#Finally he gets his opening and the god of bards swoops in

[y-rhywbeth2]

I feel like if you recognise Milil that you're about to get courted by a god shortly after that party. As a worshipper, mainly, though Milil is also known for being a flirt, so the usual sense of the word could certainly happen.

Faded gods need worshippers - especially powerful ones with fame and connections. Do you need a display of all the things he can do for you if you send him a prayer once a day? He made his high priest immortal or something like it once, if that sweetens the deal any! Please, he's dying, and bored, and lonely, and so bored.

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

Whumptober No. 3: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But...

Taunting | Insults | “Who did this to you?”

Summary: Nothing could’ve prepared Geralt for Jaskier being brought to Kaer Morhen, nor for the sight of the bandages on his injured hands. Despite what happened on that mountain, Geralt wants to know who did this - who took away something so integral to the core of Julian Alfred Pankratz. But he doesn’t get the answer he thought he would.

Words: 2k

A/N: DAY THREE LET’S GOOO! And after two and a half months, I’ve finally gotten another witcher fic out! It feels good! I missed writing for this fandom so much (and it’ll help me ease back into Spider’s Thread), and this was SUCH a fun prompt fill for today. This was inspired by some of That Jaskier Content from the latest s2 trailer, and it’s... implications about the state of his hands. I hope you enjoy!

[CW: Hurt/No Comfort, Torture Aftermath, Hand Injury]

--

Nothing could have prepared Geralt for this.

No, there was nothing in this world - not even a miracle - that could’ve prepared Geralt for the moment he sensed a portal - one of Yen’s portals - outside the keep.

For the moment he ran out to a balcony and saw her there, having somehow - despite everything he believed, everything he thought he knew for certain - having survived the Battle of Sodden Hill; for the moment he’d lay eyes on a very much alive Yennefer… with a bard’s arm drawn over her shoulder to support him.

His hair was longer now, down to his jaw, and a burgundy leather jacket - adorned with ribs and folds just like that red doublet he wore as he looked down at him on that mountain, heart shattered - lay in tatters on him, bandaged hands peeking out of it’s sleeves…

He didn’t look the same - Gods knew he didn’t look the same - but Geralt still recognized Jaskier.

He was shuffled into one of the many, many spare rooms almost immediately, and Geralt tried talking to Yennefer. Of course, she’d been tense with him, but that was alright. At least she was alive to be tense with him. He’d take that over a particular alternative any day.

Speaking of tense...

The keep had never felt so cold as right now, when Geralt of Rivia stood in the doorway of Jaskier’s impromptu room. Here, the bard sat in an old chair, in front of a desk he did not look like he’d use to write on anytime soon. No, he looked at the wood slab despondently, not even seeming to notice Geralt.

So, he spoke up, speaking to Jaskier, his companion of twenty years, for the first time since that mountain.

“Jaskier… you’re here.”

Jaskier didn’t look at him, but he did speak.

“Wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know where else to go, and even if I did, Yennefer insisted - didn’t think I’d be safe anywhere else. Can you believe that? Yennefer of Vengerberg has a soft spot for me. The end of days may very well be upon us.”

His voice was hoarse. Geralt knew it must have been from screaming. His eyes drew down to Jaskier’s hands, where patches of horrendous blue and gods-damned purple peeked out from slivers of space between the bandages that showed his open skin.

“Your hands…”

“Oh, these old things?” Jaskier looked down at them,  “Well, Yenny did her best, but they still hurt like a bitch to play with. I won’t bestow new ballads on the world for a while yet. Sorry if you expected me to sing your praises…”

But his tone made it clear that he wouldn’t do that even if his hands were as good as they were that day in Posada, or in Cintra, or on that mountain…

Geralt pursed his lips, trying to hold back his question. He didn’t deserve to know, he knew that, but he had to…

“...Who did this to you?” he spat out.

Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet the Witcher’s, and he laughed. It wasn’t like before - like the sunrise in the spring, like the bloom of buttercups, like love and joy and all the things he came to equate with Jaskier’s laughter, however unconscious, unadmitted these comparisons were. No, it was an empty, sardonic, quietly angry thing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“And for what?” he asked, “So you can tear some fucker to shreds for laying a hand on me? Because you think I’m still your naive companion that would swoon at the thought of you exacting revenge on him for my sake? So you can make some grand gesture of brutality?”

“I’m not the one of us enamored with grand gestures.”

Jaskier tilted his head back and huffed. The shift in his movement made his hair move a bit, and Geralt realized he missed that little swoop - the little… floof, even - of hair that went down his forehead before, when his hair had been shorter.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said “us” about me and you.” Jaskier remarked, “Twenty years, and you acknowledge that I was something to you. Not sure what, but something.”

“You were…” 

Jaskier’s eyes widened as if he remembered something, “Oh! Right! I remember - a shitshoveler. The catalyst for all your plights, something life would bless you by taking off your hands.”

Guilt sliced into Geralt like a kikimora’s claws.

“Looks like life heard “taking” and “hands” and went straight to me…” Jaskier huffed with the ghost of amusement with himself, looking down at his hands.

“Of course you can still joke.”

Jaskier shrugged, “Not much else to do. They took my lute, and my ability to play it, but they haven’t taken my wit.”

He crossed his legs.

“The funny thing is…” he said, staring down at the cracks in the table in front of him, “There was a little bit there where, if you’d apologized, I would’ve forgiven you. But… there wasn’t a trace of you to speak of after that hunt. Nowhere I went. Not that I went looking.”

“I didn’t have time to look for you, either.” Geralt said, “I was with Ciri.”

Jaskier snapped his gaze up.

“Oh, come now, Witcher.” he said with venom Geralt only ever knew from bigoted villagers that Jaskier had tried to change the minds of with his songs before, “Does your prolonged lifespan render you timeblind, or has your head been so far up your ass for so long that you can’t even properly tell time anymore?”

“I-”

“Two years, Geralt.” he said, “A blink of an eye for you, maybe, but that’s how long it was between that damned dragon hunt and the fall of Cintra. Two years you could have found me, before Cintra fell, before-”

He snapped his jaw shut.

“Before who?”

“No, Geralt!” he snapped, slamming his hands on the table to help him stand up. It seemed that his anger stopped him from realizing how bad that would hurt, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Geralt tried to step forward, but it was like the ground between them was covered in hot coals, and Geralt’s feet couldn’t have been more bare.

Once the pain seemed to quell, Jaskier’s eyes opened, and he glowered at the Witcher.

“You don’t get to know. You don’t get to make that bastard beg for mercy and act like that fixes anything - as if it does anything but conflate your ego that is so, so massive despite how much you hate yourself. You don’t get to take revenge on my behalf. You don’t get to act like this,” he held up his hands, “is anything compared to what you did to my heart.”

“I’m sorry-”

“And you DON’T GET TO SAY THAT NOW.” he screamed, killing Geralt’s words before it could leave his lips.

Geralt saw tears in his eyes as he huffed shaky breaths.

“You don’t get to say it like some off-hand statement, only brought up since it’s relevant.” he said with a wavering voice, “You don’t get to only say it now that I’m here, fallen right in your lap because Gods knew where else Yennefer could take me. And you don’t get to say it like it means anything now.”

“Now?”

Jaskier lowered his gaze.

“...I sort of figured you were embarrassed. That you were too scared to get your head out of your ass, like you are with a lot of things, but once you did, I would’ve…”

He sighed.

“But I heard you went to Cintra. Heard you went to claim your child-surprise.”

“What does Cirilla have to do with this?” he asked.

“Who do you think he asked about with each bone he broke?” Jaskier asked, snapping his gaze back to Geralt, “You? If it were just you, I would’ve…”

He sighed.

“That isn’t the point. When I heard that after twelve years of running from your claim, you hauled your arse to Cintra to protect her, I realized that you were always capable of going back to unfinished business, to scorned places of the past - you could always do it, if it was for the sake of something important enough to you.”

Jaskier lowered his gaze again, smiling sadly - smiling bitterly. It was an odd thing, a bitter smile, but Jaskier, like a fine doublet, wore it well.

“I just wasn’t.” he said, “I’m not your destiny, or your djinn-bound soulmate. I was just a bard.”

My bard. Geralt wanted so badly to say.

“What could I have said?”

Jaskier’s lower lip quivered as he looked at the Witcher near-dumbfounded, as if his incredulousness were a dagger that cut him deep. He leaned back against the table.

“You tell me.” he shrugged, “For those two years, I was still stupid enough that anything would have worked. Really, I wished some of my eloquence rubbed off on you, and I could’ve gotten a plea that, in a spur of irony, I was one of the few blessings life ever granted you, but anything that sounded remotely like an apology would have worked.”

He put his hands on his hips. Geralt could tell how hesitant he was.

“...At least, it would have made me think I was worth an apology in your eyes, and I was worth all the work it could have taken, tracking me down to say it.”

He rubbed a patch of cloth on his trousers with his thumb. Geralt didn’t miss how the corner of his lip twitched.

“At least, I could’ve known that what you said really was just a product of the heat of the moment, sprung forth by a misplaced attempt at levity, and there was no truth to it. I was so desperate that I would have taken anything if it meant I’d stop missing you.”

“You obviously stopped missing me eventually.” 

Jaskier threw his head back again, “Wrong again, Geralt.”

He stood up straight again and walked across the floor, which, to Geralt, was still littered with hot coals he couldn’t dare step over.

“Do you really think that the venom in your words - the spit from your lips - the fury in your eyes could clear you from my mind? From my heart?” he walked right up to Geralt, though the space between them felt like it was pushing the Witcher away from Jaskier like a magnet.

“Do you really think that anything but the Gods themselves could’ve made me stop missing you?”

Geralt couldn’t say anything. Hearing Jaskier’s words… it was like a vocal hex, like someone had sewn his very lips shut.

