#Jaskier hair though damn lol

[hiddenbysuccubi]

Fizzarolli make-up test 1 I know how I'm going to do it better next time but my anxiety was on peak.

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup: 18th November - 24th November

Hey hey all (sorry were late againm but at least its only 1 day not 4 months .... lol)

So, I have written 5,495 words this week, which isnt a whole lot, but ut has made me hit my 50,000 word goal this month so WHOOP!!! Im at 51,505 words for November at the moment. I also finished another 2 wips, so of my 63 wips, I have finished 11 and im feeling pretty proud tbh.

But, as always, here are the fic recs for others first!

Value - didoandis - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, soulmate au)

Summary: The four lives of Julian Alfred Pankratz: noble, sex slave, soulmate, bard.

roots - not1_2write - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, Warlord au. This is legit one of myfav fics ever!)

Summary: Jaskier saves the Warlord's daughter. Despite his family ties, he's allowed to stay in Kaer Morhen while he recovers from his injuries. Eventually, it becomes home.

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down @chaoticangel666 (Bilbo/Thorin, get your tissues ready!)

Summary: Bilbo returns to The Shire after the Battle of the Five Armies. He might be going insane though, because why does the ghost of Thorin Oakenshield keep showing up when he least expects it?

Follows the events from the end of The Hobbit until the end of The Lord of the Rings.

Under the Eucalyptus [+Podfic] - xinasvoice - Harry Potter (Sirius/Remus, muggle au with wonderful disablity rep)

Summary: On his first day working at the queerest zoo in the Australian outback, Remus meets Sirius, whose smile is bright enough to knock him over. Sirius doesn’t speak aloud, but that doesn’t stop either of them from falling in love.

A soft romance about the value of slowing down enough to listen to each other and watch the sun rise.

I Was Pledged to You, To You I Pledge Myself - anarchycox - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, alternate first meeting, its just cute asf tbh)

Summary: When he is four, Jaskier escapes out his window to avoid a boring family dinner where his cousin was getting betrothed to someone. He just wanted to hear the frogs. Frogs sound neat.

That daring escape, and the rescue that it required changed his whole fate, because he was the one who ended up betrothed to a witcher - the plan to marry when he was 20. He didn't really care he got to hear the frogs croak, what did he care about this Geralt of Rivia?

As he grows up though, he ends up caring a great deal.

Scenes from Jaskier's life of meeting every witcher but his betrothed, until one day in a shitty tavern, he finally meets Geralt.

ruffled - PenAndInkPrincess - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, Fae Jaskier au)

Summary: Supper secured and stuffed away in his trousers, he looks up to find the silver-haired stranger in the corner, the one person who hadn’t heckled him. The man is objectively gorgeous, with fascinating hair and a body that makes Jaskier’s mouth water a little.

Oh yes, he decides quickly, he will be climbing this stranger like a tree.

He’s a little wrong-footed when he works out that the stranger is a witcher with big scary swords Jaskier’s heard horror stories about, but after a quick moment of thought, he also thinks about how very many things the fae elders have been wrong about all his life and decides to ignore them once again. The witcher–Geralt of supposedly Rivia, even though Jaskier can tell from his accent that that’s a lie–tries to get rid of him, but Jaskier is nothing if he’s not determined, and he’s simply too damn interested to get scared off easily.

The witcher has clearly not realized that Jaskier is something to be hunted, and Jaskier, well, he’s never excelled at silly things like self-preservation.

As always, I hope you have a wondeful week, see you next time <3

And, as always, here are my fics. As I said, there are only two this week, but im pretty rpoud o the fact thats another two that have just been languising in my wip folder now finished and uploaded!

The Night I Couldn't Stay Beside You - Lucigoo89 - Harry Potter (Remus & Hope, please mind the tags, especially the MCD and grief ones!)

Summary: Its the full moon again. Remus hates each and every one of them, buy especially this one as he looks down a this mother and can do nothing but hope she will still be there when the monster leaves him gain for another month.

All he can do is hope that she stays, thats all he wants, all he will beg and plead and pray for, his mum to still be here with him when he awakens with the moonset.

And last but not least

Finding my fate in the sensory room - Lucigoo89 - Harry Potter (Sirius/Remus, it is a fic for a very dear friend of mine but I hope you all enjoy it to)

Summary: Remus is tired, exhausted more like and so he takes his hyper 4 year old into the empty sensory room to have alittle bit of peace and quiet.

Unbeknownst to Remus, that one action, on that one specific day, would change four lives for the better.

[fanby-fckry]

39, 35, and 33, for ask game

Yet another writing ask

Thanks for the asks! :3

39. Wildest AU scenario you have written?

I haven’t posted either of these, but it has to be either the A/B/O deconstruction I mentioned in this ask – purely on the basis of being an A/B/O – or the Rapunzel!Jaskier/Dandelion Witcher AU I’ve got set aside.

