. So, even if it's a broken family, we see Jaskier trying but he's received nothing but clear rejection.

That infamous no will always hurt me.

"Family" is one of the biggest theme of S2. I mean we see everyone struggling to find where they belong, how they find purpose in this world, etc. And this is great. I liked that overall. But why always is Jaskier the one who fails ?

It makes me wonder. Was Geralt more open to the others because they are more like him ? Does it make Jaskier the only weirdo within his world ?

Weird uncle Jaskier

I began to write this post after clipping Joey saying that he is the "drunken uncle Jaskier" in Lucca Comics and Games interview. And I remembered he said something similar in others occasions.

Source [x] and [x]

This is something Joey said about the dynamic within Geralt found family in S2 and with Ciri. I have the feeling that this is what we will get in the end. I mean if being the "weird one" can give him a place then it's already something BUT if there is no disdain or mockery, which I doubt.

Of course, Jaskier is always a bit off. He is not like any of them. But for me the weirdness is in the combination, not on Jaskier's side only. I feel like they found some balance with Yennefer and him, so why not with the others. One can only hope.

In the books, he is simply alcoholic because well.. he is. In the series, it goes more into his emotional state, especially brokenhearted. So... Something about the acknowledgement that Jaskier is the "drunk uncle" makes this more bittersweet to me. (Sorry for the extra potato gif - source [x])

[wren-of-the-woods]

Your Screams Still Echo In My Dreams

Geralt can't stop dreaming about what happened to Jaskier in Oxenfurt. Sitting outside Jaskier's room is the only way he can convince himself the bard is safe. Inspired by this wonderful post by @yeraskier​!

3k, romantic or platonic Geraskier, angst with a happy ending. Also on AO3!

--

All Geralt could hear was screaming.

It echoed in his ears, piercing him more sharply than any sword. Jaskier’s voice — his bard’s lovely, melodic voice — had turned from a finely-tuned instrument into nothing more than pain made audible. Jaskier was far past the point of words, reduced to inarticulate cries by the meticulous use of fire and fist alike. Geralt couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d wished for Jaskier to stop talking, all the complaints he’d made in search of this very blessing. He wished he could take back every word.

Perhaps Geralt was screaming too. He couldn’t tell — he wasn’t certain of anything except Jaskier’s pain. Why would Geralt’s screams matter when he was simply standing there, unable to do anything but watch as his very best friend in the whole wide world was tortured?

“Stop,” Geralt shouted. He had tried this before. His throat was sore from pleading. “I’m right here. Take me instead.”

Once again, the mage ignored him. He didn’t so much as turn to look at Geralt’s desperation. 

“Stop hurting him. Please,” Geralt cried. Once, he would never have stooped so low as to beg. Now he was so far past caring that he didn’t even register the humiliation. “Please, I’ll do anything you ask.” 

The mage continued. 

“Jaskier,” said Geralt desperately. The need to comfort Jaskier burned in every corner of Geralt’s being, potent as the mage’s fire. “Jaskier, I’m here. You’re not alone. I’ll get you out of here, I swear. It’ll be okay. I’m here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier did not react. There was no change in the tone of his gasping, sobbing cries. It was, as always, as though Geralt was completely invisible. All he could do was watch as Jaskier was tortured, the secondhand agony worse than any brand.

All Geralt could hear was screaming. 

Until—

There was a loud crash. Geralt woke with a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his skull.

He opened his eyes. The furs on his bed were tangled around his legs and soaked in sweat. The small table next to the bed had fallen over; Geralt must have knocked it over in his sleep. He assumed that was what had woken him. 

He sat up and buried his head in his hands, trying desperately to calm his breathing. His face was wet with tears. He felt like he could still hear the screams, only slightly abated by the sound of the wind whistling around the keep’s walls. He let out a shaky sigh and tried to slow his breathing until his heart stopped trying quite so hard to beat out of his chest. No one was screaming. It was not real.

The problem was that it wasn’t just a dream. 

Jaskier lived through that. He had been tortured for hours, made to scream until his throat was sore and his hands were burnt. It was Geralt’s fault that he had been in pain, and Geralt was not there. 

Geralt stood up from the bed and righted the table. He put the candle and battered book back on top of it. He walked around the room twice, trying to ground himself. It didn’t work. 

He thought of Jaskier’s face twisted in pain. He thought of Jaskier’s voice, ragged and broken. He thought of Jaskier’s hands burning. He thought of Jaskier crying and screaming, completely alone with no one to help. He knew, logically, that Jaskier was in Kaer Morhen and perfectly safe. The logic did not reassure him.

Over far too many nights of such nightmares, he had learned that there was only one way he could calm himself now. Softly, so as not to wake any of the other witchers, he opened his door and set off for Jaskier’s room. 

Finding the way was second nature by now. The familiar cold of the stone against his bare feet was easily ignored. He made his way around corners and through long halls, until, at last, he was close enough.

The bard’s breathing, slow and heavy with sleep, echoed through the quiet corridor. His heartbeat was steady. His scent, tinged with the telltale odor of alcohol but still so very familiar, seeped through the walls. Geralt could feel his shoulders loosen a little. Jaskier was safe. 

Some nights like this, Geralt was cautious. Sometimes he stayed here at the end of the corridor, just close enough to make out Jaskier’s soft breathing. Tonight, he didn’t think that would be enough. He padded down the corridor until he reached Jaskier’s door and sank down to sit beside it with his back to the stone wall.

He closed his eyes and focused all his attention on Jaskier’s heartbeat, human-fast and fragile and familiar and safe. It was more grounding than anything else Geralt had discovered in all his decades of travel. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the cold stone, and sunk into meditation with his breathing timed to match Jaskier’s.

He knew from experience that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight, but he could rest here a little. Jaskier would be safe if Geralt was here to stand guard outside his door.

Geralt let himself lose track of time. He knew he could rouse himself at the break of dawn, just before Jaskier or Yennefer would wake, so there was no need for him to be alert. He simply let the sound and scent of Jaskier wash over him, and hoped it would be restful enough to keep him alert through the next day. 

This worked very well until, without warning, Jaskier’s heartbeat quickened.

Within moments, Jaskier’s breathing had sped up and his scent had soured with an edge of distress. Geralt tensed. He couldn't hear movement in the room behind him, nor could he sense any sign of an intruder. Nothing appeared to have changed.

Then Jaskier let out a soft cry, and Geralt had to restrain himself from leaping to his feet and barging straight into the room. Jaskier was afraid, but he wasn’t moving. There was no intruder. He was probably just having a nightmare.

That thought was painful in an entirely different way, but at least the bard wasn’t in danger. 

He listened as Jaskier shifted in the bed, his scent now filled with fear. Geralt knew he shouldn’t do anything — his help would probably embarrass Jaskier at best and make him more afraid at worst — but he couldn’t bring himself to leave, either. 

He sat there in uncertainty, until, moments later, Jaskier’s breath caught and there was the sound of movement in the room.

“Fuck.” Jaskier’s soft voice echoed against the bare stone. 

There were various shuffling sounds, as though Jaskier was shifting restlessly on the bed, and an irritated huff. Then the shuffling stopped. Geralt heard footsteps approaching the door. 

Before he had time to do more than scramble to his feet, the door swung open and Jaskier stepped out of the room. His hair was mussed, his clothes were wrinkled under the ragged blanket thrown around his shoulders, and he was red around the eyes as though he’d been crying.

Jaskier froze when he saw who was standing in the corridor. “Geralt?”

“Jaskier.”

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier’s voice was rougher than Geralt had ever heard it. 

“I… couldn’t sleep.”

Jaskier let out a bark of humorless laughter. “So you came to tell me about my fillingless pie again?”

“No!” said Geralt. It was almost a shout. He winced at the too-loud sound and tried again, quieter. “No, Jaskier. I should never have said that in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier huffed. “Oh, so now you apologize? Over a decade later?”

Geralt managed not to flinch. “I’m sorry. I wanted to say so back then. I should have. I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

Jaskier stared at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Then he grimaced and looked away. 

“Mmm, nope. I’m not having this conversation right now. I refuse to do this sober and directly after a nightmare.”

Jaskier must have misread Geralt’s half-pained and half-guilty expression, because he let out another humorless laugh. 

“Yes, Geralt. Even a silly little bard like me can have nightmares. I don’t have such deep and horrifying material for them as a witcher must, of course, although mine have been featuring a fair bit of fire lately. Do I get admission into the brooding society?”

Jaskier huffed and turned to walk away down the corridor without waiting for an answer, refusing to look at Geralt.

“Mine too,” said Geralt, desperately trying to keep him from leaving.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. “What?”

Geralt froze, realizing what he had said. 

“Hmm,” he said, then cursed himself for his awkwardness.

Jaskier turned back to Geralt, brows furrowed. 

“You have nightmares about being tortured?” asked Jaskier.

Geralt considered lying. He considered staying silent. He considered running off into the mountains never to be seen again. 

He realized that not communicating was what got him into this mess in the first place.

Fuck it.

“No. I have nightmares about you being tortured.”

Jaskier’s expression froze. 

“What?” he said again. This time, his voice was a little choked. “Why do you know about that?”

Geralt shifted awkwardly. “Yen told me what happened. Briefly. I wanted to know why she needed bandages. She thought I knew.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier faintly. “And you… had a nightmare? About me?” 

Geralt nodded.

“But— why?”

Geralt’s heart broke a little. He wanted to tug Jaskier closer to him, to hold him tight until Jaskier saw exactly why Geralt needed him, but he no longer knew if his touch was welcome. He had to find some other way to communicate. He didn’t know if it was the sleep deprivation or the days of bottled-up emotion or a true desire for honesty, but he found words spilling from his lips. 

“Jaskier, I— you’re important. You’re so important to me. You’re happiness and love and everything that’s good in the world. You’re my light, Jaskier, and I hurt you when you didn’t deserve it. You got hurt for me. You were so fucking brave and kind and good and you got hurt for it and I wasn’t there to help. You— you shouldn’t get hurt, Jask. You should never have had to do that. You didn’t deserve to go through that alone and you had to because I’m a fucking coward who doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it. You’re ridiculous but sometimes you’re a better man than I’ll ever be.”

Geralt rubbed a hand over his face. “And I can’t stop seeing it, seeing him hitting you and burning you while I can’t do anything. I’m stuck there and I can’t get you to hear me, I can’t do anything but watch while you scream. You should never have had to scream like that. Not for me. Not for anything.” 

Geralt realized, distantly, that he was shaking. “You shouldn’t have had your kindness exploited. You shouldn’t have lost your lute or had your hands hurt. It’s not fucking fair, and I can’t do anything about it and— I’m so sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry, Jaskier.”

Geralt dared to look up from where he’d been staring intently at the floor and saw Jaskier looking at him in teary-eyed disbelief.

“Geralt,” he whispered. He did not continue. He was shaking too.

“Can I hug you?” Geralt asked brokenly, and Jaskier managed a nod. 

Geralt almost fell into Jaskier’s arms. He pulled him close and buried his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, listening to the bard’s heartbeat and breathing in his scent. Jaskier’s breathing was uneven and his pulse was a little higher than usual, but he was here and he was solid and he was safe. Geralt couldn’t help a ragged sigh of relief. 

Jaskier’s hands came to rest on Geralt’s back. Geralt squeezed Jaskier tighter. Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s touch, resting his head against Geralt’s. 

“I’m sorry,” said Geralt when they eventually pulled apart. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look Jaskier in the eyes. “You’re the one who had a nightmare about actual events. I should have let you talk.”

“No,” said Jaskier, “It’s all right. I— I appreciated it.” He let out a small laugh. “Besides, I talk enough as it is. It’s about time you got your turn.” He grew serious again. “It’s good to know that you care. Very good.”

“I do care,” said Geralt, finally looking at Jaskier. “I’m sorry I’m so shit at showing it.”

Jaskier smiled. It was small and a little shaky, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Thank you.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. The wind whistled outside the keep. Jaskier’s breathing was steady again.

“Now what?” asked Jaskier. 

The question hung heavily in the air. Geralt didn’t know what would happen now. How would Jaskier fit into the tangled web of fate that seemed to surround Geralt on all sides? How could he weave Jaskier into the beginnings of this new braid, along with Ciri and Yennefer? Geralt would have to work it out soon. He couldn’t face leaving Jaskier out of his life again.

But Geralt didn’t have to work it out tonight. He was exhausted both emotionally and physically, and Jaskier was doubtless in a similar state. They could make these decisions in an hour, or a day, or even a week. 

“Dawn will come soon,” Geralt offered. “We could make breakfast.” 

We. A peace offering. An outstretched hand.

Jaskier considered for a moment. Then—

“I suppose someone has to make sure you season the food properly.” 

A joke. A bond. A second chance.

Geralt huffed a laugh. “I suppose so.”

They walked into the new day together. 

--

After breakfast that morning, Geralt didn’t see much of Jaskier. Geralt was busy with training Ciri and repairing the keep. Jaskier was off doing whatever he did in Kaer Morhen while Geralt wasn’t looking. As the day drew to a close, Geralt began to wonder what he would do if the nightmares came again. Had the previous night been a one-time occurrence? Would it make Jaskier uncomfortable to have to wonder if Geralt was sitting outside his door?

Geralt was about to try to sleep despite his fears when he was interrupted by a knock at his bedroom door. He stood to open it without thought, assuming it was one of his brothers, then drew in a breath of surprise.

Jaskier was standing in the corridor with a blanket and a pillow in his arms, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Jaskier,” said Geralt.

“Hi,” said Jaskier. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Geralt waited for a moment. Jaskier seemed to gather his courage.

“I was just wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing a room? Since I have nightmares about being hurt and you have nightmares about me being hurt I thought we might possibly feel safer if we were together, and my room has a bit of a hole in the wall so yours is probably nicer. I always feel safer when I sleep next to you anyway and I can just take the floor if you want, it won’t be anywhere near the worst—”

“Jaskier. Breathe.”

“Right. Sorry.” 

Despite Geralt’s best efforts, he felt hope rise in his chest. He hadn’t dared to think he might be allowed to share a room with Jaskier after all the ways he’d fucked up. If Jaskier was suggesting it now, it meant he felt safe with Geralt. It went without saying that Geralt also felt safe with Jaskier. Perhaps they could actually make this work.

“I can take the floor,” Geralt offered.

Jaskier’s face lit up. “Really? You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“No more than usual.”

Jaskier ignored the comment. “Hold on, you can’t sleep on the floor in your own room. That’s not fair. Either I take the floor or we share the bed.”

Geralt grunted in feigned irritation, trying not to show how much the thought of sharing a bed with Jaskier for the first time in two years made his heart flutter. By the look on Jaskier’s face, he was not entirely successful. 

“Get in bed, then,” he said. Jaskier beamed.

Jaskier was under the covers in an instant, tossing his own blanket over Geralt’s and adding his pillow to the head of the bed. He snuggled in on the side of the bed closest to the wall. Geralt followed at a slightly more sedate pace, taking his customary place between Jaskier and the rest of the room. 

They lay there for a moment, facing each other from across the bed. Uncertainty overtook Geralt. He was no longer sure what was acceptable, where he and Jaskier stood with each other. Geralt wouldn’t mind if Jaskier wanted to stay across from Geralt without touching, but if it were up to Geralt, he would hold Jaskier close. Jaskier seemed equally torn, searching Geralt’s face intently. Then—

“Fuck it,” whispered Jaskier. He moved closer and tucked himself against Geralt, settling his head beneath Geralt’s chin. Geralt returned the embrace without hesitation, bringing one hand up to card through Jaskier’s hair and pulling him closer with the other on the small of his back. Their legs tangled together. 

“Thank you,” said Jaskier softly. 

Geralt wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for. He supposed it didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” he said. Whatever Jaskier was grateful for couldn’t possibly be more important than all the reasons Geralt had to thank Jaskier.

Jaskier chuckled and snuggled closer to Geralt. Geralt tucked the blankets more securely around them.

Things were not perfect. There was a long way to go before their relationship was fully repaired. It would be hard work, especially while wading through all the chaos and turmoil of the rest of their lives.

At the moment, though, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to be worried. They were together. They were safe. They had, more or less, reconciled. The first steps towards rebuilding were being made. Tonight, Geralt thought, he could dare to be content.

With Jaskier in his arms, warm and solid and safe, Geralt slept better than he had in months. 

[mistywitcher]

look okay, okay okay, I really enjoyed the new season, I did, so here are my honest thoughts.

•ESKEL ESKEL!!! THE WITCHERS WHAT WHAT WHAT- we were CHEATED when it came to the witchers. I wish they had given lambert a bit more oomph if they were gonna kill off a HIGHLY ANTICIPATED FAN FAVOURITE! not going to lie, I was so excited, so HYPED and I feel like they were rushed. rip eskel and rip eskel’s book character, rip eskel’s game character, and rip to any real feeling of brotherhood

• YENNEFER IS A GIRLBOSS. I loved her this season even more than I already did. She feels like the character who at least in my opinion grew the most. Anya Chalrota is a STUNNING actress, and played her beautifully in every scene. I have NO problems with how they wrote yen this season.

• of course, the bard was fantastic as always, but y’a know I had no worries in the first place. Joey Batey and the writers did a great job of kind of aging jaskier without making him old. Like a slightly more grumpy, but still loveable and clear jaskier. 10/10, I loved the bard and still love the bard.

•GERALT! I love love love the his fatherly tendencies. I love how it was portrayed as well. We really really got to see a softer side this season which I think we all really wanted to see. You can also tell Henry Cavill really loved the character and story, and that passion shows through.

• okay ciri, she was pretty cool. Freya played her very very well, and I loved her slightly more comedic elements, we didn’t get that in season 1 very much. I really enjoyed how we got to see ciri evidently transition from season 1 ciri to season 2 ciri, and it didn’t feel too rushed in my opinion.

•rip roach

• I liked vesemir, I didn’t love vesemir. I felt he was too hasty and harsh in the show. Kim Bodnia is obviously a fantastic actor, but maybe isn’t my favourite casting choice. Still, he was enjoyable to watch a I liked seeing the fatherly moments from him.

• I won’t lie, I didn’t enjoy the (obviously very important) storyline with Francesca, and Fringilla, and Filavandrel, but it got the point across I guess. No shade to the actors at all, they played the characters well, but I found the pacing and writing a little unclear and bumpy around those scenes. As someone who has read the books, and played the games, I got lost here and there. Obviously it all made sense in the end but I found parts hard to latch onto.

• Tissaia killed it! I love this character, and I love how they have adapted her to the show from the books. Myanna is so beautiful and perfectly serene while still being emotional. AND I LOVED IT!

• Istress was good, it moved the story along and provided information clearly when he spoke. I look forward to seeing if him and Geralt meet again and seeing where that goes.

• I HOPE WE SEE MORE YARPIN ZIGRIN! and I hope we get some more Rience and Lydia and Vilgefortz too. GIVE ME THAT BATTLE OF ARETUZA NETFLIX!