(Perhaps if he had done so himself before that day on the hunt, things wouldn’t have gone so bad…)

(No, no, he still would’ve found a way to ruin things. He was Geralt of Rivia, after all.)

Jaskier was only inches away from him now - a distance like something from a dream, after they’d been distant for so long… but even though this was the closest their bodies had ever been to one another, the Witcher knew that Jaskier’s mind - his heart - was as far away from Geralt as it could ever get.

Jaskier was the one to break eye contact - as if he was still terrified of giving the Witcher the chance to break anything - and he looked down to his feet.

“...If you want to know who broke my hands, Yennefer knows more than I.” he said, “She’s the one that found me, told me more of who he was. All I have is a name for a face.”

Geralt turned to leave. Jaskier grabbed his wrist.

The touch burned.

“But…”

Jaskier lifted his head and looked Geralt in the eye.

“...You want to know who did this to me? Who ruined me? Who broke me?”

Jaskier’s eyes bore into Geralt’s soul, the ice blue of his irises piercing him like shards.

“Go look back on that mountain.”

[valdomarx]

Oh gods, your tag about living for Geralt realising he has made Jaskier cry and having an absolute break down over it, me too!!! But I like better when it ends happily. So maybe if you ever feel up to it, something where Geralt makes Jaskier cry, has a break down over it and it ends happily? Maybe he's done something dumb like gone and gotten himself hurt, or worse, gotten Jaskier hurt! Please just don't leave the bard sad forever.

Jaskier was no stranger to pain. He’d been beaten up, kicked, and had dogs set on him enough times (thus was the life of a bard with a lot of love to give) that he was accustomed to ugly bruises and the sharp twinge of a cracked rib, the occasional twisted ankle or dislocated shoulder.

So when he thought by the gods, this cockatrice venom fucking hurt, know that he was not exaggerating for effect, nor was he being overly delicate.

It was his fault, really, for insisting on accompanying Geralt on his hunt, and then for not staying where he was told to, hidden in a thicket at the bottom of the hill. He’d merely wanted a better view, and the cockatrice had looked so far away, circling the hilltop, its attention on Geralt who was haranguing it with his crossbow.

But cockatrices move fast, as it turns out, and he’d barely stepped out of the trees before it had spied him and swooped low on powerful wings with astonishing speed, venomous claws outstretched. Jaskier had tried to scramble back to his hiding place but the last thing he remembered was the sound of Geralt yelling, trying to distract the creature, sounding strangely panicked. Then there had been a searing pain in his shoulder like he was being burned by a red-hot poker, and then nothing.

He’d come to slouched on Roach, Geralt holding him from behind and riding hard.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice seemed very far away, even though it was right in his ear. “Back with me?”

As he came back to full consciousness, that was when the pain had started. It felt like the entire left side of his body was on fire, thousands of stinging needles jabbing under his skin in a coordinated torture.

He sucked in a breath and tried to steady his voice. “I’m awake,” he gasped out, though it took effort. By gods, it really hurt, and tears welled in his eyes.

“Are you...” Geralt’s voice trailed off, an unfamiliar degree of uncertainty in it. “Are you alright?”

Jaskier would have laughed at that, because pretty fucking clearly not, but he was too focused on the deep, brutal pain to be able to do so. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but then tears were running down his cheeks and his breath hiccuped and the pain was so bad he honestly thought this might be what dying felt like.

Geralt stiffened against him and rode harder.

--

Jaskier had only vague awareness of the next period of time - a hurried journey, his own voice crying out in anguish, an elven healer, some kind of foul-smelling salve being smothered over his shoulder. Mostly he was aware of the pain, vicious and unrelenting. And Geralt, always nearby, face pinched into an even deeper scowl than usual.

Finally, after what felt like days of torture but must in truth have been hours at most, the agony receded, lifting like the tide going out on the ocean shore. Discomfort remained, digging into his shoulder, but it was the familiar sort of pain of a body misused, not the screaming torment of before.

Now, he could breathe. Realisation of his surroundings filtered in slowly: a bed in a healer’s cottage, a poultice on his shoulder, Geralt sat at the bedside and gripping his hand where it lay on the sheets.

Jaskier blinked and looked down at their joined hands. That seemed odd.

“It’s my fault,” Geralt said, head bowed.

Jaskier blinked, slowly, still confused. “Whatdaya mean?”

“I should have been more careful,” Geralt looked away, guilt written over his features. “I should have been quicker. When I saw that beast going after you I...�� he broke off.

Jaskier was back to himself enough to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Geralt to find some way to take the blame for Jaskier’s stupidity. “You told me to stay put, I didn’t. My fault. Seems simple enough to me.”

Geralt shook his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let anything happen to you,” he said, quietly, like a confession.

Oh. That was rather sweet, in its way. But it did beg the question: “Then why do you let me travel with you?”

“Because I couldn’t live without you either.”

Oh.

Geralt still wouldn’t look at him, so Jaskier squeezed his hand. He finally faced Jaskier and he looked ruined, with dark circles beneath his eyes and an expression of unrelenting misery on his face.

“I don’t regret it,” Jaskier said, firm and sure as he’d ever been about anything. “Well, I mean, I do somewhat regret my rash actions that lead us to this particular predicament, but I don’t regret travelling with you. I don’t regret having you in my life.” Geralt’s face went very still, the way it did when he was trying to conceal his emotions. “Because I couldn’t live without you either, you big oaf, and if a bit of cockatrice venom is the price of being your bard, then I pay it willingly.”

Geralt’s jaw tightened, an almost imperceptible movement, but Jaskier understood what it meant. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, flatly, like it was a simple fact about the world.

Jaskier softened. Geralt might have been taciturn and sour at times, but Jaskier knew his gentle heart and his well-hidden kindness. Now he knew that heart had room for him, as unlikely as that seemed. “My dear witcher, you deserve me and much more, and I’ll be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Geralt managed a lopsided smile. “And if I want you for good?”

That warmed something deep in his chest, deeper even than the pain. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love Pt.6/6

Previous

Kaer Morhen was brilliant. The old keep was somehow caught in time itself, both ancient and yet so very present as it loomed in its corner of the mountains. Jaskier could only imagine what it must have looked like in its prime. Even with crumbling walls and barely functioning rooms, the keep was impressive. Vesemir, Geralt’s sort of father figure, greeted them as they reached the great doors of the keep.

Jaskier had travelled up the mountain as a thick furred tiger, one specially suited to cold weather. He’d read about the animal in a book at Oxenfurt and decided it would be his best bet for travelling through the harsh conditions and bitter cold up to Geralt’s home. Before they’d reached the keep he’d shifted back and gotten dressed so he could meet the other witchers as a human. Having been attacked by Lambert when he’d been a wolf he didn’t want to risk any more miscommunications.

“So, Wolf,” Vesemir grunted, and Jaskier was beginning to realise where Geralt had inherited his social skills from. “A human bard.”

Geralt hummed back.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and patted Geralt’s arm. It seemed as if it were down to him to explain their situation. “You have questions?” Jaskier asked with a tilt of his head.

“Geralt’s never brought a friend back before.” Vesemir huffed.

“Well then, I am honoured to be the first” Jaskier smiled brightly. “but I supposed you’re wondering why?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt, his witcher gave a small nod so Jaskier shifted. He always shifted into a smaller animal first if he hadn’t changed first. After tearing through too many clothes as a child he’d learnt that it was easier to crawl out of his clothes than to keep replacing them. He shifted into mouse and squeaked as he was suddenly engulfed by his silvery blue doublet. The pile fell to the ground with a soft thud and he braced inside the fabric as he landed. He heard Geralt’s soft chuckle and the ground vibrated as the witcher stepped closer to his clothes pile.

“He can portal?” Vesemir guessed. “But only without clothes. How strange.”

Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt a hand digging through his clothing, the movement tickled his whiskers. He bit Geralt gently on his finger and crawled onto his palm. His nose twitched as Geralt pulled him out the clothes. He squeaked as his eyesight adjusted to the outside world. He could barely see but he flicked his whiskers and managed to orientate himself on Geralt’s palm. He sniffed and scurried up Geralt’s arm, perching on his shoulder.

“He’s a mouse?” Vesemir’s voice rumbled in the air.

Jaskier squeaked and leapt at the older witcher. As he leapt he shifted into a falcon. He swooped and circled around Vesemir’s head, delighting in the return of his vision. It was sharp and he knew that in this form the woods surrounding Kaer Morhen would be a playground. He flew high into the sky with a loud cry and then bombed back down towards the ground, landing on Vesemir’s outstretched arm.

The older witcher stroked his feathers with a finger and he preened under the affection. “How remarkable. Are there any limits?”

Geralt hummed. “He only has one form per species. He wouldn’t be able to change into me, he’s not a doppler, but as far as I’m aware the only limit is his imagination.”

Jaskier launched into the air and shifted again, landing as a jaguar. He yowled at Geralt and nudged his leg. Geralt scratched between his ears and he shifted into a cheetah so he could purr as he rubbed up against Geralt’s leg, not so subtly marking the witcher with his scent.

“His eyes.” Vesemir breathed and reached out a hand. Jaskier head butted Geralt one last time before prowling over to the older witcher.

Vesemir held Jaskier’s face gently in his hands. “Absolutely remarkable.”

Jaskier let the older witcher study him for a few moments, until he started to feel like he was back in Lettenhove castle being treated like some kind of freak show in a circus. He yowled suddenly and jumped back to circle behind Geralt. He shifted back into a mouse and scurried up Geralt’s leg and found a nice warm crevice in his armour.

“Jask?” Geralt sounded concerned but Jaskier was caught up in the sudden wave on anxiety. He wanted to trust Geralt’s family. That was why he’d displayed his abilities but the way Vesemir had looked at him was so like the healers from his past.

“I’ve upset him.” Vesemir noted cooly. “When he changes back ask him why.”

“I will.” Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt the rumble in the witcher’s chest mixed with the steady vibrations of the medallion.