The Count and Countess de Lettenhove steal dandelions from a witch, who demands their unborn son as payment. The witch names him Dandelion and locks him in a tower for 19 years. Then, one fateful day, the Count and Countess hire Geralt of Rivia to go rescue their now 19 year old son.

Tangled-style hijinks ensue, including Dandelion trying to attack Geralt due to fear of outsiders, demanding to spend a day out on the town before he decides whether to stay with the witch or leave the tower for good, and breaking into random musical numbers – much to Geralt’s chagrin.

The working title is, Dandelion, Dandelion, Let Down Your Hair.

I’ve got a prologue and part of the next chapter written, but it’s on the back burner along with all my other Witcher WIPs.

35. Thoughts on writing challenges/contests.

I love them! Well, I love the idea of them. I think in theory, they’re great for inspiration, motivation, and getting involved in the community for a certain fandom/ship/character. I don’t usually do so well with actually participating in them, though.

I’m going to attempt to participate in Ace Alastor Week this April; hopefully the fact that it’s only seven days long and over a month away means I’ll be able to finish it, haha. 😅

33. Give your writing a compliment.

Oh fuck, again? You guys are gonna make me appreciate my own accomplishments. I don’t think I’ve done this much self validation in one day since the last time I focused on it in therapy, lol.

Ok, you know what? I do a good job writing Lilith.

I was particularly worried about writing Lilith. Men writing women is a meme and all, but I was legitimately afraid that I might start a “transmascs writing women,” controversy – that my Lilith could wind up two dimensional and over-sexualized.

Because the thing about Lilith is that historically, her sexuality is a huge part of her character. I couldn’t just exclude it entirely, especially not while writing from her allosexual husband’s POV. I needed to find the right balance, make sure I was writing her as a person who is confident in her sexuality, not a sex object or a person defined by her sexuality.

And I think I did a damn good job. Lilith is mischievous, intelligent, supportive, protective, vengeful, patient… And I believe all of those qualities show in her characterization, pretty much right from the start.

While UH3 – especially Bloodlust and Butterflies – tends to focus more on Lucifer and Alastor than on Lilith, I wrote her as a person. Not as an accessory to the main ship, not as a 2D plot device, not as a walking pair of boobs. And I’m proud of myself.

[knifewieldingenby]

hello!! I wish you would write the "drunk confession" trope pls. with modern au geraskier, is possible ❤️

Ask and you shall receive! It’s not that great but I tried lol, thanks for sending this in :) no warnings except a completely wasted geralt 

“Fuck it all, you’re heavy,” Jaskier spat out. His arm wrapped around his best friend’s back and chest, a sad attempt to drag him up the stairs. Jaskier wasn’t weak by any means; he was more than used to lifting a whole human in the air when he pair-skated, but Geralt wasn’t a person. He was a fucking brick house with near-impenetrable walls, dead weight hanging off Jaskier like he didn’t even realize he was being dragged. Jaskier pulled one hand away carefully and quickly used his spare key to unlock Geralt’s apartment. He pulled the large man inside and just barely made it to the couch before his arms gave out and he dropped Geralt unceremoniously. In a perfect world he would have picked Geralt up bridal style, carried him lovingly to his bed, and tucked him in with a kiss. 

This wasn’t a perfect world, though. Even if he could lift Geralt, the other man wouldn’t want him to. Geralt didn’t want him like that, never had, probably never would. It was a fantasy Jaskier would never see come to fruition.

“Do you need anything?” Jaskier asked. Geralt looked at him with glassy eyes half lidded and shook his head. “Bullshit. I’m getting you water.” 

In the time it took him to fill a glass with water and get back to the living room, Geralt had tried to rid himself of his shirt and gotten it stuck on his head. Jaskier tsked, put the glass down, and helped unwrap the shirt from around his hair.

“Exactly how much did you have to drink?” Jaskier discarded the shirt and handed Geralt his water. He sniffed it and made a face.

“Thi-this isn’t alcohol.”

“I should hope not. Drink. And don’t dodge my question, mister!”

Geralt took a few sips and put the glass down. Jaskier was quite proud that he only spilled a little on himself in the process. 

“I just had a little...bottle…”

“A whole bottle? Of what?”

“That...that apple moonshine?” Geralt was starting to tip over slowly, so Jaskier sat next to him on the couch and propped him up with his body. He was incensed by the fact that someone, one of Geralt’s damn brothers, let him get this drunk off shift when they were supposed to be cutting people off. 

“And what possessed you to get this wasted, alone, on a Tuesday, when you have to work at noon tomorrow?”