•Cahir, my love, my misguided evil man. I really enjoyed the character this season! And I feel like we really did get to see some more sides to him more than just ‘evil man’

• I have so much more I can say but imma end it here coz otherwise I’ll never stop.

now, friends, mutuals, fans of the Witcher, these are just my opinions. I enjoyed the season and I am looking forward to the next one! I wasn’t disappointed :)

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

A Series of Firsts

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst

@kuripon

I wrote you a thing 😘

The biggest of thanks to the most darling @jaskiersvalley for tearing this apart and telling me how to put it back together correctly <3

This was written for The Witcher Bog Mini Exchange! A little exchange we did within our Witcher Discord! (I also forgot the meaning of the word mini and now this is 4k - after I cut out 2 plot points 😬)

So here is some fluffy and soft Geraskier goodness, rated T

-

Geralt sighed as he watched Jaskier trip over another rock in the road. In the daylight. On a clear day. The man really was a disaster, tripping over nothing simply because he just wasn’t paying attention.

Winter was approaching and they had been planning on splitting up at the crossroads ahead, Jaskier to head for Oxenfurt and Geralt to head for Kaer Morhen. Normally, when the two split for winter, they were close enough to Oxenfurt for Geralt to be able to leave the man there, but this year they had been nearly on the other side of the continent.

Geralt wouldn’t be able to get him to Oxenfurt safely and then make it to Kaer Morhen before the pass froze over, though, so they had agreed to split up.

Geralt wasn’t convinced that Jaskier would be able to make it to Oxenfurt by himself.

Sure, the pair had split up over the two or so years that they had been travelling together but typically Geralt left Jaskier in a city where he was relatively protected and could find safe travels with troupes or caravans should he leave for elsewhere. But here, in the middle of the road, Geralt wasn’t feeling overly confident about leaving the bard to his own devices.

He supposed he could escort Jaskier to Oxenfurt, then make his way to Novigrad and winter there, he had friends in the city. The biggest problem was how expensive it was and how few and far between contracts were in the winter months.

Geralt watched as Jaskier wagged a finger at the rock that had tripped him with amusement, still wracking his brain for a good solution to getting the man to Oxenfurt safely. Although, Geralt did suppose there was a chance Jaskier would be willing to travel with him for the winter, to Kaer Morhen. It certainly would be an adventure for the man, and he loved those. And Geralt wouldn’t truly mind the man’s company over the winter. There were a lot of tomes and poetry books which were thought lost to time that were still in the library at Kaer Morhen and Jaskier, always boasting about how much of a learned man he was, would surely love to see them.

Yes, it would be a good solution. Geralt would be able to keep an eye on the man and know he was safe, he would get his company over winter, which was truly no hardship, and Jaskier might find the idea fun. He supposed he could at least suggest it.

Clearing his throat, Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s rant about how rude it was to trip people, “Jaskier, would you like to accompany me this winter?”

Jaskier turned around to face Geralt, his mouth wide and a confused look on his face, “Accompany you?”

“Yes. To Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking rather like a fish, Geralt thought.

“You want… me, to go with you? To your secret witcher keep? For the winter?”

“If you would like to join me, yes.”

Jaskier was staring at Geralt, his blue eyes shining brilliant and bright in the sunlight. He looked confused, not an expression Geralt often associated with Jaskier, the man was rather quick witted, his mind seemed to race on even faster than his mouth sometimes.

But it seemed Geralt had stumped him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t like. I just thought you might like to see the keep. And there are some books in the library that I think you would find interesting.”

“Some books you think I would find interesting?” Jaskier asked, sounding faint.

“Yes.”

Jaskier blinked a few times rapidly, looking around as if trying to find a solution for his obvious confusion before settling his gaze back on Geralt and shrugging, “If you’re offering then, yes. I would love to accompany you.”

Geralt nodded, “Alright then.”

And it was settled.

Jaskier still looked confused.

-

Jaskier felt his mouth open as he stared in awe at the massive keep in front of him. He had been astounded as they reached the gate and then again when they reached another entry way and now, actually facing the keep, he was amazed.

It was absolutely stunning. Crumbling in places, sure. Maybe a bit worse for wear in other places as well, but truly just gorgeous.

“I thought you were cold?”

Fuck. He was, he really was, and he had wanted nothing more than to run inside the keep at the first opportunity and plant himself firmly in the middle of a fire, directly on the coals, but when the stone keep had appeared in front of him, stealing his breath from his lungs, he had forgotten all about the ache of his ears and the fact that his nose had long since gone numb.

But Geralt was right, he needed warmth and soon. He could come back out and stare at the glory of Kaer Morhen later, when he wasn’t about to die from hypothermia and lose a couple toes to frostbite.

When Geralt pushed open the doors of the keep, Jaskier felt the warmth wash over him in a comforting wave and he hurried behind Geralt to hopefully find the source of said heat.

Looking around in amazement, Jaskier’s eyes danced over the beautiful, if dilapidated, tapestries and murals decorating the giant walls of the main hall of the keep. It was glorious. Everywhere Jaskier looked, there was something new to feast his eyes upon, and every time he looked back at somewhere he had already studied, he found new details.

As much hesitance and confusion as he had felt taking Geralt’s offer to join him for winter, Jaskier didn’t regret his decision for a moment. If he hadn’t gotten to see this then… well, he supposed he wouldn’t know what he was missing, but now that he did know, he would never be able to go back. The history of the keep, literally written on the walls, be it in intricate murals or damages from the attacks, were screaming at Jaskier, begging to be immortalized in song. He could see the music dancing through the air as he looked around.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier jumped, looking to where Geralt was staring at him, “Sorry… it’s just… amazing in here! Geralt, why didn’t you tell me how amazing it is?”

Geralt looked around quickly, a frown on his face, “It’s just… home?”

Jaskier felt himself soften at Geralt’s words, “Yes, it is, darling. And I’m very happy to be here. Now, if you could kindly escort me to the fire, I would like to lay down in it.”

Geralt huffed out a small laugh and Jaskier could see the corners of his mouth twitch up, “Come on, it’ll be warmest in the kitchen and you can sit as close to the fire as you dare.”

“Right in the center, then!”

“I don’t know if I’m feeling roast bard for dinner tonight.”

Jaskier laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking as he followed Geralt to the keep. His laughter bounced off the walls, echoing around them.

Geralt had been right, the kitchen, a smaller room right off of the main hall, was certainly warmer, and Jaskier was able to pull a bench right up to the fire where he held his hands and feet dangerously close to the blissful heat.

“You’ll get blisters,” Geralt commented wryly as he shuffled around the kitchen, getting bowls out as he messed with a large pot. It smelled delicious, whatever it was. Jaskier couldn’t quite place it, though it smelled herbal.

Geralt filled the bowls and walked over to sit next to Jaskier on the bench, holding out one for him, “Here, eat this to help warm you.”

Taking the bowl with a grateful smile, Jaskier wasted no time digging in. He had never tasted anything quite like it before. It seemed to be a stew, certainly the heartiest one Jaskier had ever had, filled with venison, potatoes, carrots, and a number of herbs he was certain he had never seen before. It was delicious.

“Mmm, who made this?” He asked between bites.

“Vesemir.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Jaskier kept eating. Geralt didn’t talk much of the other witchers of Kaer Morhen, though he had mentioned them all a few times here and there. Jaskier had always gotten the impression that Vesemir had become something of a caretaker to Geralt, though he wasn’t sure exactly how they related to each other. But Geralt spoke of the other man as if he were a mentor, so Jaskier had always suspected Geralt had learned a lot from him.

If only Geralt would learn to cook a stew like this, Jaskier would never feel the need to spend coin in another tavern for dinner again.

-

The sound of the kitchen door closing startled Jaskier, and he spun around on his bench to see another witcher, grey haired and kind faced, standing just inside the kitchen, staring at Geralt meaningfully. Geralt shrugged.

Golden eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“Hello,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling hesitant, “I’m Jaskier.”

“The bard.” It wasn’t a question. An acknowledgement, more like. Maybe even an accusation, Jaskier couldn’t really tell.

“Ahh, yes. That would be me.”

The man nodded, “I’m Vesemir. Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Oh! You made the stew!”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“It’s delicious!” Jaskier declared, gesturing to his third bowl, “Truly the best stew I’ve ever had. You’ll have to teach me how you do it, Geralt certainly can’t accomplish anything that tastes so good.”

Vesemir approached the table and sat across from Jaskier, both ignoring Geralt’s indignant grunt as the pair began to discuss why Vesemir’s stew was so delicious and why Geralt’s never seemed to measure up.

-

Jaskier laughed loudly, his head thrown back in glee, as Vesemir told another story about the havoc a young Geralt would cause and his subsequent punishments. Jaskier had been nervous to meet the older witcher, worried he wouldn’t be welcomed into the keep despite Geralt’s insistence he would be.

He needn’t have been worried.

Vesemir proved not only to be incredibly inviting but also happy to have a guest, particularly one gifted in music.

“I’ve dallied,” he admitted finally, after a long conversation with Jaskier about the best qualities in lute strings.

Jaskier couldn’t help but grin as he held his lute out to Vesemir, “Go on then, show me what you’ve got!” 

“I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will!” Jaskier gestured to the lute again.

Steady hands gripped the lute, holding it with care, making Jaskier smile, “Alright, play us something!” 

In only a few moments, Vesemir seemed to have fallen back into an old skill as he picked at the lute strings expertly. Jaskier wouldn’t say that the older witcher’s skills were comparable to his own but they were rather better than many other professionals Jaskier could think of.

Like the troubadour of Cidaris, for instance.

The sound of the lute resonated through the kitchen and Jaskier took a moment to appreciate it, appreciate sitting back and enjoying the music instead of being the one to provide it.

An idea popping into his head, Jaskier spun around to look at Geralt where he sat by the fire, watching the other two.

Jaskier held out his hand, beckoning the witcher, “Dance with me?”

“I don’t dance,”

Jaskier scoffed, “Don’t give me that, Geralt. Come on, dance with me!”

Geralt shook his head, “No.”

Whining, Jaskier strode over to Geralt with a pleading expression on his face, “Please, Geralt! I never get to dance, I’m always the one playing. Please, please, please.”

“Will it shut you up?”

“Never!” Jaskier smiled brilliantly as he threaded his fingers through Geralt’s and tugged, urging the witcher to join him.

And Geralt, much to Jaskier’s utter delight, did so.

“Now I’m sure you aren’t overly practiced in the art of dance, but you can’t be too terribly bad at it.”

“I wouldn’t know, never done it.”

“Never… wait you’ve never danced? Any dance? Ever?”

“No. Who would want to dance with me?”

“Well I certainly do.” Jaskier felt an indignant anger swell up inside of him, angry at the world all of a sudden, bitter that it would treat such an amazing man so poorly.

“You’re strange and have no self preservation. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Spluttering, Jaskier floundered for a moment, shocked at the accusation, but just before he could start ranting, Vesemir switched tunes, playing something lively and good for dancing.

Choosing to ignore Geralt’s slight at him, for now, he grabbed Geralt firmly by the waist and maneuvered him into position, “Just do what I do, my dearest witcher, and you’ll be a dancer in no time.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but still went along with it, his fondness for Jaskier showing in his eyes, his every movement. It warmed Jaskier through far better than the fire and stew had. It was a simmering warmth Jaskier felt every time the witcher proved his affections. Proved they truly were friends.

Geralt never did so with words but actions, as they say, speak much louder than words and Geralt was certainly a man of action.

Unable to believe his luck, Jaskier sent off silent prayer to Melitele. He felt a thrill run through him as he gripped Geralt by the waist. Geralt in his arms was truly a dream he had never thought would come true. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that this was more that it was, that Geralt felt the same as he did, but he would still enjoy the friendly embrace, he would give himself that.

Jaskier had, of course, been right. As he led Geralt through the steps, the witcher picked them up quickly, his training in footwork for fighting translating perfectly to dancing.

And, if you were to ask Jaskier, he would say Geralt’s first dance went rather well.

As the song came to a close, Jaskier took a chance, swinging Geralt around and dipping him. The only sign of surprise Jaskier could see was a slight widening of Geralt’s eyes, but he still allowed him to do as he pleased, pulling him up out of the dip, cradled close in Jaskier’s arms.

And then they were kissing.

Jaskier wasn’t sure who moved first, though it must have been him, surely. All he knew for certain was that their mouths were pressed together, open in a filthy kiss, and then the warmth of the witcher was gone.

Jaskier watched, a forlorn feeling settling over him, as Geralt strode swiftly from the kitchen, the door slamming behind him.

Turning slowly, Jaskier looked to Vesemir, who merely quirked an amused eyebrow.

Jaskier groaned, “Bollocks.”

-

Jaskier should sit, really. With the way he was pacing, he would wear a hole into the bearskin rug thrown on the floor of Geralt’s room. He should sit in a chair by the fire that Vesemir had politely started for him after showing him the way to Geralt’s room. He should curl up and do some writing or reading or anything to keep his mind occupied, distracted.

All he could think about was the kiss.

Jaskier still wasn’t sure what happened, how it started, but it was truly everything he had hoped for, for… far too long. And the more he thought about it, focused on the moment, the less confident he was that he had attacked Geralt with his mouth and the more he wondered if it hadn’t been mutual. Geralt had certainly pressed them together even tighter as if it had been.

But was he overthinking it? Was he putting emotions where there should be none. Creating something that didn’t exist. Was he simply projecting his desires where they were unwanted?

Maybe he would know the answer if Geralt hadn’t run off. Like he did every time something serious happened.

Jaskier knew, had known from very early on, that Geralt struggled with processing his emotions. He wasn't sure if it was an issue of how Geralt was raised or perhaps hearing a life time of hateful people saying he had no emotions or if the mutagens he was subjected to really did affect his emotions in some way, or maybe some combination therein, but he did know that Geralt struggled. And that was okay, truly. Jaskier didn’t mind. He saw the way Geralt put in the effort to communicate with him, though it wasn’t ever really with his words. But he did put in the effort and that’s what Jaskier had always focused on.

Now, though, he was rather frustrated. If Geralt would just stay when things got tense, take a moment to calm down and then use his words, then maybe things would be easier on the both of them.

Maybe-

Maybe Jaskier wouldn’t trip on the edge of a bearskin rug and knock his head against a table.

Groaning, Jaskier sat up slowly and cradled his head in his hands. He could already feel a bump forming, the spot throbbing dully. Of course he would manage to hurt himself when he was getting all fired up, ready to confront Geralt.

And of course that would be the moment Geralt decided to walk in the room.

“Jaskier?” Geralt rushed over to Jaskier’s seated position, kneeling on the ground beside him.

A gentle hand pulled Jaskier’s away from his head and Jaskier whimpered as it was exposed to the air of the room.

“Jaskier are you okay? How do you feel?”

Jaskier winced, taking stock of his injuries. His knee felt rather bruised and his arm certainly ached some but it seemed that his head had taken the brunt of the damage. “I think I’m alright.”

Geralt made a tutting noise, one Jaskier had only heard him use when something was wrong with Roach. Any anger that he might still have held left him with that single small noise. He knew Geralt cared about him, he knew that without a singular doubt, so really there was no point in getting angry. He just needed Geralt to talk to him.

Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes, the concern reflected in the brilliant amber nearly overwhelming. “I’m okay,” he said, taking hold of Geralt’s hand, “thank you for being concerned. Can we talk?”

Furrowing his brow, Geralt disregarded the question, “Are you sure you’re okay? I should get something to put on your forehead.”

Shaking his head slowly, trying not to make it ache worse, Jaskier broached the subject again “It can wait. But we should talk.”

Geralt nodded, a resolute look on his face.

-

Geralt should have known that this would be a bad idea, inviting the bard to winter with him. Sure, it was an excellent way to keep an eye on him, make sure he was safe and sound, but it put Geralt at risk of revealing feelings, both to himself and Jaskier, that he would rather keep locked away.

He thought his heart would burst from his chest when he saw the amazement shining in Jaskier’s eyes as he took in Geralt’s home. He had pleased him, given Jaskier that coveted thrill of wonderment he always spoke so highly of. And then Jaskier had laughed, bright and loud, the sound echoing through the main hall of the keep. Geralt would never be able to get that sound out of his head. It warmed him, made his stomach flip and flop in strange ways.

It was terrifying.

Throughout supper, watching Jaskier get comfortable in his home, watching him and Vesemir bond, Geralt couldn’t help but let his thoughts stray. It wasn’t something meant to be, Geralt knew that, knew he wasn’t destined to spend his life alongside someone, to have a family outside of his fellow witchers. It was a miracle he had managed to travel with Jaskier and enjoy his company for as long as he had.

No one really wanted to spend their time with a witcher. No one except one really strange, clingy, chatty, loud mouthed bard. Whom Geralt loved.

Fuck.

He knew better than to admit this, admitting it made it real, gave him thoughts best left alone. Geralt did his best to lock down the feelings as Jaskier offered Vesemir his lute. Steeling his will, Geralt did he best to be resolute in his decision, determined to stay strong and never admit this weakness. And then Jaskier turned to him, eyes wide and pleading, and asked him to dance. That one look, that simple request, was all it took to break him.

Next thing he knew he was spinning around, held in Jaskier’s arms, in his home, and he felt content. Safe.

It was too much and not enough and then they were kissing. Geralt wasn’t sure who started it, but he did know he leaned in greedily, clutching at Jaskier tightly, unwilling to let him go. But he wasn’t allowed this. His life, his destiny, would never allow this happiness. This moment would turn sour with time. Even if Jaskier did want it now, he wouldn’t forever. He would grow tired of the witcher’s life, grow tired of the Path, grow old and weary of Geralt’s wandering ways.

He couldn’t have this.

So, he ran.

It maybe wasn’t the most responsible decision, and maybe it would do more damage, but it could be no worse than staying. Staying and looking into Jaskier’s eyes again and crumbling even more, falling hopelessly headfirst into the love he knew he felt.

That he knew he shouldn’t feel.

He left the keep and the courtyard behind, climbing up to the old bastion, jumping up on its now crumbling walls, ignoring the wail of the ghosts below. And there he sat, staring into the distance, slowly growing colder and colder, and the whole time all he could think of was Jaskier.

Geralt had never needed. He never wanted for anything. He never yearned.

And yet…

Jaskier’s eyes and his smile and the way he strummed his lute thoughtfully when composing and the way he danced around carefree and happy whenever given the opportunity and the way he worried endlessly over every injury Geralt may face, from mundane scratches to gaping wounds.

Geralt loved him. Had loved him for some time. And now, in his home, where he felt safest, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from Jaskier and not from himself.

Fuck.

-

He knew Jaskier was waiting for him, he could smell his scent, chamomile and honey, coming from his room. He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat. Faster than it should be.