“Go. I’ll handle Roach. Your room is set up but I wasn’t expecting a guest. He could stay in Eskel or Lambert’s room until they arrive.” Vesemir said and Jaskier felt a shift in the air nearby, Roach snorted and stomped her foot.

“It’s fine. He can stay with me.”

Jaskier squeaked. Of course he would stay with Geralt. They always shared a room. At first it had been because Jaskier had stayed in animal form and couldn’t get a room on his own without shifting to human, after that it had just been habit.

Neither witcher nor bard questioned it.

Jaskier didn’t shift back for almost a week. The anxiety was easier to handle in animal form. He settled as a wolf and Geralt was almost always petting him whenever he wasn’t busy with chores or training. Jaskier helped out by going out to hunt. He managed to take down a small buck and pulled the carcass back through the forest to the keep. Geralt had far too much fun dumping a bucket of water over his head to wash the blood out of his fur. He snarled at the witcher but allowed him to brush the gore from his fur.

Lambert was the next witcher to arrive.

The redhead took one look at the russet wolf curled up by the fire and threw himself across the room.

“Jaskier! You bastard. How’s the head?” Lambert grinned and buried his face in Jaskier’s fur.

Jaskier wagged his tail and barked.

“Leave off.” Geralt grumbled and shoved Lambert back. “Get your own.”

“Oooh, alright grumpy.” Lambert laughed. “I was going to ask whether you wanted a drink but you can get your own.”

Jaskier rolled onto his back and howled, wagging his tail.

“Shut up.” Geralt growled but rubbed Jaskier’s belly with a small smile on his face.

Eventually, Jaskier shifted back. He was curled up on the bed next to Geralt, with his head on the witcher’s chest when he decided enough was enough. He let out a long sigh and let his magic ripple through his fur. Geralt’s hand stopped in his hair.

“There you are.” Geralt murmured into the dark room.

“Hmm.” Jaskier agreed, taking a page out of Geralt’s book.

“What happened?” Geralt asked as his hand began to thread through his hair once more.

Neither of them cared that Jaskier was now lying naked on Geralt’s bare chest.

Jaskier had accepted a long time ago that he was in love with the witcher. He’d never had a friend that he could be himself around before and it was so easy with Geralt. The witcher didn’t bat an eyelid when Jaskier shifted between human and animal forms. He didn’t treat Jaskier differently between forms either. The witcher had struggled at first when Jaskier had shifted to human. He’d been so openly affectionate when Jaskier had been an animal but hadn’t quite known how to express that when Jaskier was human but after months on the road together Geralt had gotten better. He often let Jaskier snuggle up to him in human form, and petted his hair just like he would when Jaskier was an animal.

Geralt wasn’t as talkative when Jaskier was human but he didn’t mind. Jaskier could talk enough for both of them. He was just happy that Geralt had let him stay.

He explained the anxiety that had overwhelmed him when Vesemir had studied him so intently. He kept the part about his past as vague as possible. Geralt already knew some of the details and it wasn’t easy for Jaskier to remember.

Geralt was silent as he listened, letting Jaskier explain without interruption.

When Jaskier finally ran out of words, Geralt hummed.

“Come here.” He murmured.

Jaskier frowned and sat up so he could see Geralt’s face. The witcher was staring at him with warm amber fire in his eyes. Jaskier couldn’t breathe under the intensity of his gaze. He felt his cheeks heat up and his mouth dropped open.

“Geralt?” He asked, his voice wavering.

Geralt sat up, cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands, and kissed him, so gently that Jaskier wasn’t sure that he wasn’t imagining it. His heart was hammering in his chest and he had the overwhelming urge to shift back into an animal, any animal.

He whimpered helplessly against Geralt’s lips.

Geralt chuckled and rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Is this ok?” He breathed, warm air tickling against Jaskier’s skin.

Jaskier laughed, almost hysterically. “Ok?!” He cried and flung his arms around Geralt’s neck before pulling him into a hug. “Gods Geralt. I’ve been wanting to do that for months!”

“Hmm.” Geralt nuzzled into his neck. “Why didn’t you?”

Jaskier sighed. “I didn’t think you’d want to.” He admitted. “It’s, it’s a bit strange considering the whole…” He let go out Geralt to wave his arms. “animal thing. I’ve never kissed anyone who’s known about that before.”

“Why would I care?” Geralt scowled. “You’re still you."

Jaskier shook his head. “Only you would think so, my darling.”

He smiled sadly at Geralt before leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss was longer this time, growing deeper with every second that passed. Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s long silver hair and hummed into the kiss. Geralt tasted faintly of the stew they’d had for dinner but Jaskier didn’t care. He was kissing Geralt of Rivia, and Geralt wasn’t pushing him away, quite the opposite in fact. The witcher’s hands pressed against his back pulling him closer.

Jaskier pulled away to breathe and Geralt growled, pushing Jaskier back against the bed and kissing down Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier was suddenly very aware that he was naked.

“Geralt.” He tugged at the witcher’s hair and forced the man to look at him.

Geralt’s normally golden eyes were dark with lust. He frowned and tilted his head with a grunt.

“Are you sure about this, dear heart?” Jaskier asked, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes. Are you?” Geralt growled.

Jaskier’s heart fluttered at the sound. “Gods, yes.” He pulled Geralt into a fierce kiss as if to prove his point.

He had never been so sure of anything in his life.

____________

The next morning Geralt and Jaskier had sheepishly slunk into the dining area for breakfast. Witcher hearing didn’t allow for many secrets in Kaer Morhen and Geralt had explained that both Vesemir and Lambert would know what they’d been up to the night before.

Luckily Jaskier was shameless.

He greeted both witchers with a wave and a brilliant smile. Lambert whistled and cheered loudly, whilst Vesemir just smiled into his drink.

“So is this a new thing?” Lambert smirked.

Geralt punched him in the arm. Jaskier put a hand on Geralt’s chest. “Geralt.” He chided softly. “I’m sure he’s only asking because he cares.”

Geralt snorted. “I doubt it. He’s a bastard.”

Jaskier smirked. “Oh believe me, I am very aware of that.”

“I am right here!” Lambert crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Look, I’m happy for you. Just keep it down next time. I really did not need to be serenaded to sleep by a sonnet about Geralt’s dick.”

Jaskier laughed. “How about a ballad?”

“No!”

“An epic retelling of—”

“Absolutely not!” Lambert put his hands over his ears.

Everyone was laughing by the end of breakfast, even Vesemir. Jaskier hadn’t seen the older witcher so care-free before. Jaskier felt pretty smug about it. Jaskier offered to help clear the plates whilst Geralt and Lambert started their chores around the keep. That was when Vesemir cornered him in the kitchen.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier almost dropped the plate his was holding but he recovered pretty quickly. “Ah, Vesemir. What a surprise!”

“I’m sorry, about before.” The older witcher held out his hand and Jaskier shook it, still bewildered by encounter. Vesemir had taken great care to avoid Jaskier whilst he’d been an animal so he hadn’t expected the witcher to approach him so soon after turning back into a human.

Jaskier waved his hand. “Nothing to worry about. There’s, there’s no problem.”

“Hmm.” Vesemir raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh well, umm, maybe there was a teensy problem. Just, umm. Just ask Geralt.” Jaskier’s fingers were playing on unseen lute strings. “It was a bad memory, that’s all.”

Vesemir nodded and patted Jaskier on the back. “You’re alright, pup.”

Jaskier tilted his head at the nickname, realising that he’d been accepted into Vesemir’s pack.

“Thank you.” He nodded, barely able to conceal his grin.

The next witcher to arrive into the keep was one that Jaskier had never met before. Geralt introduced them with a quick wave of his hands.

“Eskel. Jaskier.” He grunted.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and bounded up to the new witcher, hugging him tightly. “Hello!” He sang happily.

“Geralt?” Eskel asked but returned the hug tentatively.

“Geralt’s boyfriend.” Lambert explained. “Ow!”

“Geralt!” Jaskier let Eskel go and spun round to poke Geralt in the chest. “Play nice.”

He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head as he glared at his witcher. Geralt gave him a small smile and hummed.

“You got yourself a human?” Eskel asked, still a little stunned by Jaskier.

Jaskier sighed deeply. Normally he preferred that most people saw him as just a human but he wanted to be honest with Geralt’s family and honestly it was getting tiring having to explain the truth every time. The wolf witchers were going to have to get used to his nudity if he had to keep shifting between forms whilst he was at the keep for winter. He didn’t mind staying as an animal but Geralt’s room was at the top of a tower and he really didn’t want to have to fly up every time he wanted to change back.

So he started to pull off his clothes.

“What the fuck?” Eskel covered his eyes.

Lambert cackled and Geralt just sighed. The silver-haired witcher opened his arms and Jaskier dumped his clothes in Geralt’s waiting hands before walking to the centre of the courtyard.

Geralt tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at him.

Jaskier smirked and winked at his witcher before letting his magic loose. His skin rippled into red scales and felt the fire burning in his chest. His front talons hit the ground with a loud thud and he roared, letting loose a burning pillar of fire into the air.

“Holy shit!” Lambert yelled.

“He’s a dragon?” Eskel stared up at him in awe.

Geralt just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Jaskier, stop being so dramatic for once in your life.”

Jaskier snorted a smoke ring at Geralt and launched into the air. The colours were amazing in this form and he could see for miles. The burning in his chest was uncomfortable so he let out another geyser of flames as he flew above the keep. He could smell the salted jerked meat from the panty and his stomach rumbled loudly even though he’d already had breakfast. He snorted and looked around in the trees below until he spotted a doe grazing on the banks of the river.

He dove down without thinking and scooped the animal up in his talons. He roared as he returned to the keep, landing in the courtyard with a thud. The doe was already dead in his talons so he snapped up his meal in two bites.

“Fuck…” Lambert breathed and Jaskier turned to snarl at him.