“S’your fault.”

“My fault? I didn’t hold the bottle to your lips! Explain yourself.” Geralt stared at him with wide eyes now, and if Jaskier didn’t know better he’d say Geralt looked hurt. Emotions weren’t easy for Geralt. It had taken months before he’d even admitted that they were friends, years before he called Jaskier his best friend, and despite once drunkenly confessing to loving them, Geralt still wasn’t open to hugging him very often. It was a testament to the alcohol that Geralt looked him right in the eye and spoke the truth.

“You got engaged.”

Jaskier damn near broke his neck with how fast he whipped around to look at Geralt. “I...what?”

“Saw your post on facebook.” Upon seeing Jaskier’s blank stare Geralt sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. “The ring, Jaskier. I saw your ring.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked down to the silver band on the ring finger of his right hand. He supposed, with the small gems embedded in the center, that it did look like it could be an engagement ring, but that still didn’t explain why Geralt was now plastered. 

“Geralt, darling, it’s on the wrong hand.”

Geralt looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “But...you always said the gays put it on the right hand?”

Jaskier snorted. “Yes, some do. And you’re one of ‘the gays’, remember? Would you like your engagement ring on the right hand?”

“You’re not engaged?” Geralt ignored his question, eyes wide and...hopeful? No, now Jaskier was the one being hopeful. It never panned out well for him. 

“No darling,” he said softly. “I’m not engaged. I still don’t understand why that would cause you to drink to excess. Were you upset that I wouldn’t tell you first?”

“No,” Geralt whined, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s just- I...I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Jaskier felt like his heart was pounding in his chest. All these years of secretly pining after Geralt, hoping desperately that the man would feel even an ounce of the love that Jaskier felt for him, and he’d completely missed it. Geralt had been pining too.

“We-we should have this discussion tomorrow. You’re drunk.” 

“But I mean it,” Geralt said in what he thought was a whisper, but really it was more like a gentle shouting in Jaskier’s face. Jaskier placed his palm on Geralt’s cheek and stroked his thumb up and down. His best friend - his love - leaned into the touch.

“I know, dear heart. And I mean it when I say that tomorrow morning, after you’ve called out of work with a massive hangover, I promise I will tell you just how long and how much I love you.”

“You...love me? Like that?”

“Yes, like that.” Jaskier leaned over and ever so gently kissed Geralt’s forehead. “Now let’s get you to bed before you pass out on the couch.”

Geralt let out an uncharacteristic, loud laugh, and allowed Jaskier to hoist him up so they could stumble to bed.

[its-onions]

IM BACK WITH SEASON 2 TAKES

below the cut, jotted down as I was watching!! come obsess with me, send me asks!!! (also i know my fellow book fans will have Thoughts but i truly truly enjoyed the season!!!)

ep1

geralt in immediate Dad Mode I can’t

geralts devastation at thinking yen is dead literally broke me

I really liked the humor in this episode !!! very good start!!!

ep2

2 episodes in… is geralt ever gonna take a bath… disgusting man

who on earth is this eskel 🙃🙃🙃

what the FUCK did they do to eskel

what the literal fuck????????

at least they killed him quickly so I don’t have to witness more of this mischaracterization

geralt please bathe!!!

ep3

lambert lambert what a prick. i love him

eralt is such a mother hen!!

um wtf a witcher funeral is getting eaten by wolves???

yen looks so fucking pretty in this strapless dress

what did they do to my boy cahir ??

the ab armor has finally made an appearance after geralt has been lovingly crafting it

OK THE IGNI ON THE SWORD IM HERE FOR IT

ok why is cahir's dirty crazy look working for me. also top tier yen outfit with these palazzo pants

ep4

I am living for these tight pants geralt keeps wearing like damn that ass

TRISS YOU BETTER TELL HIM YEN IS ALIVE

NO DONT HIT ON HIM

YES GOOD GERALT shut that DOWN

JASKIER IS THE ONE RESCUING ELVES

OH MY GOD

OH MY GOD???????

oh fuck that really is a breakup song

oh fuck he’s crying

oh fuck i’m crying

i’m not ok

(also I listened to the song on spotify and the starting verses are amazing)

graham mctavish looks very good in a skirt

oh SHIT dara as a spy!!!!!

geralt is such a dad ... theme of the season.........

im sorry how many people wrote "we're better off without him" yenskier fics? and it’s canon now ?!?!?!?