Speeding his strides, Geralt threw open the door to his room to see Jaskier slumped over on the ground, his hands clutching at his head, his face screwed up in pain. Geralt could feel a lump in his throat, the worry he felt for Jaskier instant and overwhelming. He rushed to the bard’s side, taking Jaskier’s hand in his as he inspected the knot forming on his head.

And Jaskier insisted he was fine, deflecting the injury and instead asking Geralt if they could talk.

Geralt knew they needed to. They probably should have had this discussion, and many others, a long, long time ago. But Geralt didn’t like talking and Jaskier had always humored him.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have. Not like that. I should have made sure you were interested first.”

“Jask-”

“No, let me say this, Geralt. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time now, I’m sure you know that. I’ve not kept my attraction to you a secret for some time now.”

Geralt… hadn’t known. Jaskier flirted with him, of course, he flirted with everyone. Geralt had never thought much of it.

“But I think there’s more to this than me being… over excited and kissing you when I shouldn’t have. I think we need to discuss our feelings for each other.”

“I agree.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he winced slightly. “Well… in that case, shall I start?”

Geralt nodded.

“Alright then, Geralt, I love you. I love you dearly. With every bit of me. And I want to spend the rest of my life travelling with you.”

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. “I love you, too, Jaskier.”

“You do?” Jaskier asked softly.

Geralt smiled, cupping Jaskier’s cheek, “I’ve never said that to someone before. I’ve never wanted to until now.”

“I’ve never meant it, not until now.”

[jaskiersvalley]

Could you do some witchers brothers and hurt/comfort please? Maybe with vesemir or jaskier. I love your blog (sorry for my English it's not my mother tongue) and I really enjoy each ficlet you post. Take care and thank you! :)

Nonnie, fear not about your English, it is perfect. As one non-native English speaker to another, I think it’s fantastic we have this common language to communicate in!

Every winter all wolf Witchers returned to Kaer Morhen whether they wanted to or not. Some years Jaskier could have sworn Geralt was silently pleading with him to be given an excuse not to return but the one time Jaskier actually asked Geralt to stay, he was given a small, almost remorseful shake of head. It took another couple of years before Jaskier tried again.

“I have to go back to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said, staring into his empty bowl at the tavern. They were due to go their separate ways from there and, as time went on, they left later and later just to have a few more hours or a day in each other’s company.

“Then let me come with you.”

The request from Jaskier had Geralt blinking, as startled as a Witcher ever got. He seemed reluctant in a way that Jaskier hadn’t actually seen before.

“You won’t like it.” The problem was, it didn’t even sound like an excuse. “There’s not much to do.”

That was something Jaskier wanted to judge for himself. Plus, he could think of ways of spending a whole winter if Geralt was amenable. So he smiled.

“I don’t mind. I’d rather spend months with you in your company, doing nothing but staring lovingly into your eyes than a winter without you by my side.”

It took a bit of convincing, Geralt’s resistance and resolve wasn’t all that strong to start with. Jaskier could see him at war with himself over the matter, all he did was help settle it. He was going to Kaer Morhen.

The climb up was exhausting. It was cold, the kind that signalled that snow was going to fall all too soon. Jaskier just had to hope they would make it before it properly started coming down. They didn’t.

By the time they got to the old keep, snow was clumped on Jaskier’s shoulders and hood, even the hair that stuck out from under it was like an icicle on his forehead. Opening the door, Geralt led them through and Jaskier almost whined in disappointment. There was no wall of warmth to walk into, no greeting from other Witchers. In fact, it was cold and barren, not even a torch on to light the way. Only a hand on Jaskier’s arm helped guide him through the corridors until they got to a door. Geralt thumped on it twice before opening it the smallest crack and slipping though, dragging Jaskier along before closing the door again.

The room was likely a smaller dining hall attached to the kitchen once upon a time. Not the grandiose halls Jaskier had dreamed of. However, the walls were all lined with fur, the floor piled high with it and there was a roaring fire to bring light and heat to the room.

“You brought company.” There were three figures in front of the fire now that Jaskier looked, all of them in a pile, looking rather cosy. He had no idea who had spoken.

“Hello, I’m Jaskier, the renowned bard.” Introductions were always polite.

“Don’t care.” That had to be Lambert talking. “Just dump your stuff and get in here.”

Quite the upfront invite and Jaskier glanced to Geralt to assess his reaction. However, Geralt had already started stripping, his snow coated cloak was hung on the back of a chair while everything else went clattering. Taking his lead, Jaskier did the same. It was only when they were down to their smalls that Geralt stopped and stepped towards the pile. He slipped in and gestured for Jaskier to follow too. Under the furs, it was surprisingly warm and, tired from the trek, Jaskier couldn’t really blame himself for falling asleep.

For the first few days Jaskier relished the quiet, relaxed atmosphere and the fact that there was nothing to do other than rest. Sure, it was a little weird to lounge around sharing body heat but maybe it was a wolf thing. However, by the third day he was getting a bit bored.

“When do you start training? Or doing anything?”

“I told you-” Geralt replied, “-there isn’t much to do.”

Not much didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to do, at least, that’s not how Jaskier interpreted it. He was proven wrong by the end of the first week. They had done nothing other than sleep, eat and huddle under the pile of furs. Going out to relieve himself was a special kind of torture, it was so cold, Jaskier was surprised he didn’t just piss icicles.

After the first week it seemed that the others lost some of their hesitance around him. It was early one morning when Jaskier woke up to noises he was no stranger to but didn’t expect to hear so close. In the far corner of the room, Lambert was above Eskel, fucking into him without a care for their audience.

“If you keep staring you’ll be invited to join in,” Geralt grumbled from under the pile of furs behind Jaskier. On his other side Vesemir muttered something darkly before settling back down.

“Do they want an audience? Isn’t this a bit weird?”

Geralt shrugged at the questions. “We’ve got needs, nothing we haven’t all seen or done before. Just ignore them, they’ll be done soon.”

Jaskier supposed he ought to be grateful the two had taken themselves to the other side of the room as least. It didn’t mean he still wasn’t treated to a full show filed with soft grunts and what sounded dangerously like murmurs of love declarations. The kissing sure helped drive that one home. Resolve hardening, Jaskier determined he wouldn’t put on such a show for everyone else.

“We could go somewhere more private,” he propositioned Geralt. It was quite the matter of need now, he hadn’t even had the privacy to jerk off. His balls were starting to ache.

“Where? It’s too cold anywhere else.”

Which was true enough. Jaskier had tried to think of anywhere they could go for a fumble without an audience. The stables were his best idea but Geralt snorted dismissively.

“Not in front of Roach.”

The determination to find somewhere, anywhere else lasted all of three more days before Jaskier caved in. He all but dragged Geralt to the most distant corner and demanded he be ravished. It was so good, he could even forget the three other Witchers in the room. They didn’t forget him though and, over the course of the week, Jaskier found himself propositioned by all other residents of Kaer Morhen. When he asked Geralt, he got a shrug in return. “Do what you please. I don’t mind sharing as long as you know I still love you.”

After that, winter seeed somewhat more bearable. Jaskier loved to learn what made the other Witchers moan and squirm. It was like discovering a whole new book to memorise and refine. Lambert liked his hair being pulled, Eskel preferred soft kisses while Vesemir would rumbled the filthiest things in Jaskier’s ear. In short, Jaskier was thoroughly entertained. There was still one thing on his mind though.

“Why do you even come back?”

They were sat around the fire, eating. The silence and shifty looks didn’t really help.

“It’s impossible to survive a winter up here alone,” Geralt began.

Much more kindly, Eskel took over. “Vesemir doesn’t go out on the Path anymore. He keeps as much of Kaer Morhen in one piece as he can and prepares stores for each winter.”

So it was a matter of duty. Jaskier couldn’t imagine how awful it would be alone up in the old, crumbling keep. Even worse, a winter alone.

“The whole keep is nothing but holes and crumbling stone. We can’t keep it warm over winter, no matter how much we fuel the fires,” Lambert interrupted his thoughts. “So we heat one room, next to the kitchen. Sorted for food, we keep each other warm. Guests are always welcome though few ever would want to winter with us like this.”

“Just bring your damn cat next time,” Vesemir cut in with an eye roll. “I can hear you telling Eskel about him almost every day.”

Jaskier listened, pondering over everything he heard. By the sounds of it, the Wolves returned to Kaer Morhen out of a sense of duty, to keep Vesemir alive through the winter. It was noble but also stupid as fuck.

“Come spend winter with me in Oxenfurt next year.” The offer was made without much consideration. It seemed obvious to him. “I could probably even get you a couple of hours of work a week, teaching history and the like to students.”

No more worries about freezing to death, no more obligations to each other. Jaskier liked the idea of his free Witchers hanging around because they wanted to rather than had to. It would mean the opportunity to train during the winter, resting too if they wanted to. Plus, if they wanted to bring guests, there was more to do than just lounge around and fuck. Though they could still do that, Jaskier was very much into the idea of that. But next time, next winter, there would be beds and privacy for whenever they wanted it.

[itsrainingfeathers]

So......I watched s2 of Netflix Witcher. It wasn't great, but not absolutely horrible either. No clue what the writers were high on, but I want a hit of that stuff. Incredible bullshit, this season.

Here's some things I liked about it:

- How they adapted the plot of A Grain of Truth with Ciri thrown in the mix, and how she and Geralt just walked away from Nivellen in the end. A very powerful scene.

- Vereena!! She is one of my favorite characters in the books even tho she doesn't do that much, so it was really nice to see her in the series, too. I liked the few extra moments they gave her, and the chittering sounds, and all the non-human things. (Though her watching Ciri in the bath was a bit creepy-crawly, even if it was likely purely out of curiosity)

- I hate book!Yennefer so much and didn't like her in s1 either, but now she wasn't completely horrible??? unbelievable

- her interactions with Jaskier and Cahir were the best

- Francesca Findabair/Enid an Gleanna is in the books considered the most beautiful woman in the world, and she's absolutely gorgeous in the show, too

- Burn Butcher Burn slaps so hard (and Whoreson Prison Blues, too)

- Jaskier's mouse friends!!

- "The Aard incident" yes please tell me more about small witcherling Geralt's shenanigans

- "Ciri, this is my...dear friend." "Dear friend?" PLEASE (Yennefer's 'dear friend'-letter in Blood of the Elves is the funniest thing)

- ah yes, Yennefer's stuffed unicorn that broke under mysterious circumstances (she and Geralt banged on it in Sword of Destiny or Blood of the Elves)

- Nenneke my beloved (though she couldn't do magic in the books)

- I'm glad they included some smaller side characters (like Jarre, Rience's homies, Codringher & Fenn and the cat)

- Very much queercoded Jaskier (talking about the "artist"-scene here)

- and he has a hat now!! And a very nice coat

- Buffskier enjoyers were clearly onto something. How are you feeling?

- Yennefer's outfits were gorgeous

- Coën's eyes looked really cool (the potions affecting only one of them)

- the Temple of Melitele looked exactly like I imagined it in the books! And it had that cozy welcoming warm atmosphere

- Tissaia de Vries in what I think were night clothes? Anyway she looked lovely

- Bard in Kaer Morhen!! (if only Eskel were there...)

- Those shots of Yennefer with the sword on her throat were gorgeous

- and there were some decent interactions between her and Geralt?? I deeply dislike the relationship bc at least in the books Yen is abusive towards him (and, as we all saw, it's not great in the show either), but the scenes at the temple were even enjoyable.

- the "basilisks" were a bit too velociraptor-indoraptor-like, but their design was still great!!

- Dijkstra and dear Phil!

- I'm glad they brought Dara back

And here's some things I didn't like:

- Eskel. They really massacred my boy in every possible way.

- Ciri. What have they done to her. She had some scenes I liked (like her talk with Jarre), but it was mostly bad (for example, when she and Yennefer portalled to the farm from the temple). Like I've said before, a bland ass sack of flour.

- Book Cahir is so much better too. Really hoping they'll steer him more into that direction in s3. (And Eamon Farren looks a lot like this Finnish singer-actor-sex offender Roope Salminen so it's a bit difficult to take the character seriously. Not his fault ofc, this is just a me problem)

- Why were there so many witchers? Were all of them from Wolf School? Way too many witchers. Way. Too. Many. At least they died.

- The previous one had (except for Coën ofc) there but I removed it bc they made him into a Wolf Witcher. He is a fucking Griffin. Not. A. Wolf.

- Could've used any of those unnamed guys and dudes for the Groot storyline instead of darling Eskel

- watching the scenes with Triss at Kaer Morhen and imagining what it could've been like with good, gentle and kind Eskel there...I need to reread Blood of the Elves or something.

- "yeah Ciri Kaer Morhen is very secret place" and moments later Creepskel has brought some friends for a party

- Geralt's ridiculous fucking tiddy armor. (Though I think he made it himself? Ngl kinda iconic. And it looked good from certain angles, but mostly just...no)

- s1 main theme (Geralt of Rivia) was so thoroughly badass. Awe-inspiring. Magnificent. S2 main theme? I can't even remember the melody.

- Them using African violets for Feainnewedds shouldn't maybe bother me this much, but it does.

- How on Earth did Ciri manage to surprise and kill not one, but two Witchers in their sleep??? People who have enhanced senses and likely don't sleep too deeply due to nightmares, paranoia and such????? What

- and how come those basilisks beat the shit out of and killed a group of Witchers, but Geralt manages to kill the biggest, baddest one without too much of a trouble?? And without potions????? Make it make sense

- Geralt in full-on parent mode is the best Geralt, but am I the only one that found the relationship between him and Ciri a bit...empty? Lacking something?? I don't know how else to say it, it just felt weird (not creepy, that's not what i mean) like that

- That Baba Yaga motherfucker. What.

- The entire season seemed to lack depth in some way.

- The plot had some good things in it (like Jaskier and Yennefer's interactions, Temple of Melitele until Rience arrived, Dijkstra and dear Phil, Roach number 387's very emotional death), but other than that, it just felt off and I really didn't like it. I wasn't that interested in it and mostly watched it to pass time, out of curiosity, for the bard, and to know what the fandom was talking about.

So, as one Joey Batey once said:

Seriously, if you can stand occasional monologues and being introduced to so many new characters at once (especially in the short stories), they're so much better. Though I do think I would've liked the show much more had I not read the books (not all of them yet tho, still got 3 more to go). Oh well.

Even though I didn't like this season that much, I'm sort of excited to see what happens in s3?? Yennefer teaching Ciri magic, Jaskier's spy stuff, possibly the Scoia'tael, Cahir and Fringilla's fate...let's see how badly they fuck up those, shall we!

[amber-angel]

Do an analysis on your fave muppet man

Rori I need you to know that I saw this and shot straight up, sucking in a huge breath with the BIGGEST adrenaline spike I've had in days. I could literally talk about Jaskier for HOURS, and have to constantly reel myself in so I hope you know what you've unleashed.

Overall opinion: is it bad if my most prevalent opinion on him is just that he's a massive slut? Because that's the first thing that comes to mind whenever I look at him. I think he's severely underutilized, but I also understand why, like, from a management perspective, they don't want their most charismatic character taking up all the screen time. I mean, I'm only watching the show for him at this point anyway, can you imagine how much worse it would be if he was a main? Also I'm just like... fucking in love with the concept of him at this point? I mean his name is Dandelion. His nickname is Buttercup. He's a bard. People call him lark in fics. I was fucking gone as soon as I heard the bread line, but it only got worse from there

One virtue: okay, I like to insult my floppy little muppet boy (with fondness) but I really do think he's an interesting character. Reading about how they changed him from the book to the screen to fit a retelling for a more modern audience, I think it was clever that Lauren (writer) decided to pull away from Dandelion as a womanizer and instead write him like a loving puppy of a man. He's layered. He's sweet and kind, but also will stab a bastard. He's empathetic and willing to sympathize, but at the same time totally down for wishing a slow death upon his enemies. And I know that his overprotectiveness of Geralt is mostly romanticized fanon, but you cannot tell me that he wouldn't jump over a counter to punch anyone who insults his best friend.

One flaw: most of the problems that I have with Jaskier, much like the problems I have with the other characters, are not actually about the character themselves, but with the way their arcs were written, or the way character development just didn't happen. Jaskier is so neglected by the writers that a lot of his growth happens off screen. It has to, or he would just be totally stagnant. And so somewhere between his last scene in the first season and his first appearance in the second, he's turned into this serious rebel spy person, but the writers are still trying to portray him as "goofy old Jaskier! haha, he's funny!" but they're doing this while he's trying to help people escape from certain death, or after he's just been rescued from fucking torture, and it ends up giving you a bit of whiplash and wondering is there any consistency here?

Favorite moment: can't be from his arc because (AHEM) what arc?? But. I am so in love with the conversation he had with Yennefer, where they actually let him be serious and connect with her in a way that s1 Jaskier would never have done. I love love love when they let him show his compassionate side, because it's there! He cares about people so much!! And let's be honest, Anya and Joey worked so well together, I know, I know that they're never going to make Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier canon, but if they didddd it would work so wellllll

Least favorite: GOD everything about him reuniting with Geralt/being in Kaer Morhen. Big boy just walks in there with his sad eyes and nipple armor and with absolutely no meaningful apology Jaskier just forgives him?? Honey! There are hundreds of people out there who would treat you better. Yennefer being one! Anyway, then, even though Geralt claims he "needs" him, Jaskier doesn't actually end up doing anything? He's just kind of there, I think because the writers knew that they needed to put him in that season or they would lose half their fan base. He's only ever acknowledged when he's being made fun of or pushed away, and I'm tired of it.

One relationship: well, we only really see him interact in any meaningful way with Geralt or Yennefer, but I prefer Yennefer. Like, they basically have nothing in common, but they still mesh so well, and even though I know their friendship won't be explored any more (because it reads as so genuine that Geralt/Yennefer feels like stone in comparison) it would be so cool to see them move past their initial dislike and become actual friends, maybe help each other heal from the MULTIPLE traumas

Relationship to explore: I want to see how Jaskier interacts with Ciri. I want to see it so bad. She's a child and he's a bard, can we not get him singing her a fun little song and letting her have some fun for once? Let him sing her a Cintran ballad and help her process and maybe mourn the things she's lost!! He is JUST as important as your other leads, so let him be a part of the family damn it! And let him be a father figure (or at the very least a weird uncle) to Ciri

What I would have liked to see: I think I've already said it, whoops, but really I would settle for seeing more of him. Jaskier is so good, but the show barely seems to care about him, like they don't realize that they've stumbled onto the best thing they're ever gonna have! Let my pathetic whore of a man have more screen time! Let him into the family! And maybe next time you think about using him for sex appeal don't force poor Joey Batey to do that fucking shit that male actors do to enhance their abs, that fucking dehydration shit? And don't make him shave, wtf, don't add on to our bullshit beauty standards.