Geralt jumped between them and placed a hand on Jaskier’s snout. “Jaskier.” He said slowly and calmly. “Maybe a dragon isn’t a good idea.”

Jaskier looked down at his bloodied talons and shifted immediately into a cat, his tail flicked as Geralt picked him up.

Eskel pointed at him. “He can change!”

Jaskier meowed and rubbed his head under Geralt’s chin. He suddenly felt very full. He would have to change again soon, into a bear or something with a larger stomach until he could digest his dragon meal properly. His magic compensated for the sudden change but it still ached.

“Can you become a goat?” Eskel grinned and crossed his arms.

Jaskier yowled and looked up at Geralt.

“Yes.” Geralt answered for him.

“Amazing.” Eskel nodded. “Welcome to the family, Jaskier.”

Jaskier purred happily and pawed at Geralt’s face.

Family.

After years alone on the road, he had a family.

All because he’d found one very lonely witcher on the path.

He purred and nuzzled into Geralt’s chest. For the first time in his life, he was found.

______

Next story!

[morganaspendragonss]

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterpost!

And that's a wrap on my @badthingshappenbingo card! Thanks to anybody and everybody who requested a square - this has been so, so fun! I've had this card for years and have been actively working on it for a year and a half, so it's incredible to have finally finished it 🥰

Prompts and Fills listed below the cut:

Used in Sacrifice/Ritual - Filled

you would be the one to rescue me | BBC Atlantis | Jason x Pythagoras

When Jason wakes, Pythagoras is gone.

This in itself is not so strange. What is strange, however, is that his cloak has been left behind despite there being a significant chill in the air. And when Hercules begins to wake, and there is still no sign, Jason knows.

Something's wrong.

Rage Against the Reflection - Filled

out, damned spot | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

Falling Through the Ice - Filled

ice in my veins | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

Carlos only turns away for a second, he swears. Unfortunately, a second is clearly ample time for his boyfriend to get into trouble because when Carlos turns back around, TK is no longer standing where he left him.

Instead, there’s a sizable hole in the ice.

Flashbacks - Filled

start again from the beginning | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK & Owen

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

Branding - Filled

setting fire to our insides for fun | Supernatural | Meg x Cas

Cas had been prepared to find demons. Frankly, he would have been concerned if he didn’t find demons, given that that was his mission here. What he hadn’t been prepared for, however, was to find two demons torturing another, pressing the hot end of a branding iron into her forearm.

He killed the two torturers with practised ease, barely wasting a moment before they were both on the dirty, wooden floor, eyes burned out their sockets. Only then did he allow his surprise to catch up to him, breathing heavily as his gaze settled on someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Meg.

Memory Loss - Filled

focal point | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

Waking up in the hospital is becoming all too familiar. Being the one in the bed is less so, but Carlos has had his fair share of hospital trips. He knows the drill.

As soon as he sees him awake, TK breaks out in harsh sobs. "Carlos," he breathes. "I... I thought I'd lost you."

Caught in an Explosion - Filled

can we skip past near death cliches? | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

It’s the kind of call every first responder dreads. A bomb threat in an apartment block, civilian’s lives on the line, the whole situation a hair’s breadth away from disaster. And Carlos is right in the middle of it.

tw: explosions, bombs

Forced to Kneel/Bow - Filled

in case you don’t live forever (let me tell you now) | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

His teammates were still sitting in the communal area when TK entered, eyes glued to the tv screen. Paul was the first to notice him, and TK’s concern only grew as he got everyone else’s attention, their worried gazes falling on him one by one.

“There’s a hostage situation at that big, fancy hotel across town," Marjan explained. "Apparently it’s pretty serious, they’ve had to send police in, and, um, well…”

Marjan paused, and TK felt dread wash through him, knowing what her next words would be.

“Carlos is there, TK. He’s gone in.”

tw: references to gun violence

Be Careful What You Wish For - Filled

can you beat back the night? | The Witcher | Geralt x Jaskier

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

*

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

Blood From the Mouth - Filled

I Got You | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos, TK & 126 Crew

“I’m just sayin’,” Judd says, waving his arms around. “Somebody’s gonna get themselves killed in there one of these days. I had to come out here three times last year because of some idiots who think they know better than the ‘Keep Out’ signs.”

The team are called to an abandoned house where some kids are trapped. Everything is going smoothly, which, naturally, means that it won't be that way for much longer.

Trapped in a Burning Building - Filled

a little unsteady | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

9-1-1, What's your emergency?

'Please, help! My house is on fire and my husband’s inside!'

or

t.k. sometimes wonders if the universe is out to get him

Worked Themselves to Exhaustion - Filled

In Your Arms | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos, Michelle & TK

T.K. and Carlos agreed when they started dating to check-in on each other that they were both okay. Reassurance that nothing bad had happened. So, when Carlos hasn't replied hours after his shift is supposed to have finished, T.K.'s definitely beginning to panic. 

Locked in a Cage - Filled

running out of time | Shadowhunter Chronicles | Kit x Ty

When (if) they got out of here, Kit wanted the record to unequivocally state that this wasn’t his fault. Not that it was Ty's either, but it certainly wasn't Kit's.

or

kit and ty's first hunt together after three years goes wrong and they wind up trapped in a cage with no way out. naturally, this leads to a heartfelt conversation.

Demonic/Ghostly Possession - Filled

Haunting | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos, TK & Owen

T.K. is five when he first sees a ghost, though, of course, he doesn’t know that it’s a ghost. His name is Joey, and he lives in the playground, which T.K. thought was a little strange, but he doesn’t want to ask. Dad says it’s rude to ask questions like that to someone he’s just met.

Fingore - Filled

ease my mind | 911: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

Verbal Abuse - Filled

this is a song about somebody else | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos, TK & Marjan

TK doesn't notice the 126's latest visitor until it's too late. He freezes as Alex smiles at him, knocked off balance by this sudden intrusion of his old life into his new one.

or

alex vists tk at the 126. luckily, tk has his family to help him through it.

tw: abusive language

Dying in Their Arms - Filled

can you hear me screaming (please don’t leave me) | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

As a cop, Carlos has to deal with all kinds of cases, and not all of them end well. But never in his life did he imagine that he'd have to respond to an incident involving his own boyfriend.

tw: major character death

Blindfolded - Filled

find you here inside the dark | Doctor Who | Thirteen x Yaz

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

Water Torture - Filled

soggy clothes and breezeblocks | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

Carlos wakes up slowly. He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the pounding in his head. He lifts his hand to massage the pain away, only to discover that his hand won't move, the cool metal of handcuffs biting viciously into his wrist.

After an undercover mission goes wrong, Carlos is forced to fight for his life. And to make matters worse, his kidnappers are making sure that T.K. is watching the entire thing.

tw: torture

Fighting from the Inside - Filled

and curse the gods | BBC Atlantis | Jason & Medusa

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

Slammed into a Wall - Filled

mind over matter (matter over mind) | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos, TK & Owen

After a night out goes wrong, TK and Carlos are left to deal with the consequences.

tw: homophobia, hate crimes, hiding an injury

Suicide Attempt - Filled

be done with this now | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

Once upon a time, Carlos had thought that watching as his almost-boyfriend was whisked off in an ambulance, bullet wound in his chest, would be the worst moment of his life. Then TK had been kidnapped, and Carlos had spent hours not knowing where he was, if he was alive or dead, and he thought - this is it. Nothing can top this.

But, having to perform CPR on his husband, having to hold him as he slipped away in his arms?

That was worse than even his nightmares.

tw: suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, drug abuse, overdosing

Bleeding Through the Bandages - Filled

pull you in to feel your heartbeat | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

The call comes at the tail end of Carlos’s shift, and he instantly hates whichever idiot decided to ruin his night by mugging someone.

What he's not expecting is to find his boyfriend on the ground, bleeding out from a stab wound.

Arm in a Sling - Filled

have you been involved in an accident at work? | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK & 126 Crew, TK x Carlos

T.K. was on his way to the hospital. Again.

At least this time he could say with absolute certainty that it 100% wasn't his fault.

Self-Harm - Filled

but god i wanna feel again | 9-1-1: Lone Star | TK x Carlos

Carlos blames himself for not noticing. It's not like he had much choice in the matter; he hasn't seen T.K. all week, and his texts have been going unanswered, but he can't help but feel like it's partly his fault.

If only T.K. would actually talk about himself, instead of keeping it all in.

tw: self-harm

[alwaysraineh]

yooooo rachel that ask game is practically MADE FOR ME, this is just going to be a mix but 1, 3, 10 for jaskier, lup, and taako as characters! not in that order, mix and match to your heaaart's content, i will humbly devOUR any insipiration you can spaaaaare 🥺🥺💛💛

ooomg JOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! this took a few days so i apologize for that but each prompt could have worked for each character and i had to figure out what i wanted to do but it was so. fun. i had a blast with this!!!! tysm for giving me so much to play around with!!! i hope you like them!!!!

also i’m gonna put them under the cut bc they got kinda long all together lol

send me a number and a pairing and i’ll make them kiss!

1. small kisses littered across the other’s face

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” Taako shrieks, giggling wildly in a way that tells Kravitz he isn’t too serious about his demands. He grins, dark eyes twinkling with mischief, and pulls back just far enough to admire the flush on Taako’s cheeks and the breathless part of his lips.

“You’ve made your point,” Taako continues, all teeth and laughter.

“I most certainly have not!” Kravitz protests, swooping back down to press several quick kisses to Taako’s temple and eyebrows. “I told you I would kiss every part of you that I find beautiful, and you-”

“I said you’re a dramatic sap!”

“Perhaps. But I intend to finish what I’ve started!”

Taako dissolves into another fit of giggles as Kravitz kisses his nose, his ear, his eyelashes. He pushes half-heartedly at his boyfriend’s chest, no real effort in his shoves, and tries to roll to the side when Kravitz blows a raspberry against his cheek. Both men go tumbling off the couch at that, ending in a pile of limbs and breathy chuckling on the floor before Kravitz concedes and smooths a lock of hair behind Taako’s ear, giving an infatuated smile when the elf presses a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist in response.