geralt needing to sit down after portaling is so fucking funny like THATS what takes him out

the timeline joke omg

vesemir's characterization as alternately shady and crying is actually kinda perfect

ep5

they did me dirty making rience hot like i cannot be attracted to the worst villains

lmfao at both geralt and yen hanging out with each other’s exes

love triss as protector of ciris agency [note added later that her betrayal is that much more devastating because she really seemed to be on ciri's side]

yennefer rescuing jask is everything I could’ve wanted

geralt finally finding out yens alive 🥺🥺🥺

ciri calling out for geralt when distressed omg i cant

ciri wanting to repress her emotions 🥺🥺🥺 geralt telling her she’s enough amd extraordinary 🥺🥺🥺

the betrayal in geralt’s face about vesemir

umm yennefer would never betray ciri?? what the fuck ok lauren i see your weird plot and im gonna roll with it but i don't really approve

ep6

ROACH!!!

ok that was the coolest flying leap i’ve ever seen good job geralt

ciris little help me to geralt lol

absolutely screaming at the yenralt reunion holy fuck

ciri matchmaking lmdao

the little standoff between our family and rience

this fight is epic!!!

also geralt’s just deep trust of yen 🥺 and being absolutely broken im not ok

ep7

oh so vilgefortz IS their new daddy

cahirs hair is truly awful

oh jask has WORDS to say lol ok

jaskier immediately stripping down in front of geralt and commenting on his nipples omfg !!!! slut!ll

I love yarpen

living for shirtless jaskier still, we really got a treat in this episode

vilgefortz you are absolutely not worthy you gaslighting fuck

omg fringilla low key respect though

absolutely perfect apology by geralt and recovery by jaskier. perfect!!!!!!

the absolute tension of geralt holding a sword to yens throat and saying mine. just full protective dad mode and also so sexy

the deathless mother stuff is really cool!! very gaunter o dimm

ep8

wow geralt’s trust issues are just gonna get so much worse

a lil worried about jaskiers drinking…

toxicity lambert 🥵

behind the back quen geralt you badass

ok i’m getting mother of dragons (???)

uh francesca please go to therapy

yes destroy the ab armor white lizard thing !!! melt those fake abs!!!!

come home im crying they’re a wolf family

subtle note that duny is not dissolving in ciri's dream bc he’s not actually dead 😳

oh shit very smooth connection to the wild hunt!!!

yayyy yenny is magic again

lol at lamberts rejection of jaskier lmfaoo

oh just realized that was the backstory on lydia in the books !! subtle but appreciated.

istredd being very involved this season! like ok???

ok so finally after 2 seasons we have everything set up for the actual plot lmdao

philippa looks hotttttt af

ciri is something more fuck can y’all kiss already

oh hell yes spectacular dramatic reveal of who emhyr really is!! fantastic setup I am screaming shook losing my mind

(please stop with cahirs hair though)

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Talking to Horses | Geralt x Reader

Summary: You work at a small inn in a middle of nowhere village in Novigrad. Your job consists mostly of serving travelers – the only people that come to this god-forsaken place – but you manage to find a way to spend most of your time in the stables. One night, while you’re holed up there talking to your horse, a new stranger arrives; but you recognize him from the traveling bard, Jaskier’s, songs immediately – the famous Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

Word Count: 2,533

Warnings: None; this is literally just the fluffiest fluff.

Notes: I promise I’ll get back to my series soon; but it’s been a busy week and I’m sad and right now I just want to write Geralt fluff lol.

* * *

It is growing late, and you are still in the barn, as usual. You don’t mind, though. You much prefer it here than in the stuffy inn. No matter how rude the customer, their horses were always nice enough. You keep your own horse here, as well – a mare named Immi. She is a sweet little thing, though she's quite skittish and will do almost nothing without getting a treat first, but you don’t mind much. It is rare that you have the opportunity to travel, and the roads around your little village are safe enough.

You are surprised when Immi’s ears prick up slightly, the way that they do when a visitor approaches the stables. Of course, travelers came in at all hours of the day, but it wasn’t too often when one showed up extremely late at night. Relatively unbothered, you continue brushing her speckled fur, waiting for the loud crunch of the stablemaster’s boots on the ground. Honestly, no one could possibly walk as loudly as that man.

So, you are surprised when you hear the sound of approaching hooves and soft, barely perceptible footsteps. Curious, you peek your head out from the stall to see a white-haired stranger leading a horse gently by the reins. You’ve never seen him here before – but again, that is not unusual. Most people who pass through here once don’t have much reason to pass through again. It is a painfully boring town. What makes this one stand out, however, are the two swords slung across his back.

However, between the white hair and the two swords, the mysterious stranger suddenly becomes far less mysterious – at least as far as his identity goes. The chances of someone matching his exact description seem relatively unlikely. Even from a distance, you can tell that he is huge, all muscle. Hard to find any ordinary human who looks like that; doubly as hard to find any ordinary human who looks like that and happens to have long white hair and two swords on his back. So, you are pretty positive you are correct.