[valdomarx]

*Ahem* don't know if you write prompts or not, but think of this: Jaskier is coming with Geralt to Kaer Morhen, both of them still not in anything romantic/sexual. But it's not Jaskier who's adored and loved by everyone. It's Geralt, their favourite winter bitch. Jaskier stumbles across him being fucked by Lambert, and Geralt comes, looking into his eyes; sees him sucking Eskel off in his bedroom. He had no idea Geralt can be so relaxed and slutty. In the end, they all have some hot group sex.

Anon, you’re a genius. I present to you the Geralt is the slut of Kaer Morhen fic we all secretly wanted.

Jaskier has been waiting months for this, to see the famous Kaer Morhen for himself, to talk with the other witchers Geralt trained with and to hear their stories. He couldn’t believe his luck when Geralt actually agreed to bring him here for the winter, despite the fact Geralt barely seems to tolerate his presence even after all these years.

Walking through the great gate to the crumbling castle takes his breath away, the sad state of the deteriorating walls somehow an apt metaphor for the strong but underappreciated men who live here. And meeting the other witchers is a revelation, each of them throwing Geralt’s character into sharp relief in the way that seeing someone among their very old friends inevitably does.

–

The castle is as homey as one could hope for from a tumbledown ruin, and the witchers have taken care to provide Jaskier with what he might need. Despite their reputation for brutality, they are clearly considerate hosts. The room he is shown to on his first night has a spacious bed, a bowl and a pitcher of water for washing, and even a little tray with some dried fruit on it.

What it is lacking, however, is more than one thin blanket. Witchers don’t feel the cold the way humans do, it seems, and Jaskier lasts bare minutes in bed before he decides that if he doesn’t find something warm to sleep in, he might actually freeze to death before morning.

He does his best to navigate through the twisty corridors and crumbling staircases to Geralt’s room, hoping to beg a spare blanket. But as he approaches the room, he stops short when he hears something unexpected.

The door is cracked enough for him to hear wet slaps and a throaty groan, and Jaskier is not restrained enough to avoid taking a peek. Glancing through the narrow opening, he sees Geralt on his knees, face pressed into Eskel’s crotch, who has his hands twined into white hair and is thrusting down Geralt’s throat.

“Oh, you feel so good, I’ve missed your mouth,” Eskel is panting, and Geralt lets out a high pitched whine which Jaskier has never heard from him before. “Sucking me off so well.”

Jaskier’s pulse races. This is not a side of Geralt he’s ever seen before. Before now, it’s been rushed and infrequent stops at brothels, Geralt disappearing with the occasional adventurous girl in the larger towns. Not this, Geralt pliant and tactile, taking cock down his throat like he’s done it a thousand times.

There’s a thrill of temptation to stay and watch some more, as fucked up as that is. But Jaskier knows how Geralt values his privacy, so he forces himself to turn around and go back to his room.

Once he’s back in bed, the thought of Geralt on his knees keeps him plenty warm.

–

In the morning, Jaskier carefully and deliberately slots the “Geralt and Eskel are fucking” knowledge away and out of his conscious mind, and makes an effort to get to know his hosts. They’re prickly and a little distant, all of them, but if Jaskier can handle that from Geralt he can handle it from these Wolves as well.

He uses his most charming smile to tease a story about fighting a striga out of Eskel, then helps Vesemir prepare and pickle the last of the fresh vegetables to see them through the cold months.

When he heads to bed that night, he swears he doesn’t walk past Geralt’s room on purpose. It happens to be on the route between the kitchen and his room, so it can hardly be avoided. He does, admittedly, slow just a little as he walks past Geralt’s door, left ajar once again.

But this time, he doesn’t hear the deep, scratchy voice of Eskel. This time, it’s Coen’s sinuous tones carrying down the corridor.

And, look, Jaskier never claimed to be a morally upstanding person, okay? And, well, he’s curious. He’s getting a whole new view of his friend. So he takes a peek through the gap in the door.

Geralt is stripped mostly naked and pressed face-first against the wall, with Coen behind him. Jaskier can see by the flick of Coen’s wrist and the way Geralt is practically humping the wall that he has at least two fingers inside him.

“That’s it, good boy,” Coen is saying, voice low. “Gonna open you up nice and loose before I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes, I want it, want your cock,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier nearly fucking passes out. He had no idea Geralt could be so… vocal.

He retreats to his room at a clip, and if when he’s in bed he shoves a hand beneath the covers while thinking about the sounds Geralt makes when he’s needy to get fucked, then no one needs to know about that, do they?

–

Jaskier spends the next day very much not thinking about Geralt’s sexual proclivities, thank you very much, and remains focused on ingratiating himself with the Wolves by helping patch up some of the damaged exterior walls. It’s hard, physical work, and by the end of the day his hands are cracked and bleeding, but he’s determined to prove that he can be useful.

Geralt catches his eye at one point and gives him a strange look.

“Do I have cement on my face?” Jaskier asks.

“No,” Geralt says, “you were just looking at me like…” He blows out a breath. “Never mind.”

Shit. Jaskier resolves to be more circumspect in future. He’s going to have to be if he’s going to last the winter here.

Of course, he’s circumspect to a point, but he still has to walk down the corridor past Geralt’s room that evening, his pulse picking up before he even gets close.

This time, the door is wide open, without even a hint of propriety. When Jaskier walks past, there’s absolutely no way he can avoid seeing Geralt naked on all fours on the bed, Lambert behind him using a handful of long hair to yank his head back.

“That’s it, moan for me like the slut you are,” Lambert hisses, slamming into Geralt with deep, hard thrusts. “You know you fucking want it.”

Geralt’s massive shoulders flex and sweat drips down his brow, and he moans in the most filthy way. His eyes are scrunched shut, but when Jaskier’s breath hitches Geralt’s eyes fly open, looking straight at him through the doorway.

Jaskier panics, because even if Geralt having noisy sex with the door open is a bit rich, that still doesn’t excuse his gawping.

But Geralt doesn’t look angry. In fact, he stares at Jaskier in a manner that can only be described as hungry. Jaskier’s heart pounds.

Behind Geralt, Lambert doesn’t let up. He does throw a smirk Jaskier’s way though. “Enjoying the show?” he drawls.

“I…” For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaskier is at a loss for words. “Erm.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from Geralt, the way his face is slack with pleasure and his cock hangs huge and heavy between his legs. He’s dribbling seed onto the bed and it might be the most obscene and compelling thing Jaskier has ever seen.

“Best ride this side of the Pontar,” Lambert says, letting go of Geralt’s hair to smack him on the arse. He catches Jaskier’s eye with a devilish grin. “Maybe you ought to have a go at him when I’m done.”

Geralt makes a reedy, whiny noise and comes, messily, spending himself over the bed and staring at Jaskier all the while.

Jaskier gasps. He blushes. Then he turns and runs back to his room as fast as his legs will carry him.

–

The day after that, Jaskier hides out in the library, fussing over the books without reading any of them. He can’t get the image of Geralt being fucked out of his head, and he can’t imagine what the hell Geralt had been thinking leaving the door open like that. Almost like he wanted to be seen. The idea makes Jaskier’s skin prickle.

Vesemir finds him in the library at midday, nodding politely and settling himself in an alcove to read a massive dusty tome on beast classification. Jaskier can’t sit still, worrying his lip between his teeth, wanting to ask for advice but unsure how to proceed.

“Out with it,” Vesemir says after a while, snapping his book shut. “Whatever you want to ask me.”

Oh. He is perceptive. “It’s, ahh, it’s about Geralt.”

Vesemir sighs. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing important. I just never realised he was so, umm, popular with the other Wolves.”

“You mean the fact he’s fucking all of them?”

Jaskier swallows wrong and coughs.

“Geralt has a lot of affection to give,” Vesemir says with a shrug. “Though gods know it’s hard to tell from that sour expression that’s always on his face.”

Jaskier fidgets. “And are you and he, you know… ?”

“No, little bard. He’s like a son to me.”

Jaskier lets out a breath. Thank the gods. He want sure he’d have been able to cope with that.

“Guess it’s just you and me being left out then,” he jokes.

Vesemir snorts. “Mmm. I’m sure.”

Jaskier has no idea what to make of that.

–

Jaskier dithers about returning to his room that night. It’s not that he’s been avoiding Geralt, not exactly. It’s just that he’s not quite sure what to say to him so he’s arranged for himself to be elsewhere.

What do you say to your best friend when you’ve watched him being fucked and you both clearly enjoyed it?

Maybe it won’t be a problem. Maybe now Geralt has had three witchers on three consecutive nights he’ll be sated.

That doesn’t seem very likely. Jaskier catches himself hoping it’s not.

Eventually he caves, heading to his room through the drafty corridors and down the crumbling steps, his hands sweating as he approaches Geralt’s room.

This time, it’s quiet. No panting or whispered words or sounds of carnal activity. That’s the tiniest bit disappointing, if he’s honest.

The door is open though, candlelight spilling out onto the floor. He looks in as he passes and Geralt is lounging on his bed, wearing a loose shirt which for some godsforsaken reason is unbuttoned all the way down, and a pair of trousers tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Jaskier inhales sharply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt looks up, smiling coyly, and that’s an unnerving expression to see on his face. “I was hoping you’d pass by.”

“Oh? Right. Yes, well, here I am. And here you are. Though I see you’re, ahh, alone tonight.”

“Not any more. Not now you’re here.” Geralt’s eyes looks almost black in the flickering light.

“I suppose that’s technically true…”

“Did you like watching?” Geralt asks it so casually, like he’s discussing Jaskier’s wine preferences. “Last night, and the nights before?”

Jaskier swallows. He can’t very well deny it. “Yeah. I liked it.”

Geralt smirks. “I thought so. You want to watch again? Or, better yet, join in this time?”

It hadn’t even occurred to Jaskier that joining in could be an option. An image flashes through his mind: Geralt bend over, spreading himself for him, making those delicious noises as Jaskier warms him up. He feels light headed as all the blood in his body rushes southward. “You’d… like that?”

Geralt cups himself through his trousers, stroking the outline of his hardening cock through the fabric and making sure Jaskier sees what he’s doing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Jaskier is still standing in the doorway like an idiot when he hears footsteps and raucous laughter echoing down the corridor.

Eskel, Lambert and Coen come barreling toward Geralt’s room and Lambert gives him a wink. “Back again?” he asks Jaskier. “We were hoping you’d return.”

Coen claps him on the back. “Welcome to the team.”

They’re a team? Jaskier looks back to Geralt, who is leering at the four of them and playing with himself. Apparently, yup, they’re the let’s all fuck Geralt team now.

“Come on, Jask, don’t be shy,” Eskel smiles at him warmly. “I’ll show you how Geralt likes it. We’ll even let you go first.” Lambert scoffs at that but Eskel cuffs him round the back of the head. “Be polite to our guest for once in your life,” Eskel chides.

The three of them push past Jaskier and into the room, laughing and chatting, though Jaskier still stands frozen on the threshold. He looks back to Geralt, who has taken his dick out of his trousers and is ignoring the other wolves to stare at Jaskier.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks, quiet.

Geralt grins wickedly. “So very sure.”

Jaskier feels like he has been handed his life’s desires on a silver platter. His heart races, imagining everything he wants to do to Geralt, everything he can do now.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the room.

[flowercrown-bard]

Poems for the Poet (3/ 5)

Pairing: Jaskier/Eskel

word count: ~3k

read on AO3

previous

Content warning: loneliness, self-doubt, self-loathing

Once Eskel began to write, he couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t even sure if what he did was helping him or not. Sometimes he looked at the verses he had crafted out of the ever present ache in his chest and smiled, feeling like he had taken a small semblance of control back. As long as he already knew what he was, the truth coming from others couldn’t hurt him. There was even a strange sort of beauty in them, in knowing himself and baring his soul in a way he had never dared to before. It was freeing. It was what a real poet must feel.

Other times, he stared at the words, the paper almost tearing from how tightly he gripped it with his trembling hands and it took every ounce of strength in him not to burn the poem, to erase the immortalisation of his failure. Because that was what it was. He could pretend all he wanted that he was creating something beautiful out of something ugly. It didn’t change what he was. What he never would be. It didn’t erase the lonely nights, the days gone without eating, the injuries turning to scars, the people he couldn’t save.

Eskel could only write about what he knew. And what he knew was aching. It was ugly and brought nothing but misery. So that was what he wrote. Yet even so, he sometimes felt that putting the things he saw and felt onto the paper made it more real. It made it possible for others to see it too. It exposed him, his mistakes, his missed chances to the world. It felt as if his words sealed his fate. Once immortalised, it won’t ever change.

Not that there had ever been any hope for that.

Still he kept writing, always hoping that it wouldn’t be one of those days of his mind being unkind to him.

He posted his poems on the boards and left, wishing that he could leave the memory of what happened along with the words describing it.

--

It took Eskel a while to notice that something was changing. Or rather, he couldn’t figure out what was changing.

It started out small. Eyes that didn’t turn away immediately at his sight. Aldermen who didn’t argue or try to swindle him out of his pay.

Eskel had come across such towns before. More so in recent years, ever since Geralt had somehow won a bard’s heart and loyalty.

Eskel’s lips twisted into a smile at the thought of Jaskier. He was probably with Geralt right now, laughing with him by a camp fire and composing another epic ballad about Geralt’s latest hunt.

A strange ache settled into Eskel’s chest. He wished he didn’t know what it was, but there was no mistaking the twinge of jealousy that spiked up in him. He loved his brother and he was happy for him, truly. There was no one Eskel could think of that was more deserving of Jaskier’s praise and presence in their life.

And yet, he found himself wishing that he were the one making Jaskier laugh and showing him the continent. Despite his mind telling him that nothing but heartache and misery would come of it, Eskel imagined himself sitting next to Jaskier, shoulders brushing and faces lighting up when their eyes met.

But Jaskier was probably far away. Even if Eskel was foolish and self-punishing enough to track him and Geralt down just to watch them be happy together, he had no way of doing that. Jaskier’s songs were widely sung. Following them would lead him nowhere. Besides, there was still the problem of bards not being too keen on Eskel. They might repeat Jaskier’s songs, but singing them in front of an actual witcher? That was something practically none of them were willing to do.

So Eskel kept trudging on, kept writing his poems and hoping that maybe someone would spare them a glance, would treat them as they would any other poet’s works.

His heart was heavy as he left the friendly village behind, already dreading what the next one might bring.

Strangely, the next town was even more open-minded than the last one. One might have even called it welcoming. It was almost suspicious. It didn’t make sense for Eskel to get greeted with nods and even occasional smiles. There was no explanation for the barmaid bringing him a serving of stew with an unusually generous amount of meat in it.

Except, Eskel had gone through such a change before. Toss a coin had made life so much easier. All of Jaskier’s songs did. He must have written a new one. Of course he had, that was what he did.

A small flame ignited in Eskel's chest. It had been too long since he had been allowed to listen to any bards. None of them compared to the one bard whose smiling eyes and soft touches danced through Eskel's mind at any waking hour. He knew in his heart that after hearing Jaskier sing he would be too critical of any other musician. And yet he missed music. Missed tapping his fingers on his thigh to the rhythm and silently repeating the words to himself the days after.

Perhaps, if Jaskier had written another song, Eskel might even get to hear it one day? Surely if Jaskier had produced another masterpiece, bards all over the continent would trip over themselves to sing it. It wouldn't be as good as if Jaskier sang it, of course, but if Eskel could get even a cheap imitation of Jaskier's singing he would gladly take it.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, Eskel could not find a single bard. Not much of a surprise there. Bards didn't mingle with people like him. Most bards.

It took weeks - weeks that were filled with more smiles, more coin and more longing to hear the song that had done all this - until Eskel finally heard it. Not by a bard, no. He first heard the new melody sung by voices that were utterly untrained, voices that didn’t care about nuance or refinement: He heard it being sung by children.

It made Eskel pause right where he stood in the middle of the street. The voices of the three playing children overlapped, making it impossible to make out the words or melody and yet the little snippets he heard were unmistakably Jaskier’s. He had a style Eskel would recognise anywhere, however warped the melody got when sung like this.

His fingers twitched helplessly at his sides. He wanted – needed – to hear the song. It was the only piece of the comfort that came with familiarity close enough to grasp. Sure, people were friendlier than they had been before, but for how long would that last? How long until he got to meet someone who was nice to him because they actually liked him? How long until he would see Jaskier again and hear a melody fall from his lips as if he was singing it just for Eskel?

His throat grew tight. He shouldn’t think such thoughts. They were poison and made his nights all the more lonely. There wasn’t even reason to believe he would get to see Jaskier again.

His promise flickered to the front of his mind. He had said he’d show Jaskier his poetry books. And, oh, how he wanted to. His chest got warm and ached at the thought of sitting in front of a fire together, Jaskier leaning against him so they both could read from the same book.

It was a nice thought. Beautiful in an impossible way, like a dream just before waking that one would still cling to in the hopes of keeping it a little longer; only to forget all about it once the morning light stole the dream away and exposed it as the fleeting shadow it had been.  

It was enough to give Eskel the last push he needed. He couldn’t read poetry with Jaskier again – not until Geralt invited him to Kaer Morhen and who knew when that would happen – but he could have his words with him now.

His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest as he approached the children; slowly and with hunched shoulders, trying to make as much sound as he could so they wouldn’t be frightened if they didn’t hear him come closer.

Or maybe that was making it worse? Maybe by putting more weight into his steps to make them louder he emphasised how much bigger and stronger than the children he was? How menacing?

Weeks ago, there had been a different child. One who had been friendly until it had seen his face. The memory flashed through his mind unbidden. It made him halt. He couldn’t scare these children too as he had the other one. He couldn’t watch their faces turn into horrified grimaces as they ran away, their toys forgotten and lost, ruined by Eskel’s appearance that would forever taint them.

It had been a stupid idea. No snippet of a song was worth taking away a child’s carefreeness. Not even when the song came from Jaskier. Not even when it meant giving him the barest feeling of home back.

Without wanting to, his feet dragged him forwards until he all but loomed over the children. Like a threat. Like something you should run away from and pray it didn’t catch you. Like a witcher.

The children stopped singing and looked up at him, their eyes wide.

Eskel fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He should crouch down, get on eye-level with the children to make himself look smaller. But no one wanted a witcher closer to their face. Being on eye-level with a witcher meant that whoever looked at him wouldn’t be able to escape his yellow gaze. There was no right way to do this. No way that would not scare away the children and his chance to hear Jaskier’s words.

“That was a nice song,” he said as softly as he could. His voice was still too rough, too close to barking. Any second now the children would shake off their shock at seeing him and flee.

Instead, the tallest girl beamed up at him.

“Thank you! It’s an old one. My sister heard it weeks ago when she visited her friend in Ashwood Valley and she taught it to me.”

Ashwood Valley. Eskel remembered that town. He had been there himself not too long ago. For a split-second something like hope ignited in his chest. If the song had been sung there, then perhaps Jaskier had been there too. Maybe if Eskel turned around he could meet him again.