3. a breathy demand: “kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond

For a moment, all Jaskier can hear is his own pulse roaring in his ears. Next comes the heavy pant of Geralt’s breath somewhere above him and the faint hiss of sizzling acid from the other side of the thick tree trunk he’s been pressed against. Then, somewhat belatedly, the realization that his hands are on Geralt’s chest- quite specifically, his fingers are wrapped white-knuckled around the straps of the witcher’s armor.

Jaskier relinquishes his hold, startled, and in the same heartbeat Geralt curses and steps away, shaking his arm with a sour expression. The movement reveals a small hole in his sleeve and a nasty-looking welt on his skin that definitely wasn’t there before he’d seized Jaskier around the middle and whipped him into the relative safety of the tree.

So perhaps following Geralt when the witcher had specifically directed him to stay behind hadn’t been Jaskier’s brightest idea. But in his defense, Geralt rarely provided any details of his hunts, so how was Jaskier meant to know that a dying bloedzuiger would explode into a horrible spray of disgusting stomach acids upon receiving a killing blow? All the same, as he starts to regain his senses after the shock of being slammed against a tree, he does feel a bit guilty about Geralt’s arm- he likely wouldn’t have been wounded at all if Jaskier hadn’t stupidly wandered into the splash zone and needed protecting from the flesh-melting bloedzuiger juice.

Seemingly deciding his arm is fine, Geralt looks back at Jaskier and frowns. He steps closer, sword still in hand and hair brown with mud, dripping dirty swamp water as he looks the bard over for injuries.

“Did it spray you?” he asks, voice gruff.

Jaskier tries to answer and finds he can’t quite get the words out; his pulse now thrums at the base of his throat, nearly choking him. Geralt steps closer yet again, pushing forward into Jaskier’s personal space with a tight expression.

“Jaskier?”

“Y-your eyes,” Jaskier manages to gasp, barely resisting the urge to let his head fall back against the trunk.

Geralt immediately retreats, turning his face away and raising a hand to hide the deep black of his sclerae. Whatever potion it is that he’d taken before the hunt clearly hasn’t worn off yet. Jaskier scrambles to follow as the witcher moves; Geralt has never allowed Jaskier to see him like this before, and Jaskier isn’t going to miss his chance. He’s never said as much, but Jaskier knows that the effects of these potions are what make Geralt feel the most monstrous.

“No, no, no,” he murmurs, catching Geralt by the shoulder and hurrying to plant himself in the witcher’s path. “Geralt, I’m not frightened by you. You’re not a monster, you- gods, Geralt, you’re breathtaking!”

Geralt allows Jaskier to pull his hand down, but keeps his face turned to the side. Jaskier pushes as close as he dares, breath still caught in his lungs and heart hammering in his chest.

“Kiss me.”

Geralt finally looks to Jaskier again, black eyes startled. “Are you- Jaskier, you can’t be serious.”

“Deadly serious, I’m afraid. Kiss me!”

“This is hardly the time or place, bard. We’re in a swamp. That bloedzuiger is barely dead.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and steps daringly closer, trying to square his shoulders and put forth a challenge for Geralt. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“The mood?!”

“Well, I’ll admit it isn’t exactly the nice, clean inn I’d usually prefer, but-”

“Are you really that desperate?” Geralt interrupts, sweeping his free arm in a wide arc to indicate the carnage and pools of bloedzuiger acid around them.

Heady with the adrenaline of survival and spurred on by the odd attraction he has to Geralt with a layer of sweat and grime upon his skin, Jaskier gives a wicked grin.

“For you, Geralt, I’d have to admit I’m always this desperate.”

Slowly, a similar grin spreads over Geralt’s lips. He shakes his head and steps ever closer, taking Jaskier firmly by the back of the neck and feeling the bard practically melt in his grip.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmurs against Jaskier’s ear before grazing his teeth along the soft skin at the join of his jawline and throat.

When Jaskier whines in response, Geralt indulges him with a chaste kiss that quickly devolves into a rough clash of teeth and tongues that leaves them both breathless. Their panted breath mingles in the space between them, hot on Jaskier’s lips before he stretches up to press gently against the corner of Geralt’s mouth with a lazy smile.

“Next time I tell you to kiss me, Geralt, don’t act so much like you don’t want to.”

Geralt growls low in his throat and shoves Jaskier back up against the tree with one hand heavy on his chest. “Next time I tell you to stay in camp, Jaskier,” he says, voice rough, “don’t follow me until the beast is slain. I can’t kiss you if you’re dead.”

10. a hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it

It’s just a weekend with Taako, Barry reminds himself. It isn’t like Lup is about to disappear for another decade, and Taako would never let any harm come to her. There’s no reason to fear her leaving for ‘Twin Time’ - actually, scratch that. There are many things to fear when Taako and Lup are left to their own devices. (What comes to mind first involves several explosions and maniacal laughter.)

What Barry doesn’t have to worry about is that his wife won’t return. Three days, she had said. Three days and she would be home and he wouldn’t have to miss her anymore. Maybe he could invite Kravitz over, she had suggested. Taako had emphatically agreed with that statement, mentioning that it wouldn’t do either of them any good to sit alone in their homes waiting for the twins to return. They could have gone on a mission for the Raven Queen, Kravitz had protested. (They did not.)(If they cuddled on the couch and gushed about the twins or not was another matter entirely.)

All the same, when he hears the telltale sound of a portal opening in the other room and the twins’ laughter, Barry’s mood skyrockets. He pads down the hall in his socks and pokes his head around a doorframe, ready to welcome Lup home, only to find himself wrapped in her arms and lifted into an excited spin. Lup presses their lips together, warm and gentle and familiar and home, as she sets his feet back on the floor, then nuzzles her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she says, voice muffled against his neck, and Barry finds himself suddenly misty-eyed. He kisses the top of her head and rests his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes as he steadies his breath and relishes the calming weight of her body in his arms.

“I missed you, too, babe.”

[ric0cheted]

distraction tactics (fic)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[serararku]

Where the Wild Things Are Pt 1

Era could find them by following the stars. 

Even in the middle of the night, with the sunlight hidden beneath the world, Azeyma the Warden guided her sun-blessed children through a constellation of her own; the twinkling star at the tip of her extended hand always pointed to Thanalan, to the heart of the Zu Tribe's hunting grounds; so to Thanalan she went. The animal furs helped fend off the bite of the freezing desert wind, choosing to appear as close to her traditional wear as possible to avoid any unnecessary questions from her tribe. Every aspect of this place filled her heart with glee, like a fateful reunion of old friends rushing up to greet her: the sand and dust beneath her feet, the faint scratching of dry shrubbery scattered across the wastes, and of course, the thunderheads in the distance, angrily blessing another tribe with life-giving rain. 

Her heart sang when she recognized the plateau and the faint orange lights of her tribe. Era wanted nothing more than to race off toward the fires and embrace her mother again, but she was no fool; the Zu Tribe was notoriously territorial, and would kill trespassers long before they started asking questions. In fact, it would be surprising if the sentries hidden in the dark weren’t already aware of her presence. She cupped her hands around her mouth, took in a deep breath, then expelled her Tribe's secret call. "Ku-WIIIIP! Ku-WIIIIP! Ku-WIIIIP!" Her voice traveled far across the dusty wastes, her echo bouncing off the distant plateau to return; she expected a sentry to call back so she could enter the territory in peace, but there was nothing but the growls of distant thunder. 

“Kuku-kuuuuu… kuku-kuuuuu…” It sounded like a wandering bard bird was calling back in an attempt to attract a mate, but she knew better; she lowered herself onto her knees, placed her hands in her lap, and silently waited. Moving from her position would only force the sentries to go looking for her, which would only make them both angry and hostile. Era didn’t hear their approach, but she did catch a glimpse of a giant shadow snuffing out the moonlight to race across the ground. 

A young Zu whipped up a cloud of dust when he landed, tackling and knocking her over with his beak. The loud excited screeches were still ringing in her ears when he grabbed hold of her leg and lifted her up into the air; she felt the bird’s dry tongue lash out on her ankle a few times before he dropped her on her back, nuzzling her stomach the moment he recognized her. Another Zu landed silently nearby, this one far older and four times the size; the creature’s yellow plumage down its neck and back could only belong to Nossk, easily the greatest bird of prey Era may ever know. A rider leapt from his back and hurried over to save the young bird's quarry. 

"Genn! Kneel! Kneel!" She cried out to no avail; it took the older Zu snapping and pulling out feathers from the nape for Genn to listen to the command, leaving Era sprawled out in the dirt and covered in dust. "It's about time you returned." Auntie Chaje beamed, swapping her spear to her other hand before reaching down to lift her niece back to her feet. "Some of us were getting worried." Hearing the native tongue of her people was a breath of fresh air Era didn't know she needed; Huntspeak remained a gorgeous language, composed of precise hisses, subtle clicks, and high-pitched whistles, that brought a simplistic elegance to an otherwise crude and cruel world. 

Her favorite aunt wasn't malnourished either, which was a promising sign. It was customary for the sentries to eat last- if Chaje was eating well, then it was a great hunting season last summer.

"It's good to see you again!" Era pulled the Huntress in for a big hug, happy she was the one she met first on her way back to her family; Chaje was the one who let her flee from their Tribe's territory in the first place. “How have you been? Is the tribe doing well?”

"Better than ever. But we’ll catch up later. Your mother needs to know you're alive. Come… the fastest way back is through the sky." Chaje planted a kiss on Era's forehead before motioning to Nossk, who snapped at his fledgling one last time before lowering a wing toward the two Miqo’te. “We need to return to the tribe quickly to share the good news.” Era hadn’t ridden Nossk in almost twenty years; she was too young to even remember the last time, but something about it made her anxious. She wrapped her arms around Chaje’s waist and held on for dear life, as Nossk spread his giant wings wide. A single flap and they were airborne, the shrinking world below fleeing from her. 