As he draws closer, you lean back on the open door to Immi’s stall, arms crossed across your chest and head cocked slightly to one side.

“You’re Geralt of Rivia.” You say it as a statement, not a question. You are very rarely wrong, and unafraid to embrace that. Mamma used to scold you for being brash, and you’d been called arrogant and brazen by a few of the passing travelers – but it doesn't bother you much.

“And you better not start singing that damn song.”

You smirk, kicking open the free stall across from Immi’s with a scuffed leather boot, “No ‘hello’?” you ask, shaking your head. “Not even a nice ‘and you are?”

The Witcher doesn’t seem particularly amused, but he takes the bait anyway.

“Hello,” he says, exaggerating and speaking the words exactly how you’d spoken them, “And you are?” Mrs. Leigh, who owns the inn, constantly tells you that you shouldn’t pester the guests, but there is a slight tug at the corner of the Witcher’s lips that tells you he isn’t particularly irritated. And anyway, you don’t listen to much of what Mrs. Leigh says or you’d die of boredom.

“Y/N,” you say before adding sarcastically, “Of Novigrad.”

“Pleasure,” he says absentmindedly as he begins getting his horse settled.

You could easily get back to your work, but in such a boring village, you’ve got to take advantage of any entertainment while you can, so you lean against the door, peering at his horse, which you can tell is clearly taken very good care of.

“What’s your horse’s name?”

“Roach.”

“Interesting name for a horse,” you say, watching him remove the saddle.

Immi, likely feeling betrayed because you have turned your attention from the mare for more than a minute, whinnies and lightly stomps one hoof.

“Immi!” you scold her in the gentle way you always do, turning and walking back to her stall.

You are slightly surprised to hear the Witcher speak again, “Is she yours?”

You nod, pulling an apple from your back, which you left hanging on a nail on the door. At seeing it, Immi huffs and looks at you with wide, begging eyes.

“She is,” you say, rather proudly. It is not a wealthy village, and most young women working as barmaids and stable hands cannot afford horses of their own. Of course, you didn’t actually buy her – one of the Leigh’s mares had a baby, four years ago now. It was the year your mother died of plague when it hit the village, and you’d already been working for Mrs. Leigh for three years by then and they knew your affinity for working in the stables. They told you she was yours, and suddenly life seemed a little less dull.

You hold the apple up to her snout, and she quickly devours the whole thing.

“You always feed her human food?” The Witcher’s voice is closer now; you turn to see that he’s standing outside the stall he’s set Roach up in. You get the sense that he’s appraising you, his yellow eyes settled on yours, one eyebrow raised as Immi chomps loudly behind you, finishing the treat.

You cross your arms, fully facing him now, staring right back. “Yes, I do,” you say, “And before you ask, of course I talk to her.”

At that, the Witcher laughs, but he doesn’t seem to be mocking you. You narrow your eyes slightly, questioning.

“I talk to my horse, too,” he admits. “Roach is great to talk to, because he doesn’t talk back.”

You grin, face flushing slightly at the warm gleam in the Witcher’s yellow eyes. “Exactly. No unwanted advice, no ordering me around, no demanding a third cup of ale when she’s already piss drunk.”

“So, you work in the inn, too?”

You nod in response, “Yep. Unfortunately, we don’t get enough travelers through here to make much money as a stable hand. We make our money the way every other inn does; selling overpriced ale to travelers who don’t have any other options.”

“It's even worse in the cities,” the Witcher responds. “Plenty of options, but all overpriced.”

“Hm,” you shrug, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been to one of the big cities. But humans are the same everywhere, I guess.”

“You’re right about that,” he says, looking somewhat lost in thought.

“Still,” you muse as you grab your bag and shut the door to Immi’s stall, “I’d like to see them.”

You sigh, looking past the Witcher and out into the field outside, the starlit road beyond it. “The cities, I mean. Just... Seems a waste, to spend a whole life here.” Now you’re just rambling – another thing Mamma used to tell you not to do, especially with strangers – but you can’t help it. “Must be fun, to be a Witcher; you’ve probably seen all sorts of places.”

The Witcher gives you a wry smile, “And all sorts of monsters.”

“Eh,” you respond quickly, following him out of the stables and towards the inn, “You don’t have to travel to see monsters.” He stops walking for a moment and cocks his head in thought, looking down at you.

“You’re right again,” he says.

“You should meet Mr. Allen,” you say with your voice lowered, “He’s the mayor and he’s hear most every night, drinking Mrs. Leigh out of house and home, yelling at everyone, and—well, never mind—but his poor wife, though.” You shudder, thinking about his roaming eyes and careless hands, but you snap out of it quickly enough.

“Ah, suppose it is fitting. Shit mayor for a shit town.”