But the flicker of hope dimmed almost as soon as it had burst to life. Jaskier was a well-known bard and his songs travelled far and fast. Just because his songs had made it to this place didn’t mean he had too. There was no reason for him to travel through small towns like these when he could have Novigrad, Oxenfurt or various courts. And if Jaskier had been anywhere near that would mean that Geralt was there too and as long as the White Wolf could be had, no one would accept Eskel’s work. So it couldn’t have been Jaskier that had sung the song in Ashwood Valley. It must have been some other bard.  

Eskel swallowed against the irrational disappointment that choked him like an executioner’s noose. He forced the corners of his lips to twitch up, just enough to be recognisable as a smile. His heart hammered as if it wanted to burst his chest.

“Can you teach me the song?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, a grin spreading across her face. “What’s in it for me?”

One of the other children nudged her in the ribs, but Eskel felt something soft form in his chest at the child’s tone. She wasn’t scared of him. Hell, she even demanded something of him, as if she wasn’t worried about his reaction at all.

Eskel searched through his coin pouch and pulled out a silver coin. He held it up into the sun, making it gleam, before he tossed it to the girl. She caught it mid-air and beamed at him. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“For another coin I can teach you all the songs I know.”

Eskel let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “Just the one you were singing before.”

The girl shrugged and started singing.

Hearing what was unmistakably Jaskier’s art soothed something inside Eskel’s chest that he hadn’t known had been tearing at him. There was comfort in the poet’s words. They felt like a warm hug or an evening spend by the fire in the company of loved ones.

Strangely enough, it also felt familiar. Not in the way that all of Jaskier’s songs were familiar to Eskel; their pattern, rhythm and rhyme scheme. It was more than that. Those lines…they tugged at a memory in Eskel’s mind. A line that hadn’t been written by Jaskier. A word that hadn’t left the bard’s quill but someone else’s. It almost reminded him of – no. That was impossible. The similarities to the poem Eskel himself had written weeks ago were purely coincidentally. Or rather, they were completely natural. After all, Eskel had borrowed imagery from Jaskier’s work, so of course those very same metaphors and phrases would appear again. They weren’t – couldn’t be a reference to his own poetry. If they were…

A cold chill ran down Eskel’s spine. If those were references to Eskel’s poor attempts at poetry, that would mean that Jaskier had read what Eskel had written. His lines that couldn’t settle on a rhythm to carry through the whole poem. His clumsy tries to find an adequate way to describe feelings most people didn’t even think he possessed.

Eskel knew in his heart that Jaskier wouldn’t mock him for failing at writing poetry. Not openly. But if he saw just how bad Eskel’s poetry – if it could even be called such – was, then things would change. He wouldn’t ask Eskel for his opinion again. He wouldn’t show him another first draft again and ask him which version of a line he liked better. Not when he realised just how little Eskel actually knew about the craft he claimed to hold so dear.

Eskel dug his nails deep into the flesh of his palms, trying to tear himself away from those thoughts. His fears were unreasonable. Jaskier wasn’t anywhere close. He wasn’t the bard that had sung in Ashwood Valley. He hadn’t read Eskel’s poems.

His own reassurances did nothing to stomp down the panic that had welled up inside him and threatened to drown him. His own words never helped. Not in the way that focussing on another’s words did. And who better to listen to than to Jaskier who fought so fiercely to make people believe that witchers were better than anyone thought? Perhaps if Eskel listened to his songs often enough he too might start believing it one day.

He took a deep breath that shouldn’t have been so shaky and focussed back on the song and what the painfully familiar words that had nothing to do with his own talked about.

The subject matter was no surprise and it made Eskel’s smile widen a little. Witchers and heroics. Precious laughter that was only gifted to a trusted few and that was more true and beautiful than any laugh heard at court. The loyalty and warmth that came with a witcher’s friendship. Above anything, the song spoke of a fierce and unapologetic protectiveness. It practically screamed Hurt my witcher and I will hurt you!

His witcher.

Eskel tried to imagine what it would be like to be Jaskier’s witcher. He had felt like he could be, for just a handful of days. He had been there when Jaskier had composed songs about him, asking him for advice and opinions, as if they mattered to him. Eskel had been the one who had been allowed to protect and shelter Jaskier and to bask in the joy and brightness that filled everything that Jaskier touched. He had been trusted to hear Jaskier’s thoughts about the songs be composed. He wished he could hear his thoughts about this song now.

Eskel closed his eyes as he let the words wash over him. He imagined a different voice, blue eyes and fingers tracing patterns on his palm.

But more than that, the song made him think about his family too. He thought of Geralt who must have listened to Jaskier compose this song, grumbling but secretly pleased to have such a devoted friend. And he thought of Lambert and how he probably experienced another witcher’s friendship right now with his Cat.

It was good that Eskel’s brothers weren’t alone. They shouldn’t be. They deserved lovely songs and comforting touch. If anyone deserved to be protected by their friend’s words or swords it was them.

“Can you sing it again?” Eskel asked when the song came to an end. He didn’t need to hear it again to memorise it. One time was enough to brand the words into his mind, but as long as he heard them sung to him, he could imagine what it might feel like to be protected by Jaskier’s loyalty and fondness as Geralt was.

Because the song must be about Geralt. As much as Eskel tried to see himself in the song – a helpless hope of a man who had been lonely for too long – it was impossible. Jaskier might be able to spin lies into beautiful stories that an audience wanted to believe, but not even the most drunken or romantic fool could be made to think that Eskel’s laugh was something beautiful. Eskel only let himself laugh with people he knew wouldn’t mind its ugliness. People who didn’t care what he looked like. For that was all he would ever get. Not caring. It would be too much to ask from even his family to look at him and see someone handsome. He knew they loved his laugh, but not because it was beautiful. It was because if he laughed he did it despite being hideous. No song or rhyme would be able to cover that ugly truth.

It didn’t need to. This song didn’t need to be about him to lift a weight off his chest. It was enough to know that Geralt found reason to laugh and that Jaskier delighted in the sound.

All too soon the girl stopped singing again and yet the song remained in Eskel’s mind. He gave her a small nod and tossed her another copper piece, just to see her smile at him again. It was all he had wanted for so long. Easy smiles, the absence of fear, someone willing to talk to him. But now that he had it, it felt strangely hollow.

This was all he had. Some people he didn’t know and never would get to know who tolerated him for as long as there was a favouring song in their minds. But songs faded and Eskel had to move on, find new strangers and hope they wouldn’t scorn him. None of these smiles would stay with him. He didn’t have anyone to return to, to talk to as the streets got empty and people went home to their loved ones.

He didn’t have a friend or lover with him. Not like his brothers did.

It was a selfish thought and the bitter taste of guilt that came with it rose up in Eskel almost immediately.

He should be happy for his brothers. And he was, he really was. But he was also lonely. When he left this town, he would get to keep nothing but a song reminding him of how differnt the Path could be if only he were someone else. If only he had someone with him and a laugh that could be called beautiful.

But no one ever would call him that. Because he wasn’t and could never be.

All he was was himself. And that wasn’t enough. Not enough to make anyone stay.

People here would forget about him as soon as he left. Maybe, if he was lucky, they would remember that he had saved some farmers from a griffin. Even if they did, they would only describe him as “the witcher with the scarred face”. That was all he was, all anyone could ever see in him, all he would ever be remembered for.

He put all of that into words. Words that wouldn’t be remembered either. Words he wrote more out of spite and as a reminder that Jaskier wouldn’t read them. Maybe no one would. Maybe no one would remember the nameless poet who wrote about nights spend by himself and eyes that never lingered long enough to see anything other than ugliness in him.

It didn’t matter anyways. It weren’t his own words that got him through that night. It were Jaskier’s. Eskel tried to be happy thinking about them. Perhaps he was. Or perhaps he would be some other day. He hoped he would. He knew it was useless to hope.

[thearvariblues]

Too Much of Damn Peace

“I just want some damn peace!”

“Well here’s your peace!”

The bottle smashes on the ground and Geralt growls. Jaskier is almost about to apologize – he really shouldn’t have broken the bloody thing, he didn’t even want to, he was just angry and Geralt was shouting…

But then the wind rises and Jaskier feels an invisible force close around his throat, a horrible pressure…

He doubles over and clutches his throat.

“Geralt!” he hears himself croak, instinctively reaching for the Witcher.

It hurts, it hurts so fucking much…

And then something snaps. The pain goes away, but something is missing. Something is wrong. Horribly, terrifyingly wrong.

“Jaskier?”

He doesn’t know what is wrong until he opens his mouth and tries to say something… and nothing comes out.

His eyes go wide and he gestures at his throat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, hoping that Geralt will understand. And he does.

“Oh,” the Witcher mutters. “Fuck.”

Yes, Jaskier thinks. That sums it up quite nicely.

*

They find a healer, and with his help, they find a mage, Yennefer. She is currently holding an orgy when they do, and if the circumstances were different, Jaskier would absolutely join in, but he’s not in the mood tonight. Maybe when she heals him, though…

“There’s nothing I can do,” the mage says. “His voice is gone.”

Jaskier’s lips are halfway through “excuse me?!” when his brain catches up. He shuts his mouth and looks at Geralt.

“What do you mean nothing?” Geralt frowns.

“I mean,” the mage sighs, “that even though his injury is magical in its nature, there is no magical way to remove it. Well, except for the force that inflicted it in the first place.”

“The djinn,” Geralt nods. “Yes, that could…”

Jaskier points at his throat and shakes his head.

“But he can’t make his last wish if he can’t speak,” Geralt says.

“That’s the problem, yes,” Yennefer says, unconcerned.

“So what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Try the true love’s kiss?” she smirks.

Jaskier snorts.

“I don’t think so,” Geralt mutters. “Well, thank you, I suppose. We’ll be on our way.”

“Wait. Maybe I could… think of something,” she says, smiling a little. “If you stayed for the night. Give me some time and I–”

“I don’t think so,” Geralt shakes his head. “Come on, Jaskier. We’ll find a tavern to sleep in.”

*

It’s not hard for Jaskier to come to terms with losing his voice. The reason is simple – he doesn’t believe he lost it for good. Not for one second. He trusts his friend, he just knows Geralt will find a way to make Jaskier able speak again, no matter the cost. This whole affair is just a tiny bump on the road, a minor inconvenience that will go away within a few days.

Or weeks.

Maybe… Maybe months.

As the days pass, it becomes harder and harder not to stop believing, but Jaskier is an eternal optimist and he’d rather die than lose hope. He clings to it, just as much as he clings to the Witcher himself. He doesn’t have much of a choice, really. A mute bard can hardly take care of himself, can he?

“It’s my fault,” the Witcher mutters one evening, weeks after the incident, as they sit by the fire in their camp. “I should have… protected you.”

Jaskier reaches for his notebook, scribbles a single word in it and shows it to Geralt.

“Bollocks,” Geralt reads out loud and smirks. “As you wish. But you know it’s true.”

Jaskier turns the notebook back to himself and scribbles another word.

“Bollocks,” Geralt says. “But the letters are bigger.”

Jaskier shrugs.

“We really need to find a better way to communicate,” Geralt mutters. “It takes you too damn long to write what you want to say, and then you get all impatient and your writing becomes illegible.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, clutches his chest and gasps, clearly offended.

“You know, there’s a… sign language the deaf people use, right?” Geralt asks, biting his lower lip.

Jaskier nods.

“I just thought… I know we’re both hoping we can somehow bring your voice back, but until then…”

Jaskier sighs and starts writing.

“I know a guy,” Geralt reads. “Did you sleep with his sister, though? Mother?”

Jaskier shakes his head, writes a single word and shows his notebook to Geralt.

“Him. Oh,” Geralt blinks. “And you think he would be… willing to help?”

Jaskier nods.

“Right. Where can we find him?”

*

They go to Jaskier’s ex-lover. They learn a few things about sign language, Jaskier fucks the guy and they leave in a bit of a hurry with a stack of books that are technically not quite theirs.

Geralt tries to pretend to be mad, but Jaskier sees right through him. As he always does.

They hide in a small town for a few days and Geralt takes a few easy contracts while Jaskier buries himself in the borrowed (well, stolen) books.

“Did you learn anything new today?” Geralt smiles as he enters their shared room, already tugging at the straps of his bloody armor to take it off.

Jaskier beams and lifts his hands.

“Something that isn’t swearing or asking for sex,” Geralt specifies.

Jaskier frowns and lets his hands fall down.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Geralt chuckles. “You should really try to learn something useful, Jask.”

Jaskier makes a brief gesture.

“Okay, I understood this one. And it’s not a nice thing to say, you know?”

This time, there is a whole series of gestures.

“That’s just more swearing, isn’t it?”

Jaskier nods.

“Would you… Would you like to learn… together?” Geralt offers.

Jaskier blinks before nodding again, more slowly this time.

“Fine. Pass me a fucking book that does not contain new swearwords…”

*

The weeks, as Jaskier was afraid, turn to months, and his voice still doesn’t come back. He desperately tries to hold onto his hope, but he’s starting to feel like he’s grasping at straws. If there was anything to be done, surely Geralt would have done it already?

Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try the true love’s kiss route – the only problem is, it would also require Geralt’s assistance. And Jaskier isn’t ready to try and explain that.

And perhaps it’s for the best, he concludes. Because Geralt seems much better off without Jaskier’s voice bothering him all the time. He’s been smiling more lately. And talking more. Almost as if he tries to compensate for the silence left by Jaskier’s muteness. He tells Jaskier stories about his adventures before the two of them met, his childhood at Kaer Morhen, his brothers. It’s more than he’s ever told the bard, more than Jaskier could ever ask for.

And Jaskier finds that he would be willing to listen the Witcher’s deep voice for the rest of his life.

“You’re coming with me to Kaer Morhen this winter,” Geralt announces one day, as winter draws closer and closer.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows and makes a gesture.

“Because I can’t leave you alone when you’re like this,” Geralt says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. “You can’t earn money singing in taverns, you can’t even teach at Oxenfurt as you usually do during winters.”

Jaskier signs furiously.

“I’m not saying you’re useless,” Geralt sighs. “I’m just saying… It’s gonna be hard for you to make a living this winter without your fucking voice.”

Jaskier signs again.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not gonna freeze to death in Kaer Morhen. Lose a few toes, perhaps…”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he makes a few more gestures.

“No, of course it’s not funny,” Geralt chuckles. “Well. Maybe a little…”

*

Nevertheless, Jaskier joins Geralt on his way to Kaer Morhen before the winter comes. Not because Geralt was right and Jaskier is finished as a lecturer and a bard, just because he’s been waiting for years for this invitation and he’s not going to ruin his chance by being offended. He just wants to spend a few contractless months with Geralt and meet his famous brothers – and if he needs to sacrifice his toes to do that, then so be it.

And maybe, just maybe, he will be able to convince Geralt to cuddle with him a little… Just to warm him up, of course. Nothing more.

He would never dare asking for more…

*

“It’s just typical, isn’t it?” Geralt’s brother Lambert snorts one evening and stuffs a piece of meat into his mouth. “You keep promising to bring the bard for the winter… And when you finally do, he’s fucking mute.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier smirks and makes a sign that’s pretty understandable even for the younger Witcher.

“Honestly,” Eskel shrugs, “I was also looking forward to hearing the songs you’ve kept praising for years.”

Jaskier blinks and signs at Geralt.

“Yeah,” Geralt mutters and his cheeks absolutely don’t go slightly pink. “Praising. Don’t make too much of it.”

Jaskier gestures.

“Well… Yes, I guess you could still at least play.”

Jaskier grins, jumps to his feet and promptly disappears. When he comes back, he’s holding his lute and Geralt can’t hide his smile.

Jaskier sits down, impossibly close, winks at Geralt and starts to play a song that the Witcher knows almost too well, because it’s been following him ever since he met Jaskier all those years ago. That’s why he finds himself quietly humming the melody. And that’s probably why, as the chorus comes, he starts to sing.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty…”

He opens his eyes to see Jaskier smiling wider than Geralt’s ever seen him, and he can almost feel his heart melt. Jaskier looks so beautiful like this, and Geralt wants…

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, almost inaudibly over the sound of the lute, and then he reaches out, grabs the back of Jaskier’s neck and kisses him, long and deep. He hears Vesemir’s sigh, Eskel’s laugh and Lambert’s disgusted groan, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted to do this for so, so long…

When he pulls away, Jaskier is staring at him with his blue eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth, realizes it’s futile and closes it again.

And Geralt… Geralt just can’t take it. He jumps to his feet. He runs away from the room.

He hears the footsteps that immediately start to follow him, of course, but he just cannot face Jaskier right now.

But then a hand closes around his arm and yanks him around, much stronger than he would ever expect.

This time, there’s pure fury in Jaskier’s gaze as the bard starts to gesture wildly.

“Gods, will you just slow down?” Geralt groans. “I don’t understand half the things you’re trying to say!”

Jaskier huffs and starts again, more slowly this time.

“No. Wait. No,” Geralt says a few moments later. “I don’t think you’re not enough.”

Jaskier frowns and his hands start moving again.

“I… You don’t get it, do you? I feel like it’s my fault. This… Injury of yours.”

A simple gesture.

“Why? Why? Because you were with me when it happened and I couldn’t stop it. Because I can’t find a way to cure it. Because I know I wanted some damn peace but this is… Too much of damn peace.”

Jaskier shrugs and signs a single sentence.

“What do I want?” he blinks. “I… I just want you to have your voice back.”

A sudden gust of wind billows their clothes and hair and Jaskier, to Geralt’s horror, clutches his throat and gasps for breath.

“No,” Geralt mutters and grabs the bard’s arms to support him. “No, no, no, please, not again…”

The wind stops just as abruptly as it started and Jaskier meets the Witcher’s gaze. His lower lip is trembling.

“Geralt,” he croaks weakly.

“Jaskier?” Geralt whispers, unable to believe what’s happening. “What…”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says. “What the everloving fuck… So it was your fault, you asshole!”

“W-what?” Geralt blinks.

“You were the one with the wishes, you dick! You wished for some peace, and you got it! You wished I had my voice back, and you got it! It means that it was never me, it was you! And it means you could have brought my voice back months ago! And it means… Fuck, it means Valdo Marx is still alive, isn’t he? Damn it. But oh, it feels so good to be able to talk again. It feels awesome. Oh, dear. I’m never shutting up again, ever. I’m gonna talk and sing and… Yes, sing! Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of–”

But he does shut up when Geralt presses a kiss against his lips.

*

Geralt hums quietly against Jaskier’s skin, burying his face into the bard’s shoulder.

“Jaskier,” he sighs, but there is no reply. He lifts his head and looks at the bard. “Jaskier?”

“Mhm?” Jaskier smiles. “Oh, sorry, dear. I got lost in my own head, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” Geralt mutters, letting his head fall back down. “I guess it’s gonna take a while before I stop getting nervous when you suddenly go silent.”