It was nothing like being cooped up in that metal death trap on her way to Ishgard- nothing like it at all. Although not nearly as high in the air, the pale moonlight surrounding them and the cold wind stinging her eyes filled Era with a tranquility she didn’t know was possible. There was no harness - nothing to stop her from leaning too far back and plummeting to her death, but there was something about riding a natural beast that trumped a cold and lifeless machine any day of the week. Chaje said nothing as Nossk soared through the night sky, keeping his wings spread wide to hitch a ride on an updraft. Era steeled her nerves and dared to look down, seeing the faint orange glow of a bonfire tucked away in the mountainside.

Thum! Thum! Thum! Thum tha-thum! Thum! Thum!

Era felt it in her soul- the heavy rhythm of those old drums rolled across the sun-scorched landscape like rolling thunder. And once Nossk tucked in his mighty wings and dived toward her family's dwelling, her stomach rose up to the back of her throat. The ground rushed up to meet them, but Nossk opened his mighty wings a breath away from death to swoop low toward Valhaas Barrow. Chaje guided the great Zu around the encampment, circling the blazing bonfire before finally landing on a sturdy stone perch. "Era has returned!" She announced, just as they climbed down to reunite with the tribe.

She remembered them all. Kittens that were once barely old enough to stand bounded down the path to swarm her with strong hugs and excited squeals. Almost a dozen girls wrapped their arms around her legs and pulled at her with their tiny hands. “Era! Yaaay! Era’s back!” Their voices melted into white noise, the kittens clambering up her body in an effort to reach her face. Weighed down by their bodies, Era was forced to fall onto her back with a hard thud, causing the children to surround and swarm her without an ounce of mercy. Her face was peppered with kisses as countless fingers poked and pulled at her ears and cheeks. One kitten got fed up with waiting for her turn to shower Era with affection, and pushed through her sisters and half-sisters to hug the woman’s neck, smother her face, and plant a wet smooch on her forehead.

“Girls! Let her breathe!” A voice called out beneath the cacophony of squeals and laughter. “Come on, it’s almost dinner time! Shoo! Shoo!” The mention of food got most of the kittens off, causing them to scamper out of sight. A firm hand plucked the last few kittens off Era’s body, sending them stumbling with a swift smack on each of their rumps. "Little brats, all of them…" It was none other than Raas, Era's oldest aunt and designated caretaker of the children. The woman reached down and pulled Era to her feet with a strength she wasn’t prepared for. “I can smell the blood on your hands. Had I known you have a talent for violence, I would have trained you myself, little hatchling.”

Era dusted off her legs and wiped the saliva from her face. “It’s great to see you again. Mmmn… where is Mother? Is she… preoccupied?”

“Yuun? She should be tending to the Nunh… now that you’re back, you should join her.” She turned and pointed to the top of the plateau. “You remember the way to the main chamber, yes?”

“Yes… I remember.” Era gave her aunt a modest bow, which only provoked the woman to stare at her awkwardly. “Thank you, Raas. I’ll be going now…”

“Heh… you better.” She gave Era a hard smack on the rump to get her moving- just like she used to do when she was no older than those kittens. Being treated like a child by her family again brought about feelings she wasn’t prepared to face, but she didn’t want to dwell on them for long; she had returned to speak with her mother, and she planned to leave with her father’s glaive and greataxe. 

This place was smaller than she remembered. Her fondest memories involved running through these spiraling tunnels as she was chased by her father- her excited giggles and startled squeals of laughter giving away her position whenever he gave her a chance to hide. She could almost reach the ceiling with her katana now that she was older and taller. Try as she might, Era couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable tingling in the back of her neck and between her shoulders; she was about to meet her mother after a year and a half. What would she say? How would she treat her daughter? What would she even look like?

When Era reached the top of Valhaas Barrow, she heard the faint sound of grunting, and something moist being squished and messed with. Immediately her mind went straight to the gutter, and her face flushed a vibrant red. "Oh Gods… are they-?!" The thought of that filthy Nunh mating with her mother made her nauseous- and angry. She gripped the hilt of her katana and bolted up the remaining stairs, fully prepared to risk banishment from beating him within an inch of his life.

Instead she found the largest wild hog she had ever seen, hanging by a thick iron hook lodged under its bloodied chin. Sisters-in-law and handmaidens alike took turns cutting into the beast to remove its innards.

"Large intestines? Only worth feeding to the zu. Set it aside over there." The soothing yet firm voice tightened Era's chest. "Small intestines we can use to make blood sausage. I'll clean…" She paused once she noticed one of her handmaidens gawking at Era. "What are...?"

Era's stomach fluttered when she locked eyes with her mother. Those striking blue eyes pierced her body like a spear, sending both her courage and confidence scurrying. It took her mother half of a heartbeat to even recognize the stranger standing near the tunnel. A stifled gasp slipped from her lips as she stiffened, suddenly turning pale. "Leave us." commanded Yuun, finally remembering to draw a breath after what felt like forever. Neither her handmaidens nor her family said a word when they gave her the requested space. There was nothing they could say that would reach her now.

Era swallowed dryly before muttering, "Mmmmn… M-mom-"

Yuun broke off into a brisk walk straight toward her, causing Era's ears to flatten against her head. She braced herself for her mother's scorn; for running away, for not returning sooner, for all the untold worry she caused. Instead of a stinging slap or dizzying wack upside her head, Yuun almost tackled Era when she threw her arms around her daughter. A surge of surprising strength constricted her arms when she tightened her grip on her, almost to the point where Era could no longer breathe.

“You’re alive!” Her mother gasped out, pressing her cheek against Era’s face. “You’re alive!” Then she began to sob uncontrollably and rock back and forth; it took everything Era had to stop herself from crying along with her, while she gently rubbed her mother’s back. “My beautiful little girl is alive!”

“Y-you’re not mad at me…?!” Era whimpered in between sniffles. Her mother reached up and began rubbing her thumbs against Era’s pinned ears, raven-colored hair, reddening cheeks and quivering chin, still in disbelief that her firstborn was both real and standing before her.

“You ran away in the middle of the night! I sent out search parties for weeks! Every day I feared they would return with your corpse!” Yuun laughed as relief washed through her. “Mad?! Mad?! I am absolutely livid! But this nightmare is over! It’s finally over…!” 

Era couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. The very thought of her mother’s heart aching for her return wasn’t something she even considered until now; the stress alone from fearing for Tage’s life was more than enough for her to sympathize. 

“You’ve grown so much…!” Yuun whispered, leaning back to get a better look at Era. “You’re taller than me now… I missed so much… missed you so much…!”

“I-I’m so sorry!” Era whined, rubbing at her eyes. “I’ll never abandon you again!”

It didn’t take long for both mother and daughter to become inconsolable, their words choked out by their tears. Yuun and Era held each other and wailed, until they got every ounce of their feelings out of their system.

[dandelion-vines]

Omg I love your shorts so much!!!!!! How do you feel about writing weight gain? Like geralt has been subtly fattening jaskier up on the road and loves his big tummy

I hyper fixated on the word “love” and now this is vanilla lol

Feel free to send in another more specific prompt, i can 100% write another thing with a kinkier take, just send in an ask :).

tags: use of the word fat, idiots in love, blowjob, cum play

Jaskier's a skinny boy. It's the first thing Geralt notices, the way he desperately grabs the bread off the floor, smacking away the dust and grime to take a bite out of it. He's fucking starved; obviously comes from a rich family if the clothes are anything to go by, but they most definitely don't support him anymore, what with the skeleton-like fingers and the sharp swoop of his cheek. 

No, a boy so pretty should be taken care of. No matter, it's not like Geralt can take care of him. He drinks his ale and resolutely ignores the fact that the pretty boy is walking over to him, a sway in his too-loose breeches.

Geralt heads back on the Path with Jaskier trailing behind him because fuck, if no one's gonna take care of the pretty boy, it may as well be him, then. 

They fall into bed together not three days later. Geralt's breath catches when he sees him in the nude, ribs visible through the thin of his skin, hip bones jutting at the end of a flat stomach. Geralt spends the night being oh-so-careful with him, gently cupping his hips as to not break him as they fuck. In another world, Geralt would have called it making love.

Jaskier makes him human. He makes Geralt soft, dammit, and witchers aren’t supposed to be soft. Bards, on the other hand, are meant to be fed fat and kept happy. Well, at least that what Geralt thinks; he's never really met any other bards. He starts slow, giving the starving Jaskier an extra half rabbit at dinner, fruit at breakfast and a sweet after every lunch. 

His coinpouch is fat, what with the sunny season bringing out every monster under the sky, and he can afford to splurge on his bard. 

Yes, his bard. They hold hands and call each other ‘darling.’ It's a disgustingly adorable, Lambert would say. Hasn't it only been a month, Eskel would ask. And to that, Geralt would say ‘yeah, so what?’ Jaskier thinks he’s ridiculous.

Apparently, humans moved fast in a relationship. Witchers didn't show see each other in the nude till the second year of marriage. 

Anyway-- he watches with a small smile as Jaskier digs into his slab of beef, moaning around his fork. Geralt sneaks half his own onto the bard's plate (Jaskier’s drunk enough to not notice), adoring the way his cheeks have filled out to be soft and supple, and how his rings are all the more tight now. 

He kisses his boyfriend ever so sweetly in their too-hard inn bed, and rides his cock as he watches the chub on his bell jiggle just barely with each of Geralt's movements.

"Geralt!" They're at the coast, spending their first winter together by the lovely seaside, and Geralt has taken impossible pleasure in not making Jaskier walk behind Roach and work the calories off of each meal Geralt feeds him. He walks into their bedroom, Jaskier pouting at the mirror with his old breeches pooled around his ankles. 