Once you reach the entrance, you push open the door, the Witcher following behind you. You turn to him, whispering under your breath, “Guy in the back corner.” He raises his eyebrows and goes, to your surprise, to sit at the table right in front of Mr. Allen’s. Not a choice that you would have advised, but likely to be an entertaining one.

“Please tell me you were not harassing that man out in the stables,” Mrs. Leigh says as you head behind the counter, filling up a few earthenware tankards to drop at the tables that your boss has wasted no time pointing to.

“Me?” you ask, with fake innocence.

“Y/N, honestly. We need the business.”

Grabbing as may tankards as possible – an impressive five – you glance back at your boss and roll your eyes. “Please,” you say with a smirk, “I’m half the reason these guys buy as much alcohol as they do.” A little flirting does wonders, and gods know Mrs. Leigh isn’t going to do it.

You drop off three tankards at one table; a thankfully quiet one. There are two women, one of whom you can tell from her painfully beautiful features must be half-elf. There’s one man with them, lanky and quiet. Probably the human’s brother, if you had to guess.

The other two mugs of ale were, of course, for Mayor Allen. He must have just arrived, then.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with a hideous smile as you set them down. You just mumble some form of no problem as you walk off. He doesn’t pay, so there’s no point in flirting with him. Besides, the Witcher’s table is next, and you cannot deny that you are dying to talk to him.

Putting on your usual flirty smile, you head over to his table, leaning on the old wood. For some reason, though, the flirtatious nature that usually comes easy to you feels a little bit different – like you actually care what this stranger thinks about you. You decide to put it down to the fact that he is famous, and famous people rarely pass through the village.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask, smile faltering slightly, but only for a moment.

The Witcher looks at you, yellow eyes locking on yours. “Two mugs of ale, please,” his lips curve into a smirk, “And your company.” You quirk an eyebrow, feeling your cheeks redden once again.

Before you have to disappoint him – and mainly yourself – by telling him that you can’t just sit down at work, he places a handful of gold pieces on the table. Definitely enough to cover the two beers, and as much as you’d bring in for the night.

“Coming right up,” you say, throwing him a glance over your shoulder as you carry the coins over to the counter.

“You’re welcome,” you say, admittedly rather arrogantly as you set the coins down on the counter next to Mrs. Leigh. She watches you with somewhat horrified eyes as you round the counter to fill up to mugs of ale.

“This is not a brothel,” she says pointedly, glancing from you and across the room at the white-haired Witcher.

“And I’d charge more for a night than that,” you retort, glancing down at the coins still on the table.

Mrs. Leigh does not respond as you grab the two mugs and head back to the Witcher’s table.

“Your ale,” you say, sliding it over to him, “And my excellent company,” you add with an impish grin, sitting down across from him. “Though, to be honest, you seem more like the Sit and Drink Alone type,” you say, studying him.  

“You aren’t wrong there,” he says, but his yellow eyes hint that he very much does not want to sit and drink alone tonight. Well, that and the fact that he asked you to sit with him.

“Then why ask me to disturb your blessed silence?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Because,” he says, pausing to take a draught of ale, “I find you interesting.”

You nearly choke on your ale when you laugh. Out of all of the interesting creatures and people the Witcher meets, you cannot fathom why he would find you in particular interesting.

“Oh, come on,” he said, shaking his head. “You walk around like you own this place. Don’t pretend to be the shy type.”

You blush again, looking down at your cup and taking a swig before you look back up at him. Thankfully, you can blame the flush on your cheeks on the ale. “Oh, come on,” you quip back, “You’ve been in plenty of inns, I’m sure. It’s all part of business.”

Geralt eyes you curiously and shrugs. Then silence settles over the two of you, somehow ringing louder in your ears than the rowdy crowd of the crowded pub.

Finally, he speaks.

“Actually, I have a proposition.”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide as you stare at him. Maybe the gold was for what Mrs. Leigh insinuated. And while the Witcher was, without a doubt, the most attractive man you’d ever seen, Mrs. Leigh was right – this was not a brothel, and you were not… Well, that was not your profession.

“Don’t worry, it’s not about that.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, and slight disappointment, but now you are incredibly curious. What could this Witcher want from you?

“I’m not travelling far,” he explains, “And I have a high suspicion that the haunting I am investigating has little to do with dangerous spirits and everything to do with humans being humans.”

Your mouth falls open, hardly able to believe what you are hearing, and unable to form any words.

“You said you wanted to see some of the world, and I take it you can ride,” he says.

“I—well, yes, I do want to… But, I mean, I have to wor—”

“It’s a decent contract. You can half of it.”

“I mean,” you begin, “I… I couldn’t take the coin!”

“You’re not taking it, you’re doing a job,” the Witcher points out. “I can’t watch Roach all the time.”