“Understandable, I guess,” Jaskier chuckles. “You do realize that you’ve wasted two wishes on me, right?”

“If this is where it got me, I don’t care.”

“Also understandable.”

“Asshole.”

“I know, I know,” Jaskier laughs. “So… What’s your last wish gonna be?”

Geralt closes his eyes and breathes in Jaskier’s scent.

“I wish you were as immortal as me,” he whispers and braces himself against another gust of wind… Which doesn’t come.

“Hm,” Jaskier hums. “Oh, right. Remember two months ago when we got lost in the woods and we didn’t have anything to eat and you said I wish I had a few apples for Roach at least and then I, a humble bard, suddenly saw a fucking apple tree that you, the mighty Witcher, somehow completely and totally missed?”

“So… Your voice was my last wish,” Geralt sighs. “Well, at least it wasn’t wasted.”

“It’s a shame, though. I’d really, really like to spend the rest of your life with you, darling.”

Geralt smiles and places a kiss right next to Jaskier’s nipple.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to enjoy the time we have left, right?”

“Oh?” Jaskier laughs. “You have anything in mind?”

“I might have an idea or two…”

Their lips meet.

Somewhere above them, a djinn takes something similar to a deep breath… And grants the Witcher his fourth wish.

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

I'm sorry to drop a very long post. I wish there was a "read more" section in the app post editor 😬. But here come a big analysis...

Jaskier is treated as a plot device

[This is sarcasm 😉 but it illustrates what I am saying there]

From the beginning, he has been used like that, but in the first season it didn't bother me that much, because even as a plot device, it was done correctly. For example, he was added to the story of the Law of Surprise. In the book, this is a random bard playing at the banquet. Linking Jaskier with the affliction Geralt experienced made the concept of Destiny explained by Mousesack more tangible. The more Geralt tries to avoid his destiny, the more trouble he gets into and, in the series, Jaskier is the key that locks Geralt into the path he tries to escape, without knowing it. Then when everything fires back at him, it has meaning even if it hurts because of all the implications of the rejection for him.

In the season 2, he is a plot device again, one that is from the book (the torture scene) and then he is used to get a lot of parts together, especially in the end. The problem is that he is more than a side character and he has flesh, so reducing his role to tropes too much creates frustration.

If I take Dara who has a plot device trope attached to him too. It's OK because he really is a side character. He links partially Dijkstra to Jaskier. And with the ending, he will clearly be a link to the Squirrels and Ciri.

Istreed and Stregobor too are plot device driven characters. In the book they appear just once, each in their short story. In the series they are used to set up part of the background lore and the human society, especially in regards of the elves. Those changes don't bother me.

Back to Jaskier. The problem is that he is not a side character, even if secondary. He has a strong emotional root and is important for Geralt development, especially for what's coming. He is set up like that and this is right but that's why we can't have him just being emotionally ignored all the time to fulfill his tropes duties.

Tropes for Jaskier in season 2 and the growing frustration

In the books, Jaskier links some things together also, but we have plenty of bonding moments. I am aware that some of those moments are too slow and contemplative to be integrated in a TV show, but even shorten or different they are good. Sometimes they do, and I like it. Yennefer finding Jaskier, Geralt and Ciri by the fire, Geralt and Vesemir talking about parenthood.

As for the tropes we have :

Jaskier is the main link that connects the core destined family to Dijsktra and the Redanian Intelligence. That is correctly done.

I won't drift on Yennefer global storyline, but I have to mention it because Jaskier is used as a trope mostly for her. And as much, I loved when he interacted with her, everything else was pure trope, almost not hidden at all. And that leads to the "Geralt doesn't care for Jaskier" general feeling.

Let's get into this problematic really trope driven part, in detail.

It begins when Yennefer teleports to Voleth Meir. This is already a trope because she lost hope out of nowhere. She had just to turn her head to see that Jaskier was in back up. But he is here just to witness.

Then, at Melitele's temple, Yennefer tells Geralt that Jaskier was in trouble in Oxenfurt. We clearly see that he is concerned but the dialog was written to close this conversation quickly. Geralt doesn't ask "what happened to him" but "what kind of trouble". So Yennefer says the strict minimum, avoiding anything that could have led to guilt. So with that Geralt knows that Jaskier is in Oxenfurt, conveniently before Rience's attack and Yennefer's betrayal.

Desperate, the witcher rushes to his only friend. He frees him and the reunion is half perfect, half frustrating. Perfect because we had the hug, the emotions and all. But frustrating because the moment Jaskier tries to express his feelings about what Geralt did to him on that mountain, he is shut up.

I get Geralt's point of view, and I accept it. But what comes after destroys almost any emotional implications.

The scene in the lake was there purely to connect the dots. Yennefer and Voleth Meir. Jaskier is there to give Geralt the missing parts he needs. That's all. To hide it a little bit more, it could have been done without the "bath" part, with the two guys walking together and having a bonding moment.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed parts of this scene, especially Jaskier lines and Geralt navigating Jaskier's usual nonsense vibe. And I salute the efficiency. But I didn't need efficiency at that moment, nor this kind of fan service. I needed some catharsis for Jaskier. But the tropes are more important, apparently.

Then conveniently again, here are the dwarves. Geralt gets what he needs, Jaskier just waits until the plot moves forward. Then we have the "I'm sorry" scene that is lovely overall, and I was like "finally !". But it opened a new frustration with this line : "this is different".

Jaskier needs an apology from Geralt for the mountain, and we know that he shares some pain with Yennefer. He understands her. So he tries to connect the emotional response of Geralt on the mountain when he was so hurt that he hurt him back in his rage, to the fact that Yennefer is currently hurt too and hurts him blindly just the same. But with this "this is different", in a way, Geralt negates the depth of Jaskier's resulting pain of his actions.

[This is different - hmmmff]

Jaskier accepts the apology, takes his feeling back, because he understands that it leads nowhere and jokes about Geralt's lack of empathy which is a nice interaction, by the way, but the hurt is done once more. And it will be amplified later.

Encouraged by the dwarves he follows just to be shocked as he catches the cut head of a soldier, for comic purpose only. Jaskier is there to bring back Ciri to Kaer Morhen. He could have stayed with the dwarve lady. Why this unnecessary chock ?

Then we have a nice display of trust with Geralt giving him the responsibility of his child. This is one of the rare moments we can see that Geralt values him, because he trusts him to take care of his child. And the moment when it happens says a lot about the depth of his trust. But this is just to be rejected by Ciri seconds later, for comic purpose again.

And then at Kaer Morhen for the final fight, he is the summum of plot devices with the stone. From the moment he leaves Yennefer at the laboratory, he literally has no importance at all as a human being. He is just the stone with legs. And the worst of it is that we can see that it matters to the character to accomplish his mission, because he thinks he can be useful. And in the end, when his tropes duties are fulfilled he is tossed aside for comic purpose once more.

So when came the time of bonding between the three main characters, I was very crossed about the fact that the family core was specifically restricted to the three of them. In the words of Geralt : "us three, we'll help each other". Why specify the number ? We already know they are bonded by destiny. We already understood that they are the core. I mean the whole season 1 was built in a specific way to tell us that. That "three" triggered me in a bad way because of Jaskier's rejection moments before. Because it was another form of rejection, even if this one he didn't hear.

The problem is : if the character had no specific emotional background or development, this could be OK. But he has, and a strong one. Jaskier is shown to be very empathetic and raw in season 2. He is hurt. He goes through a lot too. But he is denied comfort all the time.

To be comfortable with his storyline, either way too much was shown or not enough. I'll go for the second. They want to tell too much in a too short format. They compressed, changed too much from the source material to fill in. I found some interesting things in the bad deviations but some characters suffocate in return. Jaskier is one of them.

And the brain is a formidable machine. He links the dots by itself and makes the connection we need. But in this case filling the gaps makes everything cruel for the character.

Let's take a look at the main things that create those gaps.

Jaskier's alcoholism

There are two things I prefer much more from Joey!Jaskier than from Book!Jaskier. First, he is more romantically driven than sexually. Secondly, his alcoholism has an explanation. In the book, he drinks since teenagehood and just drinks a lot. Sometimes there are comic purpose to it but nothing more. Well I mean from where I'm at in the books, there is no other purpose than that.

In the series, they kept a surface comic relief but there is a clear sad end to it, which makes everything bitterer. Jaskier drinks too much when he is not well. That's set up in the first season in Bottle Appetites. When he finds Geralt, he is drunk and finishing what seems like a strong alcohol flask. The reason, he says it himself : He is heartbroken, because his muse has left him.

This is the only moment, in the first season, we see him being drunk.

In the second season however, alcohol is omnipresent. Before we even see him, there is already a hint that he is drinking too much. Yennefer hears him half through Burn Butcher Burn. If anyone needs me, I'll be at the bar. Then we have the song itself to tell us how much heartbroken he is. And we know why and by whom. So… This is not a surprise to see him drink in his following shots.

When Yennefer finds him and looks inside the tavern through the window, he has an empty glass in this hand and soon asks the bar maiden to have another drink. It's early in the morning and he is already drinking. The bar maiden makes a face of disapproval and seems concerned but Yennefer comes and she just goes away.

Then the whole scene of reunion is punctuated by Jaskier's alcoholism. (I am not having this conversation without a drink - Offers Yennefer alcohol to drink over Geralt's absence in their lifes - Slurs words trying to find better booze, illustrating that he is not sober - Always has a bottle in hand)

Like I said there are comics elements into that but what the background of this scene is telling us is that Jaskier isn't well at all. He is heartbroken (Geralt) , traumatized (Bleobheris) and his empathetic side is perpetually hurt (the general elven situation in Redania where he fights his own way). He is drowning himself in alcohol to anesthetize himself. This is a very strong emotional set up.

Then we have the goodbye scene when the emotional link between Yennefer and Jaskier is settled for good. They share pain. They understand each other from a profound invisible wound. She is a sorceress without magic, he is a poet without his muse. Geralt is the chaos of his magic.

This is a very good bonding moment. Then we have the torture scene which is another pike of emotional distress for Jaskier. Then the prison… even if it is comical again in the delivery, listen to the song carefully. It's sad…

It's been a long time travellin' / On roads that lead to nowhere / With hopes and dreams that always rot.

Sometimes it takes a prison cell / The tricks and tales, the traitors' tell / To help you see that freedom is all you've got.

Even the chorus is hard : So lock me up and sock me up and throw away the key.

It is fun because Jaskier keeps his internal light going and finds his way of freedom by harassing the guard.

So till this point, they set up an emotional bomb for him. But they didn't allow him to explode or to be comforted to prevent that. When Geralt frees him from jail, he may be fully sober for the first time in a long time. He begins to let things go but is shut up as I said before. But then we know what happens. Zero catharsis and rejections, with the dwarves, Ciri and we can guess the witchers too, from what happens next for him.

As we don't see him healing from previous emotional hurts, they are adding powder to his bomb.

So when Yennefer finds him sleeping in Kaer Morhen, the only conclusion we can have seeing him sleeping with a bottle and being hangovered is that he went out to the drain again and drank to oblivion. The brain connected the dots. Sure it's light again in the surface narrative but he is not well and...

No-one cares…

If it wasn't for the interactions with Yennefer, that I found lovely, I have a big problem with Jaskier at Kaer Morhen because the plot device trope ends up with him just being humiliated. Not because he can be clumsy or annoying sometimes, but because he is not wanted. And it's not his fault, not in the slightest.

We have another strong setup for the emotional bomb that is waiting to explode, back at Cintra.

Geralt gives him the responsibility to go with Ciri, at Kaer Morhen. So he is in the fortress because Geralt asked him to, not because he chose to.

But the only interactions we can see of him with the other witchers makes everything else inconfortable. As we don't see anything else but rejection or disinterest, the brain filling the gaps again, the only conclusion we have is that he is not welcome but we don't know why. The fact he is drinking back on the fortress tells at least that he is not well again. And it's bad enough for him to sleep with a bottle, like a comfort object.

Then again, he helps as much as he can. He goes through the big fight against the basilics with a hangover from outer space, without any context or any skills to have a chance of survival. He is just invested with the mission Yennefer gave him, and tries to give his stupid rock to Geralt.

And just to add how much unimportant he is. This is the fact that Lambert pushes him out of his way that fulfills his purpose as the rock plot. By the way, Lambert could have killed him doing so, because Jaskier fells in the middle of the room in the same direction that the basilisk is going…

[Get off my way bard...]

Then everyone is bonding except him. His very last screen time is used to make a joke about another rejection.

When you join that with his silent wounds, it makes him a very sad clown. He is nothing more than an object in that room for the others (except Yennefer, though they are not speaking but they share something emotionally).

I'm pretty sure there are a lot of things that were cut down in this big scene, and maybe something more than just pure action. There are small hints that Geralt hears Jaskier screaming his name but chooses to stay focused on Ciri, for example, and there is a forced comic relief when Jaskier is crawling his way to him under the tables. There is this line that was just put over. Maybe it was from another take where it had more sense. But this way, it's used as a diversion of how dire the situation could be for him and it reinforces the plot device use of the character, nihiling his own struggles.

I don't mean like they have to focus on him, in this situation. The problem is that if something is shown, then it has meaning, and if it's not shown then it has meaning too. So if we see how much is hurt and then not a single character even asking him if he is OK once, then the only thing told is that no-one really cares for him. That's as simple as that.

Conclusion

There is little chance that Jaskier will find catharsis about all of that in the next season. And if they follow the story for his part this will lead to another bunch of bitter moments.

But because Joey plays Jaskier and gave him so much soul, I love the character to bits and I need more of him... So I waiting...

[dreamscapefics]

Cockslut!Jaskier getting bred by his Witchers during a visit to Kaer Morhen 😳 Maybe with dp if you don’t mind writing that and praise and aftercare?

Anon, thank you so much for sending this prompt! The moment I read it I was hooked. But hoo, boy. This got way out of hand. This is clocking in at almost 4k and it’s honestly the filthiest thing I’ve ever written. 🙈

Additional tags: spit roasting, double penetration, breeding kink, overstimulation

The rest is gonna be under the cut ‘cos, um, it gets really filthy. I hope you enjoy!

~*~

Being romantically involved with Geralt brings a lot of benefits in Jaskier’s humble opinion. The list is fairly short and it goes like this:

1 He’s horny all the fucking time. And Geralt, thanks to his Witcher mutations, has a lot of stamina. It helps that his dear While Wolf is just as horny, if not hornier, as Jaskier.

2 He loves cock. He loves the feel of a thick, veiny dick in his mouth, loves the taste of precome and cum, enjoys tonguing the slit and sucking the balls. Jaskier especially loves it when Geralt grips the back of his head with both hands and uses him to his pleasure, that long, thick length reaching places no other has.

3 He and Geralt are not only lovers, they’re also best friends, which means they have a profound understanding of one another. Meaning that they trust each other and respect each other’s boundaries and limits. And lastly;

4 He trusts Geralt to take care of him. Whether it’s a night of roughly fucking Jaskier through the mattress to fight off the effects of the potions he took, or whether it’s hours of slow lovemaking that makes Jaskier sob with overstimulation -- Geralt is always attentive to Jaskier’s needs after every session.

Which is why Jaskier isn’t surprised that when they arrive at Kaer Morhen for the winter - the third consecutive winter he’s spending with Geralt - his dear witcher broaches the topic of sharing him with his brothers.

~

“You can say no, they’ll understand,” Geralt tells him on their first night at the keep.

Jaskier smiles sweetly at him and cranes his neck to kiss Geralt’s cheek.

Silly witcher, as if Jaskier would pass up the opportunity to take not one, not even two, but three Witcher cocks. All fucking winter. It’s basically heaven on earth!

“I can, but I don’t want to,” he replies, voice rough from choking on his witcher’s dick earlier. Geralt’s eyes darken when Jaskier smirks at him. “Really, darling. The more the merrier, right?”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, Geralt.”

“It’s not going to be like how we fuck, Jas.”

Jaskier arches a brow, intrigued at Geralt’s slightly sheepish expression.

“If they fuck as well as you do, and I’m sure that they do, then I don’t see a problem.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Not that. When I said I’ll be sharing you with them, it means that the three of us will be fucking you. Together. We will ruin you, Jas.”

Jaskier blinks at him, his calmness belying the sudden pounding in his chest.

“Well, that’s the point of sharing, isn’t it? In fact, I can’t fucking wait to have your brothers’ cocks in me. I bet they’re just as gifted as you, if you get my drift.” Then he winks at Geralt with a salacious grin.

Geralt returns it with an unimpressed look. Then Jaskier yelps in surprise when he’s suddenly rolled onto his stomach, huge witcher hands grasping his cheeks and pulling them apart to expose Jaskier’s puffy, come-soaked hole. Jaskier makes the prettiest noises when Geralt proceeds to eat him out for the next thirty minutes.

~

Okay, so maybe Jaskier got a bit overconfident.

He meant it when he said that he couldn’t wait to get a taste of their cocks, Jaskier basically salivating at the image of him on his knees and servicing the other witchers. A shiver of pleasure runs down his spine at the thought of having his throat abused all winter long. So it’s no surprise when he was proven right that Eskel and Lambert were just as well-endowed as Geralt.

Still, nothing prepared him for the night Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert took him apart and pieced him back together.

Jaskier the Bard walked so that Jaskier the Witchers’ Whore could run.

~

As a way of ‘breaking him in’, Eskel and Lambert spend the next few days getting acquainted with Jaskier in the biblical sense.

It starts with Lambert cornering Jaskier in the halls one afternoon. He drags Jaskier into an alcove where he proceeds to test his cocksucking skills. The witcher grabs his hair in a bruising grip, one hand pressed to the wall in front of him, moving his hips languidly so as to see how far Jaskier can take him. The bard rises to the challenge. To Lambert’s utter shock, Jaskier manages to take his whole length, nose buried in the short, wiry curls on his pelvis.

Jaskier wraps his hands around his cloth-covered ass and starts bobbing his head enthusiastically. He licks a stripe down Lambert’s veiny cock, sucking his balls into his mouth before kissing his way up the length. Jaskier then takes just the tip into his mouth and sucks it, cheeks hollowing as he tongues the slit, milking the precome and moaning at the bitter taste.

Lambert lets out a loud groan and murmurs, “Fuck, fuck, how are you — fuck, just like that — so fucking good.”

Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head when he feels the head of Lambert’s thick cock hit the back of his throat. Lambert curses up a streak and moans fuck, Geralt was right, your mouth is made for sucking cock and you take me so well, baby, you feel so fucking good. It’s Jaskier’s turn to moan, throat vibrating as Lambert tilts his head further back, grip tightening a fraction as he thrusts one, two, three, four times before he shoots thick ropes of cum down Jaskier’s abused throat.

“I’m gonna fucking breed you next time,” Lambert growls as he continues to come.