He's got curves now, and Geralt thinks the arch of his waist is breathtaking, the same adoration he feels when he notices the soft roll under the bard’s bellybutton fills him. 

Geralt smiles, draping himself over the bards back as his hands trail up the pale of his chest, letting his fingers comb up his thick hair, and come to cup the small tits that rest around his nipples. 

He hadn't noticed how big Jaskier's gotten, and apparently, Jaskier hadn't either. "This is all your fault," he pouts, "I'm ugly." He pokes at his stomach, tears welling his eyes as it jiggles. "I told you to quit with the sweets-- now look at me." Jaskier melts into Geralt's arms, pressing the soft skin of his back against Geralt's chest, seeking comfort. And Geralt thinks it's finally time to let him know just how he feels about him like this. 

"You're gorgeous," he mutters. And Jaskier clearly doesn't believe him, mouth set into a grimace. Geralt leads him away from the mirror and onto their feather stuffed bed, coaxing his lover into laying down. 

Geralt quickly shucks his shirt off, cock chubbing up as he straddles his lover's thighs. "Gods, look at you, you're so fucking fat.” He ignores Jaskier’s wince, holding him still, “So well fed," he murmurs, "so well kept." 

Jaskier chuckles breathlessly as Geralt kisses down his chest, nipping at his skin. "Is this proof that you take care of me? Is that why you're so enamored with it?" Geralt hums noncommittally, dragging the flat of his tongue up Jaskier's nipple. He smiles as he hears his bard's breath hitch. 

"Yes," Geralt sits up again, looking into ocean blue eyes and subtlety smiling lips framed by flushed, chubby cheeks, "but also because you look fucking hot like this." Jaskier sighs, and that smile spreads into a grin. He holds his arms up, thick where they'd been but bone, and waits patiently. Geralt leans forward, and hugs his bard back. They hold each other, Geralt pressing kisses along his shoulder. 

"You really like me like this? I thought you--"

"I fucking love you." Geralt wants to slap a hand over his mouth as soon as he says it, but he finds that it rings true. "No matter how you look, I'll love you. But my favourite is how you look now, how much there is of you to hold... I love it. I love this.” Jaskier’s breath hitches. "I want to cum all over it, rub my cum into it, gods, I want to watch your stomach jiggle as your ride me, wanna cuddle you and jack you off, have to push your cute little tummy out of the way to get to your cock."

"There's nothing little about it." 

"That's the best part." 

Jaskier grins at him, eyes twinkling. "Then I do believe you have a fantasy to fulfill, dear heart." Geralt swallows as Jaskier gets to his knees, watches with barely contained lust as his skin fucking jiggles with each movement. He ushers Geralt off the bed to stand beside it, and all the witcher can do is watch as Jaskier swallows his cock. 

His cheeks scrunch up as he sucks, bobbing his head down Geralt's cock as a hand works over the root of it. Geralt groans, thrusting up to the wet heat of his mouth, not quite sure where they're going, but ever happy to play along. Jaskier looks up at him, wrapping his lips around his cockhead and batting his lashes at him in mock innocence. He pulls off with a pop, one hand still working Geralt's spit-slicked cock off as the other pinches at his own nipple. 

"Do you like watching me play with my tits, Geralt?" He asks, voice low and ever-seductive. "Look at what you've done to me--" his hand trails down, resting over his the swell of his pubic bone, "I can't even get to my cock through all this, darling, it's actually a bit short, have you noticed? The root being swallowed up by my fat?" Geralt bites back a whimper as he throws his head back in a breathless moan. 

"Jaskier," he grits out. 

"Awn, are you close, Geralt? Do you wanna cum over my pretty tummy? Do you want to paint my tits and my stomach with your cum and rub it in?" Geralt groans as the hand on his cock speeds up before letting go completely. 

Jaskier leans back on the bed, hand fondling his cock as another pinches at his tit. "Cum for me, Geralt, cum over my pretty, fat tummy, fuck--" Geralt nearly scrams as he cums, forcing his eyes to stay open as his cum shoots over Jaskier's stomach, over his tits and over the fat above his cock-- he nearly collapses, lapping at Jaskier nipples as he spreads his cum over the swell of Jaskier's stomach, into each curve and thick stretch mark. 

Jaskier looks fucking wrecked, panting as he ruts against Geralt's abdomen, face scrunching up as he spills between the press of their bodies. 

He pressed his lips to Geralt's, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. "Well, I expect we'll be doing more of that?" They're both delighted when Geralt mutters a small yes. 

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled - Ch 12

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME. 

Warning: implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, mention of emotional manipulation/mind fuckery/psychological manipulation, emotional exhaustion, depression

Word Count: 2945

Author’s Note: You made it this far; thanks for sticking with me! I can’t tell you how lovely everyone has been throughout posting this story. I’m going to hopefully start posting my next story “Walk Me Home” sometime within the next week, so if you’d like a tag, let me know. I’ll be posting the preview again tonight. Thank you all for lovely words and flailing, and here’s hoping I’ll see you again at the next story. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for all the flailing. It means so much to me, I don’t have enough or proper words. @cracksinthewalls​​ , you kept me going, you kept this story going. Like. Babe. Seriously. @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , I would have no Dean stories without you, probably would not have even entered the fandom without you. This story was first and foremost for you, and it’s only right the last thanks on it be for you. 

I love you all.

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In case you missed it:

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Miriam swam back to consciousness as gentle fingers probed her face. The pain flared once, a bright flame that consumed every cell of her body before extinguishing all at once. She gasped, her lungs unrestricted and easy, and grabbed at the closest thing she could reach. Her wrists were whole again, functional, and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and wild as fear shot through her gut. Strong arms, for some reason clad in a tan trench coat, supported her as her head swam crazily. 

“Miriam, I presume. I’ve got you, everything’s alright now. Dean is cured. You’re safe.” She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity and strength there. She nodded slowly, willing her heart rate to calm. She took slow, measured breaths until the spinning stopped. 

“Miriam!” Then Sam was in the doorway, rushing over to help her up, Dean following closely behind. What with Sam and the other man already pulling Miriam to her feet, Dean stood a safe distance away, unsure of his reception. 

Miriam thought this wise of him. 

She wobbled unsteadily long enough that Sam insisted on taking her back to her room to rest. She was too wiped out to argue and gladly accepted his support. She glanced back at Dean as Sam led her from the room, and she was startled at the depth of sorrow and pain she saw there. 

Then she turned the corner with Sam and realized the pull she felt from Dean, that insatiable hunger for the darkness, was almost completely gone. 

Almost.

…

Miriam lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, resolutely ignoring Sam’s instructions to sleep. Though she doubted she’d have any new visits from the demon, she could feel her other nightmares waiting at the edge of her consciousness, with a few new additions from her recent misadventures with the Winchesters to add a little spice to the mix.

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her miserable reverie, and she sat up slowly. She wasn’t in pain, the angel (Castiel, Sam had explained) had healed her completely, but she was unsteady with exhaustion and shock.

“Come in, Dean,”

He entered hesitantly, still unsure of his welcome. He’d showered, shaved, and changed into a t-shirt, sweats, and a gray bathrobe. She had to admit he looked a lot better for it. Considering how appealing she thought he’d looked before, that was saying something. 

They studied each other for a long moment, seeing each other as they really were for the first time in nearly a decade. Dean still stood tall and firm, wearing his “comfy clothes” better than most models wore a suit, but she could see the weight of the world dragging at his shoulders, staining his expression with grief and regret. 

But there was less ferocity to him now. He’d lost the feral hunger, the malevolence of his earlier presence that had drawn her in so strongly. She’d never call Dean Winchester soft, not in a thousand years, but this Dean, the real human Dean, was appealing to her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite everything that had happened, he still exuded a sense of strength and confidence that had little to do with his appearance and more to do with a natural gravity that spoke of protection and safety rather than danger and oblivion.

Then again, she thought, maybe I can just see the light on the other side of the darkness now. Maybe that said something good for the both of them.

But it hurt, looking into that light. Looking away from the darkness without shielding herself meant admitting that life without Aaron wasn’t just possible, that it was necessary. 

She’d taken care of him for so long, leaned on him without realizing she was doing so. Now her universe was off-balance in the worst way, vertigo without promise of reprieve. Every day felt like freefall, and she hated that swooping sensation that tore through her gut whenever she opened her eyes and realized he wasn’t just one bed over.

But he was gone. And she wasn’t. 

And now she had to decide what she was going to do with those facts, because she couldn’t continue her dim, half-existence anymore, no matter how much easier it was than facing an Aaron-less life.

And right now, in this moment, that meant addressing her own personal ex-demon.

Miriam offered him a half-smile and indicated the chair by her bedside. He wavered, his jaw working as his frown deepened, but she let him have his internal debate without interruption. After a moment, he made up his mind and sat heavily in the chair, elbows resting on the arms, hands dangling over his lap. He glared down at his socked feet as if angry they weren’t supplying him with the right conversation starter.

“How are you feeling?”

He started at her question and turned incredulous eyes on her, mouth gaping.

“How am I feeling? I nearly killed you, and you’re worried about...Miriam, god, I...I…”

“I know,” she said. He dropped his face into his palms, fingers digging hard into his forehead. His hands strained, veins standing out starkly under his skin, and her heart broke for him.

Dean was a good hunter, a good brother, a good man. He’d been seized by a literal demon, and if anyone besides possession victims could understand that, maybe even forgive it, it was Miriam. And, miracle of miracles, for once she knew the right thing to do.

She arranged her pillow behind her and reclined. Then she lifted the covers, opened her arms, and cleared her throat.

“Come here.”

He looked up at her with red, confused eyes. He straightened up and opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to refuse, say something manly or defensive, or both. She beat him to the punch.