You consider his words for a few moments before your face breaks out into a wide smile.

* * *

You are bursting with excitement as you head out of your back room, pack full of your most precious personal items, of which there are relatively few. As promised, Geralt is already out in the stable, saddling Roach.

“Good morning,” he says, that same deep, gravely voice you’d grown familiar with last night as the two of you stayed up talking until far too late.

“Good morning!” you greet him, heading over to saddle Immi, despite her somewhat confused whinnies. You rarely rode out this early. But she didn’t seem to mind all that much, as you handed her another apple from your pack.

“Hm,” Geralt says, eying you, “Cheery.”

“Not a morning person?” you ask him.

“No particular feelings about any time of day,” he says with a shrug.

You lead Immi out of the stables behind Geralt and Roach, still somewhat mystified by the man.

“Ah yes,” you say after a moment, “I hear you Witchers don’t have emotions.”

At those words, Geralt turns around to face you, only a few inches between you. “Now there, dear Y/N, you are wrong.”

The look on his face has your stomach filled with butterflies as the two of you ride off side-by-side into the early morning light.

***

Taglist: @divaroze​ @fairytale07​ @geeksareunique​ @jesseswartzwelder​ @unnamedmaincharacter​ @lazilyscentedwerewolf​ @evyiione​ @valkyriepuff​

[reineyday]

geraskier zoom conference hc's based on that 'and they were video conferencing' post

(this has turned into a fic in point-form oops; also it's more pre-slash 'cuz this quarantine is ongoing and i don't have any specific ideas about how a relationship discussion would go or be handled over zoom haha)

it starts as a group conference call between yennefer and triss and jaskier and geralt probably because yen and triss and geralt run some sort of small business and they need jaskier for something artistic probably (he's a freelancer)

let's say they have some sort of start-up to do with children's education somehow, inspired by ciri, and they want to start a small educational web series and they want music in each episode and so hire jaskier as a composer

geralt is in charge of episode content because this web series is gonna be about mythology and he has a masters in it and has done a fair amount of traveling for it (and lowkey has been learning about different kinds of myrhs and legends and heroes and monsters all his life alongside swordfighting thanks vesemir)

ANYWAYS at first they just talk about work: geralt knows which myths he wants to talk about and how, but can't quite come up with a good narrative because he has a bad tendency to ramble on about very precise specific details that get boring, and he also doesnt know how to set the tone for children despite having one himself

jaskier suggests they make the show centre around a hero that is a witcher who goes off on adventures meeting all these creatures, and jaskier already has some fun ideas for songs

jaskier thinks geralt isnt very forthcoming but he's clearly interested in the project and there's excitement in his eyes when he says ciri will like something they write together

geralt also gets kind of moody about inaccuracies (like a nerd 'cuz he is one lol), and jaskier thinks it's funny and likes to pull his leg by saying they should just change this detail or that detail and that he's allowed bc he's the composer and he's taking creative liberties

about three zoom meetings in, they decide the witcher should have a horse and jaskier says they should give it a name and geralt says "roach" and jaskier laughs and asks about cockroaches and geralt looks... petulant??? and says there are fish called roach too and he meant the fish, and jaskier feels fond and relents and says yes fine the horse's name is "roach"

the next video call they have, they start talking again about work and jaskier's trying not to focus too much on the fact that geralt has shown up with his hair braided but goodness it makes him look softer with the way it pulls back and some strands of hair escape to frame his face

geralt eventually notices and hmms his questioning hmm (and when did jaskier start distinguishing the difference?) and when jask asks about the braid, geralt's face goes EVEN SOFTER and says ciri can't practice braiding on her friends' hair at school anymore so she practices with him and jaskier's like "well fuck that's it this is it ive never even seen him in person but here we are this is a crush oh shit"

the first time geralt laughs is because in one of their meetings, jaskier decided he was gonna be chill and wear a work shirt but just his boxers with stupid cartoon pizzas on them, amd he feels so comfortsble he forgets he's just wesring his underwrar 'till he gets up to grab his acoustic guitar and geralt sounds like he was startled into laughter and yeah, that's right, he's wearing stupid boxers and he flushes but geralt looks pretty amused and jaskier did that so he's not too embarrassed

halfway through the session after that, where jaskier has given up on slightly professional looking clothes but has committed to wearing something over his boxers at all times, he hears some barking and he sees a german shepherd's nose enter the bottom of the frame by geralt's arm

jaskier is obviously like YOU HAVE A DOG and geralt explains ciri usually plays with him during their meetings but they decided to go earlier that day and when jaskier asks what the dog's name is, geralt pauses and looks a cross between irritated and embarassed and then says "roach"

jaskier laughs and laughs and geralt just looks on stoically and it's not on his mouth but jaskier can see the pout in his eyes, but after he's done laughing, all he says is, "like the fish" and geralt smiles a tiny smile and shakes his head and jaskier's a goner, truly

one day, jaskier is caught on trying to find the perfect wording and chord progression for one of the episodes, and focuses on his guitar and keyboard for a while as he toys with this key and that rhyme, and when he looks up, geralt is in a kitchen putting on tea and mixing something in a pot and it's an hour past when they usually hang up