Jaskier feels his own breeches dampen, coming untouched at that proclamation, and he closes his eyes in bliss when he finally gets a taste of the brash witcher’s cum. He looks up at Lambert, teary-eyed and glazed, and makes a show of swallowing every single drop of his spend, tongue poking out to lick a drop he missed. Lambert curses and then pulls Jaskier up to his feet, only to shove him against the wall and kiss him breathless.

~

Jaskier is in the library dusting the shelves and rearranging the scholarly books to Vesemir’s preference when Eskel finds him. The quiet and kind witcher quietly shuts and locks the door behind him before striding towards Jaskier, who’s unbeknownst to the witcher’s presence until he feels strong hands grip his waist and bend him over the empty shelf.

“My brothers sing their praise of your mouth,” Eskel rumbles in Jaskier’s ear. Scarred, sweaty hands trail up the bard’s flanks before moving down to unlace his breeches and shove it down past hairy, creamy thighs. Eskel mutters a curse under his breath when he takes in Jaskier’s plump ass, still bearing the marks and bruises that Geralt left him last night. “But I want another hole of yours.”

“Please, please, fuck,” Jaskier moans, cock already swelling as he arches his back and shoves his hips to grind against Eskel’s hardened length. “Anything, you can do anything to me, just — please, fuck. Want your cock so bad.”

Eskel chuckles before he grips Jaskier’s hair and pulls back to lick and bite bruises on his throat. He nips at an earlobe, Jaskier’s surprised yelp turning into a moan when Eskel whispers in his ear. “Hmm, you’re such a slut for cock, aren’t you, pretty boy? Want me to fuck your throat raw? Want me to fuck your perfect little hole, breed you like the bitch you are?”

Jaskier’s moans echo in the spacious room, beads of precome leaking from the tip of his aching cock . “Yes yes yes! Fuck, I want everything you want to give me,” he sobs brokenly. “Please, Eskel, let me be your good boy.”

“Fuck.”

It’s a bit of blur after that. Eskel pushes Jaskier’s back so he’s bent at a ninety-degree angle on the shelf, his naked ass in full display. Eskel nudges Jaskier’s legs to spread wider before he pulls his cheeks apart.

“Fuck, you’re still wet.”

Jaskier’s hole is still loose from Geralt's cock earlier that day, the rim slightly puffy and moist. Eskel doesn’t hesitate to insert two fingers in his hole, and he sucks in a breath when the bard takes them easily. He starts to pump his fingers in and out of Jaskier, drawing out moans and pleas for more, more, more. So Eskel does, pulling out briefly to spit on his fingers and going back in with a third digit. His cock is throbbing, tight against his braies as Eskel leans forward and starts licking at the rim, groaning when he can taste Geralt’s cum. Jaskier’s thighs tremble as he sobs in his arms. Then all of a sudden, he makes a high keening noise and comes untouched when Eskel points his tongue and starts fucking into his loose hole, along with the three fingers brushing against his prostate.

Eskel finally gives in and pulls his fingers out. He fumbles to unlace his pants, quickly shoving them down past his thighs before he grasps Jaskier’s hip with one hand while the other guides his cock to the winking hole. A groan punches out of his chest when the tip of his cock moves past the ring of muscle, and he keeps pushing until he bottoms out. Jaskier whimpering and begging for Eskel to fuck him, please is a beautiful accompaniment.

He sets a fast pace, relentlessly ramming his cock into Jaskier, and his aim remains true if the bard’s sounds of pleasure is anything to go by. He’s so fucking tight after all the fucking Geralt’s done to him, and Eskel thinks he and his brothers are going to have so much fun with Jaskier. They’re going to ruin him and he’s going to be theirs.

Theirs for the taking anytime, anywhere. Whenever they fucking please.

He comes several minutes later with a loud groan, and his chest swells with pride when he hears Jaskier cry out and come untouched again. When he pulls out, Eskel turns Jaskier around and lifts him up, only to shove the bard against the shelf and kiss him breathless.

~

And just like that, Jaskier’s patience is rewarded.

It’s a week later. A week of quick blowjobs and desperate fucking. And one particular memory of Lambert ambushing Jaskier in the stables and fucking him against an empty stall.

Tonight, they’re in Geralt’s room and Jaskier is on his back in front of the blazing fire, legs spread obscenely wide and pulled up to his chest as Geralt grips the back of his knees and continues to drive his cock into Jaskier’s stretched hole in a punishing pace. The furs underneath him are already soaked with their combined spend, Geralt having cum once and Jaskier twice already. Jaskier has one hand wrapped around Lambert’s cock, the raven-haired witcher thrusting against his hand and toying with Jaskier’s nipples. Eskel is on his other side, one hand stroking Jaskier’s cock while the other strokes his sweaty hair, cooing and murmuring praises.

“You’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy, Jas.”

“You’re our good boy, aren’t you?” Lambert adds. At Jaskier’s nod, he pushes two fingers in his mouth. And Jaskier, who wants to continue being a good boy, starts sucking at Lambert’s fingers, tongue swirling around and between the digits and hollowing his cheeks like he’s sucking cock. “Fuck. You even take my fingers so well. Do you want my cock, baby?”

Jaskier moans a yes around his fingers.

He wants more, wants everything.

Above him, Geralt’s pace starts to falter. It takes another dozen thrusts before he grunts and comes inside Jaskier. Jaskier whines when he feels Geralt’s cum shoot deep inside him, thick ropes painting his insides, and the thought of getting knocked up (a filthy fantasy Jaskier recently started indulging, thanks to them) makes him moan louder.

“My turn,” Lambert announces the moment Geralt’s still half-hard cock slips out. Jaskier whimpers at the loss of fingers in his mouth, and he hears Lambert chuckle. “Don’t worry, baby. You can suck my cock later. Right now, I’m gonna breed you.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier sobs. Please.

He gets the sensation of having his body moved, and before he knows it, Jaskier is on his hands and knees. His head is shoved back, and he dutifully opens his mouth to accept Eskel’s thick length. Jaskier looks up at the witcher from underneath his lashes, cornflower blue eyes teary as he makes a show of sucking the blunt head, pulling out to tongue the slit and swallow the precome that drips from the tip.

“Oh, fuck.” Eskel’s mouth is hanging open. The scars on his handsome face look soft against the firelight, amber eyes wide in wonder and lust as Jaskier slowly takes his entire length in one go. “Fuck, your fucking mouth.”

“Told you,” Geralt quips smugly.

When Jaskier feels the blunt head hit the back of his throat, he breathes through his nose for a moment before slowly pulling away. He lifts one hand and taps Eskel’s hand, still gripping his hair. The witcher must’ve understood his meaning because he takes his other hand to grasp Jaskier’s jaw and sets a steady rhythm of fucking into Jaskier’s mouth.

Behind him, Lambert’s calloused hand tightly grasps Jaskier’s hip, the blunt head of his thick, veiny cock slowly sliding into Jaskier. He hears a deep rumble come from Lambert’s chest, and Jaskier sighs dreamily at the heavenly sensation of another enormous cock making a home in him. Lambert doesn’t wait for Jaskier to adjust to his girth, slowly pulling out until the tip remains, and then roughly thrusting back in. Jaskier’s cock twitches in interest once more, and it doesn’t take long until he’s hard and aching again.

“Oh, fuuuck,” Lambert gasps, tone blissful. “Hands down, the best hole I ever had— fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

Jaskier briefly abandons Eskel’s leaking prick to beg, “Harder! C’mon, fucking breed me, please. Wanna have your pups.”

Jaskier feels smug satisfaction when he hears all three of them groan and curse. To his left, Geralt leaves a wet trail of kisses across Jaskier’s back, hands wandering from his throat, chest, and sides until one hand moves to his ass to slap one cheek. Jaskier sucks in a breath, choking on Eskel’s cock when he feels a blunt finger tracing his swollen rim. Jaskier whimpers when he feels Geralt’s finger pushes into his fluttering hole, his heart in his throat when Geralt starts to shallowly thrust his finger in and out, the stretch burning and bordering on painful. But the discomfort eases, slowly paving the way for pleasure once more.

Jaskier has never felt more alive than in this moment, and he finds himself craving for more.

“Such a greedy hole,” Geralt comments, voice like gravel and dripping with want as he forces another finger inside him. “Bet you can take another. Would you like that, Jas? Hm? Would you like another cock in you?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. He tries to nod around a mouthful of Eskel’s gorgeous cock, but settles for humming his approval. The vibration in his throat makes Eskel curse a long streak, hips twitching before he shoots his load down his throat, Jaskier happily swallowing every single drop. Still half-hard (honestly, bless Witcher stamina), Eskel pulls out of his reddened mouth, which allows Jaskier to turn to Geralt.

“Want it,” he gasps out, eyes bright and desperate and wanting. “Please, Geralt. Y-you and Lambert. Want you two s-splitting me open and f-filling my hole with cum— fuck, please.”

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Geralt says before he gently pulls his fingers out. Jaskier whines at the loss, and he nearly sobs when Lambert stops thrusting too, the witcher pulling out with a curse.

Jaskier can hear himself begging. Begging for his witchers to fill him again because he feels so fucking empty, and why is he empty? Hasn’t he been a good boy? He doesn’t realize that his head is pillowed in his arms, gentle hands running through his hair and sweaty while another set of hands holds his hips up so Jaskier doesn’t topple over. After several moments, he can make out Eskel’s soothing voice telling Jaskier that he is a good boy, that he’ll have to be patient because his reward is going to take a bit more time but it’ll be worth it.

Through lidded eyes, Jaskier is barely aware of his limbs being moved accordingly. He purrs when he feels lips pepper kisses on his face, neck, and shoulders. Three sets of huge, sword-calloused hands roam over Jaskier’s body, stroking and pinching before they lift him up. One of them spreads his knees wider than normal to accommodate the brawny figure lying beneath him. Jaskier’s purrs turn into a blissful moan when he feels a cock - Lambert’s, his mind supplies - nudge against his gaping hole before sliding back inside him.

Finally.

“Mmhm, welcome home,” Jaskier purrs, smiling dopily at Lambert who snorts and starts shallowly thrusting up into him. Eskel and Geralt choke on their laughter, but Jaskier ignores it because everything’s okay now; he no longer feels empty.

Lambert’s pace remains slow and steady for the next few minutes, but before Jaskier can start complaining, he feels slick fingers tracing his swollen rim. Jaskier hisses at the burn of having two thick fingers glide in alongside Lambert’s cock, the long digits scissoring him further. It takes several minutes before Geralt adds another finger, and it’s a testament to Geralt’s patience and attentiveness that Jaskier doesn’t feel pain at having his hole stretched wider to prepare him for another cock.

“Fuck, Jas, you take Lambert’s cock and my fingers so well,” Geralt purrs, chest rumbling. Jaskier moans, loving the feeling of his fingers spreading inside him. “You’re going to look so fucking beautiful taking our cocks, too.”

“He’s born for us to fuck and breed,” Eskel adds from where he’s on his knees in front of Jaskier. He’s hard again, one hand gripping the base of his cock as he rubs his length and balls across Jaskier’s face.

“Hhng,” Jaskier moans, tongue lolling out to lick Eskel’s balls. Then he arches his back and rolls his hips. “I’m - fuck - I’m ready. Please please please, want your cock now!”

Thankfully, Geralt deems him prepared as well, gently pulling his fingers out of Jaskier with a loud squelch. Jaskier doesn’t have to wait long, though. He can sense Geralt get into position behind him while Lambert stops moving. A hand grips one cheek and Jaskier waits with bated breath as the slick blunt head of Geralt’s cock painstakingly breaches his hole. The stretch burns and it lasts longer this time, but Jaskier grits his teeth and breathes heavily through his nose as inch by inch, he takes Geralt’s enormous cock until he’s buried to the hilt.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Holy fuck,” Lambert chokes out, and Jaskier looks down to meet lust-filled amber eyes staring up at him in amazement. “Jaskier. Jas— fuck, baby.”

“Gorgeous,” Eskel breathes out from above.

“Ours,” Geralt growls from behind.

“Yours,” Jaskier agrees with a wanton moan. He rolls his hips, and the trio who are connected hiss in unison until Jaskier demands, “Move.”

Lambert’s hands take hold of his hips and Geralt pulls his cheeks apart. Then they start to move. It takes a few thrusts before they build a steady rhythm, Lambert pushing in as Geralt pulls back, and so on. Jaskier’s thighs tremble as they start to pound harder into him, the burning stretch already a distant memory as Jaskier pants on Eskel’s cock. His insides feel full, stretching to accommodate two thick cocks plowing into him like a fucktoy.

Jaskier chances a glance down and can’t help but gasp at the bulge he sees on his belly. Lambert adjusts his position then, bracing his feet on the fur-covered ground before he shifts his hips. The new angle brushes Jaskier’s prostate, and his cock twitches against his abs, precome dripping on Lambert’s belly. Behind him, Geralt’s grunts deepen as he also changes his angle to hit that little bundle of nerves.

It’s all so much and it’s becoming too much. Jaskier feels like he’s about to burst, and yet.

He wants more.

It takes a few attempts but eventually Jaskier manages to take the head of Eskel’s cock into his mouth, the witcher squawking in surprise. Jaskier hums before he hollows his cheeks and sucks, moving his head to swallow the rest of Eskel’s length. Like before, Eskel grips his head and snaps his hips into Jaskier’s tight, hot mouth.

“Fucking insatiable,” Eskel growls. “You’re gonna be so full of our come, pretty boy. Gonna feed you and breed you every single day. Gonna smell like us so that no one in this Continent will think you’re not ours.”

“By the time the snow melts, prepping you won’t be a problem ‘cos your hole’s gonna be so loose,” Lambert adds in between grunts.

It’s Geralt’s turn to growl, the rhythm they established long gone as his hips piston in and out of Jaskier���s gaping hole.

“He’ll be with me on the Path,” he pants, hairy chest heaving and glistening with sweat. “Gonna make sure our whore stays open for business.”

Jaskier takes his mouth off Eskel to let out a loud, broken moan, shouting, “Yes!”

Then his body convulses, breaths shallow as he clenches down on Lambert and Geralt’s cocks. His vision whitens out and he comes so hard he passes out.

When Jaskier regains consciousness, it’s to the sounds of skin slapping on abused skin and three horny witchers grunting as they chase their release. He distinguishes Eskel’s breath hitch before he groans out loud and Jaskier feels something warm splatter across his back. Lambert follows with a choked gasp, hips stilling as he paints Jaskier’s inner walls with his cum. And Geralt - wonderful, competitive, possessive Geralt - tightens his hold on Jaskier’s spread cheeks, nails digging into the meat of his reddened ass. He ruts into him once, twice, thrice and then howls before he pulls Jaskier flushed against him. Jaskier can feel thick ropes of cum join Lambert’s, their combined spend filling up his insides more.

It’s like there’s cotton in his ears and mouth, the rest of the world muffled as Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth when it dawns on him how fucking full he feels. And he loves it.

He loves it so much that he finds himself craving for this to happen again. And again, and again.

Jaskier must’ve passed out once more because the next time he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in front of the fire. He’s curled up on his side, head pillowed on a broad, scarred chest while two pairs of hands wipe him clean of the sweat and cum. Jaskier moans, hips twitching when he feels someone gently run a warm, wet cloth between his cheeks. His ass feels sore and numb at the same time, and it’s plain to see that it’ll at least be a few days before Jaskier can request for a repeat performance.

“Such a good boy,” Eskel rumbles. “Our perfect boy.”

“No way you’re getting rid of us now,” Lambert says next. Jaskier feels a hand on his nape, followed by slightly chapped lips kissing a trail from his shoulder to his neck already littered with lovebites. “You belong to us, baby.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hears Geralt murmur beneath him. Ah, so it’s Geralt he’s draped over. “And you did everything so perfectly. We’re so proud of you, Jas.”

Jaskier purrs and settles comfortably on Geralt’s chest. He closes his eyes and lets himself be pampered by them. After all, he’s their good boy.

It’s only a matter of counting down the days until Jaskier can feel whole again, being fed and stuffed full of his witchers’ cock and cum.

~*~

A/N: Sooo I hope this was okay. 🙈 

As for the length, it’s my first time filling out prompts so if there’s anything you don’t wanna read or want to read more of, please feel free to send me a message ‘cos I really do want to improve! 😀 I’ll also likely cross-post on AO3, but that’s gonna be at a later date. 

Thank you for reading! 

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Hello yes I am Completely Anonymous ONCE AGAIN and I have a prompt for you! Temporary (perhaps potion or drug induced?) Amnesiac!Geralt being absolutely floored and delighted that Jaskier is his lover. Please and thank you.

Hey completely anon,

I may or may not have gone a little off script for this prompt and really wanted to write more for my dumb magical college AU. Hope you enjoy it anyway. May I present!

Magic and Exams: Amnesia

Main tags: college AU, it’s modern but with magic slapped in, Jaskier and Yenn are besties (Fight me), Lambert/Aiden kinda?, Non human Jaskier,  And they were roommates~, pure fluff, pre relationship, pining… Kinda, unbetaed, we die like Renfri

——

It was official! Fate was cruel and destiny hated him. Jaskier had been fine with how life had been going. Classes were good. Friends were great. And, you know, he had finally stepped into a tentative friendship territory with his hot roomie rather than that weird close relationship you develop with your roomie. Things were just grand!-- Ignore the fact that he had a monster crush on said roomie, not important!-- What was important was that Lambert, the ass, suddenly showed up on Jaskier’s free day-- a day he was dedicating to his reading and composing, bouncing around his hobbies as he pleased-- with a semi confused looking Geralt. The witcher had barged into the dorm room towing Geralt along as Aiden brought up the rear. Now, he was going to ignore this intrusion at first but Lamby seemed to have other ideas. He loudly proclaimed to the bewildered white wolf that this was his room and, oh look, his partner. “Go ham bro!” To which, Geralt’s gaze snapped to Jaskier and proceeded to silently stare at the musician in contemplation.

Jaskier, as one would imagine, was stunned as his brain tried to understand what was happening but the dickhead explained no further as he turned to leave. Having none of it, Jaskier quickly stumbled to his feet and bolted for the two retreating figures, almost tripping several times on the shit covering the floor-- he really needed to remember to clean one of these just as Geralt had nagged him to do days ago! He managed to get a hand on the other wolf before he fully got out the door. “Explain. Now.” He demanded, his voice warbling as his eyes darkened slightly. 

“Woah shrimp!Calm your tits, you’re starting to look a little red around the gills-- Seriously though, a little siren is beginning to show.” Lambert tried to make light of the situation-- fish puns again, really Lambert?-- even though his smile gained a touch of nervousness as Jaskier tightened his grip. He held back his claws for the moment but he was this close to having a truly marvelous freak out on the man if he didn’t start giving answers. 