“We are both done, Dean. I’ve got nothing left. I hurt you, you hurt me, we both did horrible things. Now is not the time to make comparison lists of sins. We’ve got tomorrow to tear ourselves new ones. Answer me one question right now, and you’d damned well better tell me the truth.”

He nodded slowly, watching her with wary eyes. 

“Aren’t you tired, Dean?”

He stared hard at her, waiting for something else, maybe a rebuke or an insult, but when he realized she was finished, he sat for a moment, thinking. Then his shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Exhausted,” he finally answered. 

She nodded.

“Then take your damned robe off and get over here. And keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

Turns out, Dean Winchester wasn’t too bad at following directions, once properly motivated. 

Dean fit into her shoulder with the perfection of a worn-out child cradled in trusted arms. As his face relaxed, Miriam thought she saw the briefest glimpse of that sweet, carefree little boy in his smiling mother’s arms. 

Something tugged loose in her chest, and she knew then she’d done the right thing by coming here, no matter the damage she’d sustained. She glanced across the room to see Aaron staring back from the mirror. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you,” she said. She meant so much more, and she knew Aaron understood that. 

Dean shifted in her arms, murmuring something on the edge of dozing, and his frown returned. She moved automatically to smooth her thumb over his furrowed brow, massage the anxious crease that had formed between his eyes. Still drowsing, he nuzzled closer, his freshly shaven cheek sliding over her collarbone. Unable to resist, she pressed her nose to the crown of his head, inhaling softly.

Miriam had done a few hunting jobs in the Northwest, near the coast, and she’d fallen in love with the forests there. Unbelievably tall trees, disappearing upwards until you almost fell over backwards trying to see the tops. Damp and lush, there was a green, mossy smell that hung in the air and mingled with traces of fresh earth and mist.

Dean smelled as if he’d just stepped out from under those trees. Clean, a hint of cedar, and something warm and spicy. She hesitated, a new kind of want blooming in her chest as she held him close, reveling in his solid heat. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smiled when he curled tighter into her embrace.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, missy,” he murmured, eyes still closed. His arm slid under hers until it curled protectively around her back. “Sleep, Miri. I’ve got you.”

She took a deep breath, and settled into the exhale, resting her cheek against his damp hair.

Yeah, she thought, a welcome lethargy spreading through her thoughts. You do.

…

“Sure you don’t want to rest another day or two?” Sam asked. She didn’t have to look up from her packing to know his face was lined with concern. Dean leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t want to say the exact same thing.

“Sorry, Sam, another day of rabbit food, and I might starve. Gotta get some meat before I waste away. Dean, you’re welcome to come with if you aren’t worried about ruining your girlish figure.”

Dean barked a laugh from the doorway, and Miriam straightened up in time to see him wipe the smile off his face under the heat of Sam’s stern glare. She grinned, and Dean winked.

“Gonna go pull your car around. Meet you out front?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean straightened and nodded, disappearing from view.

“You really could stay a little longer,” Sam repeated, his voice low and earnest. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed small, diminished by worry and uncertainty. Dark circles stood out starkly under his eyes, and his entreating smile was probably the weakest she’d ever seen it.

“Sam, I-” she paused, hesitating, then closed the space between them, reached up, and pulled him into a full hug. After a moment, Sam’s good arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest as his head bent down, his nose resting on top of her head. She held him close, waiting for Sam to pull away when he was ready.

“I can’t,” she murmured into his hair. “Not right now. It’s too fresh. I need to...deal with it. Actually deal with it,” she added as he leaned back far enough to give her a sharp look. She noticed he didn’t pull completely away from their embrace, though.

“I’m going to figure some things out, I promise. Again, you strong, heroic men didn’t magically fix my issues. But maybe you gave me the push I needed to do that for myself.”

“You’re welcome back here anytime,” Sam said. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stepped back, releasing her. He gazed down at her face for a moment, and she could see he was choosing his next words carefully. 

“I’m glad you’re going to...deal with it. I get what you’re working through. Not that I’m a paragon of mental health, but I’ve been there. A couple of times. If you ever want or need to talk about everything that happened, about anything at all, you can call me.”

Miriam felt a mischievous smile stretching across her face. “Everything? Well, Sam, when you were gone, there was this one thing that Dean did in one of my nightmares that-”

“Not everything!” Sam yelped, and she laughed, feeling the ever-present knot in her chest loosen just a little more. He chuckled, shaking his head, and squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t lose my number, Miriam. I’ve...We’ve got your back.”

…

“Sure you don’t want to stay for another round of Sam’s ‘queen-wah’ salad?” Dean smirked. His green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and she was surprised at the pleasurable twinge she felt upon receiving that smile. 

“Get your ass off my car, Winchester,” she ordered, feigning exasperation. He pushed up from the hood and opened the back door, lifting the duffel from her hands and tossing it in the back seat.

“Where ya headed?” Dean asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He stared at the ground between them, and she couldn’t help but smile. After all they’d been through, even after chastely sharing a bed for the last three nights, she felt awkward around him, too, though both were too stubborn to admit it aloud.

“Maybe Washington state or Oregon, check out some of the rainforests. The couple of times we had jobs over that way, walking around under all those giant trees made my issues seem pretty small. Could help me put some things in perspective. Anyway, I’ve got some time off saved up. I think I’ve earned a real vacation.”

He finally met her eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step closer.

“Yeah? Sounds pretty...majestic.” He dodged her blow easily, grinning. “I’m kidding. Some time off sounds pretty damn good, come to think of it. Don’t really remember what that’s like. It’s one disaster after another around here.”

“I kinda got that feeling,” Miriam said, pushing the back door shut. She stepped up to him, holding her arms open in invitation. Though he still hesitated, in the end, he relented and allowed her to pull him into a close hug that sent little flutters through her stomach. Just as she started to pull back, Dean’s arms tightened, holding her against his chest.

“We both need to take some time,” she said quietly. He nodded, turning his face inwards, pressing his lips to her temple. “We’ve got a lot of baggage to sort through and shit to deal with and other metaphors about mentally healing. Darkness to yank out by the roots and all that.”

He pulled back, his face drawn with concern. “Miriam, I need you to know. Those dreams you had, I didn’t...I could see them all whenever you came inside the trap.” His complexion darkened, and if she didn’t know better, Miriam would have thought Dean was actually blushing.

“But I didn’t send them to you. When you were outside the dungeon, outside the devil’s trap, I couldn’t do that.”

She nodded slowly, feeling some of the sunlight's warmth leeching away. She’d come to that conclusion herself, after listening to some conversations over the last couple of days between the boys and their guardian angel. 

“I know. And that’s something I’m going to have to work through. There’s darkness in me, and it really, really liked the darkness I found in you.”

They both glanced significantly down at his right arm, their eyes drawn to the dark, ugly mark, before looking up again.

“I just...wanted it to be easy, like you, the demon you, said. I was, I am so tired, and I just wanted to be done.” She could say the words now, as she couldn’t say them only days ago. 

Such a simple thing to say, she thought, and I had to nearly die to admit it.

“Awfully strong drug for any hunter,” Dean agreed, and though she hated that he knew the feeling well enough to understand, part of her was not-so-secretly glad that for the first time in months, she no longer felt alone in her pain.

“But I can work through it. And I think you can, too. I have no clue how, for either of us, but I’m willing to work on it if you are.”

He nodded slowly, and his eyes flicked to her lips for just a moment before his eyebrows raised questioningly. He looked ready to be rejected, braced for her dismissal, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single decent reason to do so.

This time, the only pull she felt was Dean’s arms drawing her closer.

The kiss was soft, simple, and sweet. His hands, scarred and so gentle, slid over her jaw, threading into her hair. He tilted her face to the side, finding a better angle for both of them, and her hands found their way to his waist, tugging him further into her space. After a moment, they broke apart. Dean’s eyes were still closed as she stretched up to kiss his forehead.

“We can work on that, too,” Miriam said. Dean licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded as he straightened. They released their hold on each other reluctantly, and Miriam slid into the driver’s seat before she did something irrational like change her mind.

She cranked the car, stared out the windshield, and sighed. She had to go, needed some time and space to work through her thankfully no-longer-literal demons, but…

She really wanted to come back.

“Hey, Dean,” she said suddenly. He dropped a hand to the hood of her car, leaning down so he could see her through the open window. “You like cowboy movies?���

“Yeah, why?”

“You ever seen The Quick and the Dead?”

His face transformed from sad to wondering to glee in less than a second. “Wild West shootout, Sharon Stone at her hottest, Gene Hackman at his bad ass-est?”

Miriam giggled. “That’s not a word, but yeah. Got a copy?”

“No, but I can get one.”

She smiled, feeling warm and light down to her toes. “Give me a month or two, try to take some time off yourself. Call me when you’ve got a copy of the movie, and maybe we can have a movie night. I’ll bring the popcorn.”

The warmth of the kiss he brushed across her cheek lingered for hours.

[theannoyingurge]

#I like to imagine Bane laying all the groundwork for poaching Durge#Finally he gets his opening and the god of bards swoops in

Hah!

Do we have any lore about Bane's feeling towards bards? I could see the Tyrant particularly hating freedom-loving noisemakers, but they could also be useful tools for spreading propaganda.

We once chewed on the topic of 'which god could Durge convert to that would annoy Bhaal the most' and now I'm curious who that would be for Bane (aside from the obvious Torm).

I also dig the idea of a Durge who knowingly flirts with a needy / appreciative god like Milil just to escalate Bane's bids for service. Know your worth, sis.

I feel like if you recognise Milil that you're about to get courted by a god shortly after that party. As a worshipper, mainly, though Milil is also known for being a flirt, so the usual sense of the word could certainly happen.

Faded gods need worshippers - especially powerful ones with fame and connections. Do you need a display of all the things he can do for you if you send him a prayer once a day? He made his high priest immortal or something like it once, if that sweetens the deal any! Please, he's dying, and bored, and lonely, and so bored.