“Calm down angelfish, Lambert’s just being a prick as per usual.” Aiden cut off anything Lambert was going to say. Lambert gasped in betrayal as he gave the third witcher a look that probably tried to convey how much he was wounded, he couldn’t really see though nor did he really care right now. “Situation is, we were having a class trip across campus, something monster related that our proff was gushing the fuck over and insisted we needed to see. Waaaay too excited over it if you ask me but while we were passing a class of freshies in an outdoor charms 101 class, this one chick starts going off at--” Aiden explained but really, it seemed more like he was slowly getting off topic as he spoke. 

“Kitty, Get. To. The. Point.” He insisted slowly punctuating each word, while frowning in annoyance.

“Rude. I am! Anyway, this girl gets into a row with this guy in her class and fires off some kind of spell which was deflected but hilariously it ricocheted right towards us.” That was not hilarious in anyway but rather terrifying but Jaskier refrained from pointing this out. “You know Geralt though, life loves to fuck with him, so he gets hit straight in the back with it and Poof! He can’t remember some shit now. We think he only remembers up to starting college but nothing after.” Aiden finally finishes with a proud smile at having riveted the musician with his tale of adventure but it diminishes slightly in the face of Jaskier’s baffled expression. The half-siren really was quite proud of it, it just conveyed the right amount of Are you fucking idiots or did you just lose your brain on the way over!?

Jaskier took a deep breath and calmed himself before flatly staring both in the eye, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he thought of how to respond. “And why, pray tell, did you bring my accidentally spelled roommate to me rather than sending him to infirm?” He asked, deceptively sweet with a razor’s edge to it. 

Lambert scoffed. “He was being fucking annoying--” His words were abruptly cut off by Aiden’s hand roughly smacking over his mouth. 

“What he means is…” Aiden growled, glaring at the wolf to make sure he kept his mouth shut, to which Lambert huffed and flipped him off but otherwise remained silent. “Geralt kept prodding us ‘bout going to see his partner and, well, you were like the only one we could think of since everyone else has someone and this idiot is single like you.” The man punctuated his simplistic logic with a small shrug. 

Jaskier took a deep breath through his nose. “Uh-huh… This is a terrible fucking idea--” Before he could finish what he wanted to say, Lambert suddenly yanked his self free of his grip and threw Aiden over his shoulder.

“Your problem now bard!” He called over his shoulder as he booked it down the hall, cackling like the bastard he was. 

“Oh nonononono! Get the fuck back here!” He called after fruitlessly. They were already long gone. 

Jaskier sighed as he turned and closed the door to their room. Geralt seemed to have ignored and blocked out the whole exchange. Whether out of courtesy for Jaskier privacy or in favor of refamiliarizing himself with their space, he’d never know nor did he really care. When he finally turned his gaze back onto Jaskier, he just stared while scowling intensely in thought. It was rather insulting if Jaskier was being frank. With a roll of the eyes, the musician realized he’d just have to roll with whatever the idiots told Geralt about their “relationship” but wanted to head off the coming disappointment from the witcher. Jaskier was obviously not what he had been expecting, especially since normally the man barely tolerated him much less ever tried to invite him out, but it would sting less if he were the one to address it rather than the larger man stating it. At least that’s what he told himself. “Ok, alright. I know I’m not what you were expecting and rather disappointing compared to some of your past dalliances but please, let’s just get you to infirm. Once you have  your head back on right, everything will make more sense about the whole us thing and we can just forget about this whole embarrass--”

“You’re so handsome…” Geralt’s awed words cut Jaskier’s rambling off at the knees and had him blinking in surprise. “Or cute. No, both… How do you manage to be both?!” Geralt’s marveling had Jaskier at a loss for words. The witcher had never once complimented him in all the time they had lived together. Barbed jabs? Yes. Playful teasing? Very Often. Statements of facts? Definitely. But actual full on compliments? Nope! No, never happened. Was this how he actually saw the musician or was this some hokey hocus pocus side effect?! Or the man was dying as they spoke and was out of his mind. Either way Jaskier snapped his mouth closed, no it had not been hanging open thank you very much, and tried to get his brain to work again. 

“Wai-What?” Smooth Jaskier. His flabbergasted tone and excessive blinking seemed to not queue in Geralt however. 

“Man, I really lucked out. How’d I get a catch like you to even look my way? Wish I could remember how…” The normally stoic individual whistled long and low as he gave Jaskier a once over. A once over! Like Jaskier was a hottie from a club-- or however Ren said it-- instead of some music nerd overloaded with college minors! Jaskier was so astonished and caught off guard that he bagan sputtering incoherently, much to the Witcher’s amusement apparently if the wolfish grin was anything to go by. He was shocked and scandalized! Delighted but absolutely shocked! He had never witnessed this side of his roommate. Instead of addressing whatever was happening here, Jaskier stumbled over to his phone on the bed and quickly dialed Yennefer. 

It rang twice before he heard the familiar click of her answering and began nearly shouting before she could give her usual passive aggressive hello. “Yenn! I need help--”

“Whoa, calm the fuck down Jask, what the hell happened?!” Her worried demands cut him off. It was rather heartwarming to know his best friend sounded ready to draw blood for him. He could coo and awe about that later though!

“I’m fine but Geralt got hit with some hoodoo amnesia magic but I think it’s really just killing him! He’s acting delusional Yenn! He called me cute-- Stop laughing! This is serious!” He attempted to explain what was going on but his witch cut him off with her hysterical laughing on the other end of the line. Rude, by the way. This was a very serious matter.

“Sorry Dandy, you just, whew, gave me the best pick me up, I could have asked for. You really got me.” Yenn attempted to speak after most of it calmed down but a few giggles still managed to slip out. 

“Yenn… I’m serious. He actually doesn--” He was cut off yet again. People really needed to cut that shit out. 

“Lemme guess, Lambert is somehow involved?” She questioned, finally taking him a little more seriously, and he could practically hear her eye roll at the mischief maker’s name. 

“Yes…” He confirmed slowly as his eye wandered to Geralt again as his panic died down slightly. The white haired man looked very confused as Jaskier tried to smile reassuringly but it probably came off as unsure at best. 

The larger man came closer and placed warm large hands on his biceps as he looked intently into Jaskier’s eyes. “I mean it… I’m sorry if I never told you, I guess I was a pretty shitty boyfriend if I never told you how wonderful and caring you seem to be.” The other man apologized, as he looked away in shame. The words had the musician’s heart going wild as Yenn continued to talk in his ear. He really couldn’t hear her over his heart beating in his ears but it sounded like a demand to get Geralt to the infirmary. 

To which Jaskier answered, “That’s nice dear. I think I have to go to infirm now because I believe my heart is about to give out.” His voice was sighed out in shock as he hung up on Yenn’s sudden worried screeching.  Geralt on the other hand suddenly looked panicked and rather worried. 

“What?” He questioned as he started to look over his “boyfriend”. “Don’t worry Jask, I’ll get you there. Just hang on.” Geralt tried to reassure him, his voice was handsome with how rough and rumbling it suddenly was, as he scooped the smaller man up into his arms like a bride. No, Jaskier did not swoon he’ll have you know! The wolf then booked it out of the room. “Damn it! I wish Roach were here…” He muttered in a growl and Jaskier thanked the heavens that the man did not remember his horse-- cat? Was in their room sleeping. There would be plenty of rumors after this but it especially would have gone down in infamy if the Witcher had rode like the wind across campus on horseback again. Jaskier couldn’t do much at that point except lay back, accept his fate, and enjoy the other’s cooing, about taking care of his boyfriend or how good Jaskier was, while it lasted. But hey, at least he’d finally get Geralt to infirm.

[dhwty-writes]

A Health Hazard

This took a lot longer to write than it had any right to. The first 1.5k words were written in under 2 hours, the rest in thrice that time. I'm done with today and this prompt. Written for day 3: Reading by the fire/cuddling by the fire of @witcher-and-his-bard‘s winter prompts Have fun!

Summary: Geralt of Rivia is bored. This hasn't happened in forever. Literally. He learns to understand Jaskier's whining a lot better. 

Warnings: none, besides the fact that this is unedited

Read on AO3

All things considered, it had taken a surprisingly short time for the impossible to happen. Apparently, all that it took was three weeks. Three weeks cooped up in Jaskier's generously-sized lodgings in Oxenfurt with nothing to do and lo and behold, Geralt of Rivia was bored. Bored! Could you imagine that?

It hadn't been so bad in the beginning. After five days he finally hadn't felt the need to rise with the sun and had let Jaskier kiss him goodbye, running late for a lecture, while he turned over and slept in. He couldn't remember when he had last done that. Truth be told, he couldn't remember if he'd ever done that.

Certainly not since he'd gotten to Kaer Morhen; there was no slacking in the witchers' keep. He briefly wondered if passing out after a fight and waking up days later could count as sleeping in. Probably not.

No, sleeping in was something for the safe and comfortable, and for the first time since he could think Geralt could count himself among them. All thanks to Jaskier, of course, who did his best to spoil his lover rotten. All on the cost of the Oxenfurt Academy, naturally.

The Academy spared no cost or effort to ensure the comfort of their lecturers—and Jaskier wasn't just any lecturer, he was probably the most popular bard on the continent. Geralt had first realised that Jaskier was rich when he had seen his personal study, stocked with books right up to the ceiling. Most of them were beautiful leather-bound tomes, written by hand with detailed pictures. He had felt a bit faint when discovering that some of them were in the second row.

No matter what Jaskier said about gifts from colleagues and magical innovations called a printing spell, books were immeasurable luxuries. And the bard owned close to a hundred of them. Personally.

Still, Geralt had been hesitant, at first, to make use of the private bath that came with the four-room apartment, or to call upon a servant to fetch him things. That was until Jaskier had told him outright how much they paid him for a single lecture, let alone several of them each day for months. If they were willing to pour that much money down the drain, he couldn't really feel bad about it.

So, the following days and weeks Geralt allowed Jaskier to teach him how to enjoy himself. He learned how to sleep in, indulged in almost daily baths, spent his days reading novels and poems out of Jaskier's personal collection. He didn't protest when the bard ordered too much food. Didn't comment on the overabundance of sweets—he even admitted he liked it. And when Jaskier asked for too exotic spices he only raised his eyebrows.

Once he had even ventured into the extensive Academy library—Geralt had never seen so many books in one place in his entire life—to find a collection of chivalrous legends Jaskier had told him about. He had been welcomed by an overly polite librarian, who had gone ahead to recommend him a dozen other books with the same topic, complete with annotations noting upon all the different possible interpretations. And if that hadn't been enough, he had been offered to take them with him. All of them. At once. As long as he liked. With no credentials but the name "Pankratz". He couldn't fathom how the library hadn't been robbed empty yet. When he had told Jaskier so, he had only laughed and kissed him gently, calling him a silly witcher.

It all had culminated when later that day, after Jaskier had ordered their dinner to be brought up to their rooms, it had been Geralt to stop the servant by the arm and ask for a bottle of wine.

"Right away, sir," the servant had answered. "Do you have any preferences?"

"Umm-" After a quick glance back to Jaskier, who had smiled encouragingly, he had added: "Est Est?"

He had half expected to be reprimanded, but the servant had only looked at him as if that had been obvious. "The year, sir. Do you have any preferences for the year?"

"I hear 1260 was especially good," Jaskier had piped up and that had been the end of that. They had had a very nice evening and an even nicer night, albeit neither of them had gotten a lot of sleep.

The problem was that since then over a week had passed. Geralt had read through all the books he had borrowed and leafed through a number of volumes of Jaskier's personal collection. He wasn't feeling like reading anymore. He had visited several taverns to play Gwent, but that too was interesting only for so long.

He had taken Jaskier up on his offer and accompanied him to a few lectures, but that had grown boring, too. Of course, he could talk about his adventure and the content of the poems, but that wasn't what Jaskier and his students were talking about. Instead, they lead very heated discussions about rhymes and metaphors and what Jaskier called a meter ("It's like a rhythm, Geralt."). But in the end, he didn't care if the rhyme was a pair or not, or if the rhythm was an asbestos or a dromedary or something.

He flopped down on the couch with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh. Jaskier had returned from his last lecture an hour ago and was now holed up in his study doing... something. As if him being away all day wasn't bad enough, he had to continue working afterwards!

Geralt sat up with a start. Shit, was that how Jaskier felt all year round on the Path? It was a horrifying thought; no wonder the bard was so whiny all the time. Well, Geralt was different. He certainly wouldn't stoop so low. No, he definitely wouldn't whine.

 ~*~

 "Jaskier," Geralt whined from his place on the extra armchair they had acquired the previous day. "Are you done yet?"

The poet mouthed some words along while he frantically scribbled them down on yet another snippet of parchment. "Almost, darling, give me a minute," he muttered absentmindedly just like he had half an hour ago.

Geralt threw his head back and groaned loudly. He was going mad; he was sure of it. It was not normal for people to go such a long time without someone charging at them with swords or claws or dirty underwear. It could not be healthy. "D'you think I should talk to Shani?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jaskier mumbled under his breath, flipping through the hundreds of pages of notes he was keeping.

"Hmm." So Jaskier agreed that boredom was a serious health hazard. He drummed his fingers on the armrest. Maybe he should go do it right away?

He got to his feet and was almost at the door when he halted. No, it was late already, sundown a few hours past. He walked back to the armchair. But maybe-

"Geralt," Jaskier said with a heavy sight and put down his pen. "Love. You're pacing." 

"Really?" The witcher grit out. "Wouldn't have noticed."

"Can you just-" He rubbed at his temples. He looked incredibly tired. "I'm sorry, five more minutes, alright? Then we can do whatever you want, what d'you think of that."

"Hm." Geralt thought that was bullshit and that Jaskier should take a break.

But the poet was too engrossed in his own mind to even hear it.

'Alright then,' he thought and sat back down, arms crossed. 'Five more minutes.' He could manage five minutes of meditation. Easily.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, waiting for the calm to settle over him. What followed were probably the longest five fucking minutes of Geralt's life.

No sooner were they over that his eyes snapped open and he rushed over to his bard, holding him close from behind and nuzzling against his neck.

Jaskier chuckled softly. "Hello there. Five minutes over already?"

"Yes," Geralt said resolutely. "What're you writing anyways?" he asked, trying to peer over his bard's shoulder.

Still scribbling, Jaskier answered: "A novel, dear."

"A novel?" he replied and pulled back a little. "Since when?" Jaskier never wrote novels. Songs and poems, yes, and on one memorable occasion a play, too, but they had both agreed that it was horrid and that he should stick to shorter stuff.

He shrugged and slammed the piece of paper onto one of the piles. Apparently, there was an order to the chaos. "The day before yesterday, I think? Didn't really pay attention."

Geralt snorted. That went without saying. "Please tell me you didn't write all that in-"

Jaskier gasped softly and pulled up another sheet of paper. "Shh, give me a minute, love, else I'll forget this sentence. Oh fuck, this is so good-"

He bared his teeth. "You said-"

"Please, Geralt," Jaskier begged. 'Fuck.' The cursed bardlet knew damn well that he couldn't resist him; not with the pure desperation in his voice.

So, Geralt contented himself with grumbling displeased and pressing his nose against Jaskier's neck, while he waited for the scratching of the quill on paper to finally subside.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long for Jaskier to slam the quill down and forcefully push the paper away. "Done," he declared, exhaustion plain in his voice. "I'm done for today."

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Y-yeah. I'm sure." The tiny pause was enough for Geralt to know that, no, Jaskier wasn't done in the slightest. If not for him the poet would probably stay up until the early hours of morning, crafting one masterful line after the other. Until he'd inevitably collapse from the exhaustion, smudging the ink of his uppermost sheet of paper all over his face.

He couldn't fathom how much self-control it cost Jaskier to turn around and ask: "So, what is bothering you so terribly, my beloved witcher?"

Geralt glared at him defiantly. It took him all of three seconds to cave. "I'm bored," he complained and frowned.

The effect was instantaneous and his expression grew soft. "Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry."

There was something about Jaskier's voice, something about his touch, about the way he brought Geralt close for a gentle kiss. Something that made him go from wanting to believe his words so badly to actually believing them.

The smile on his bard's face was nothing short of adorable when he asked: "Anything I can do about it?"

"Hm." Well, he could think of quite a few things to bide their time.

Before he could voice any of them, though, Jaskier continued: "Yeah, that's what I thought." He stood up and took his hand. "Come on, Geralt, I'm dead on my feet. Let's get somewhere more comfortable, then we can figure that out."

He gladly let himself be led. As long as it meant spending time with Jaskier, he was hardly about to object. The poet flitted around their apartment, collecting pillows and blankets, while he sent Geralt off to heat the kettle and get them some tea, all the while humming with excess energy.

Not fifteen minutes later Geralt found himself on the floor in front of the fireplace with a lapful of bard who was cursing quietly whenever he sipped his too-hot tea and inevitably burnt his tongue. Geralt couldn't help but smile as he cradled his Jaskier closer to his chest.

"What's your novel about?" he whispered into his ear.

"Oh, it's a romance!" he replied cheerfully.

Geralt pulled back, a horrible thought dawning on him. "Jaskier...," he growled. "Please tell me you're not writing a romance novel about us."

"Well," the poet drawled and Geralt groaned. So that was a yes. "I am not writing about Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, and Jaskier the bard."

"But?"

"But it might be that the two protagonists are a chivalrous monsterslayer and his loyal painter companion."

"Jaskier...," he pleaded even though he knew it was useless.

"What? In my defence, it was you who dragged in the knightly ballads!"

"Hm." That was a shit defence and they both knew it. Unwilling to start an argument, though, he just pulled Jaskier closer against his chest and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. "Tell me more."

And tell him more he did. Thank the gods it was so easy to get Jaskier rambling. He told him about the two protagonists, Eric and Dandelion, who had met shortly after the artist had abandoned the court; he had been living at, to find real inspiration out in the world. He was, apparently, entirely insufferable and a notorious womanizer-

"What?" Geralt interrupted him with a quiet chuckle. "Next you tell me he set out into the world to draw nude portraits of all his lovers."

"Oh no!" He felt Jaskier tense up before even the lament had left his mouth. "Oh, fuck, Geralt, that's brilliant, I-" His mouth snapped shut. His eyes flitted around nervously as he was obviously contemplating what the worse fate was: abandoning his lover or risking the loss of an idea.

Geralt quickly made the decision for him as he opened his arms. "Go on, bard," he said with a soft smile. "Write it down before it's gone again." He had lived with Jaskier long enough to become well acquainted with all of his sorrows.

The smile he got in return was almost worth it. "You're the best, I love you, I'm so sorry," he blabbered, scrambling to his feet. He pecked him on the mouth with a quick: "Be right back."

'No, you won't,' Geralt thought adoringly as he watched him bolt to his desk. "Just bring something to write with when you do!" he called after him and leaned back against the couch. He couldn't quite bring himself to wipe the lopsided grin off his face.

It was going to be a long winter. But he wouldn't have it any other way.