"you could have stopped me, you know?" jaskier asks, but geralt looks at him and hmms and jaskier feels all warm goddammit

he tells jaskier to go take a break and jaskier obliges and brings his laptop to his kitchen and they kind of just have tea together for twenty minutes before something dings and geralt has to go 'cuz it's dinner time for him and ciri

the next meeting, geralt shows up and his daughter's there in the background and she has hair like geralt's and a sunshine personality the complete opposite of geralt (though they both give off disintguished kinds of vibes)

jaskier is charmed; she's a great cheerleader and a wonderful person to run ideas by especially considering she's the target age group for their show, and when she makes a comment about how she wishes she could play the ukulele she got as a gift two years ago, jaskier brightens up and says he can teach her

now jaskier zoom calls a little earlier so ciri can have a short ukulele lesson before his work meeting with geralt, and it's so nice whenever he hears ciri practicing off to the side or roach barking from out of the frame and jaskier wonders what it would be like to truly be in the house with them

the next meeting after, they go a bit too long again bc they were arguing (well, jaslier was actually pulling geralt's leg some more, to be honest, but he can't help it if that's how he flirts), and ciri shows up and says it's time for food and when jaskier says he'll leave them to it, ciri suggests he just stay on amd they can eat together

geralt doesn't immediately say no and actually seems to be waiting for jaskier's answer so jaskier says yeah okay, and he grabs some food and they all have dinner together and they get to talking and jakier and ciri bond over disney movies and ciri says she wants to watch them together the three of them and yennefer and triss

the watch party happens and over zoom yennefer seems deeply amused the entire time and triss keeps giggling and geralt seems extra annoyed for some reason but jaskier enjoys himself and sings along to the movie and he tries not to imagine sitting right next to geralt on his couch on the side not occupied by his daughter

jaskier wakes up with a headache very close to their meeting time one day, and kind of just opens his laptop while he's lying in bed and opens the window to wait for geralt to start the meeting while he reaches over to get his ukulele 'cuz it's the closest instrument to his bed and the easiest on his brain when it's pounding like this

when he settles back against his headbkard and pillows once more, geralt is looking at him with a frown and asks if he's feeling okay, to which jaskier replies he's fine it's not covid he just gets headaches every now and then and it sucks but he can still compose (and he shakes his lil uke at the camera)

geralt says no he should sleep and when jaskier pouts he says he's going to sit here and wait for jaskier to put down the damn ukulele and drink some water and eat a granola bar and then tuck himself back into bed and he looks all fierce about it while he says it and how can jaskier not lug his laptop around while he does these things and fall a little more in love

eventually it becomes totally normal for jaskier to just hang out for long stretches of time, whether or not they talk about their witcher web series, and they cook together and hang out in their pajamas and jaskier and ciri have their music lessons and their disney nights and geralt even starts getting him to work out during some of their work breaks by doing 8 minuts abs

(jaskier was pretty adamant about not exercising but said he's do it just the one time but after 8 minutes of pain, geralt was flushed and kind of sweaty and said he needed to chamge his shirt anf then just took it off right there on the camera before he walked out frame to grab a new one and jaskier had to rush to pick his jaw off the floor before going to change out of his own sweaty clothes and yeah so he does 8 minute abs with geralt sometimes now)

once, geralt sends him a zoom link for a meeting at 2am on a night when jaskier can't fall asleep (his sleeping schedule's been so fucked since quarantine started) and when jaskier joins him, he looks like hell and he apologizes but when jaskier says he probably won't sleep for another three hours anyways, geralt looks the tiniest bit grateful and asks if they can work so they do, and if jaskier writes a song that's a little more like a lullabye dyring their meeting, and feels like his heart is about to burst when geralt, who'd moved from his desk to his couch, nods off while jaskier softly sings to him, well... jaskier doesn't know what to do with himself after he makes sure geralt is properly sleeping and then leaves the zoom meeting

they work and work and really get to know each other and then, all of a sudden, there are no more songs to be written for their witcher series and jaskier says "that's the last song, i think" and geralt hmms but neither of them hangs up

jaskier bites his lip and says, "i'll see you at the team meeting we'll have with yennefer and triss to wrap up my contract, i guess?"

and geralt says, "you should add me on facebook; we should keep in touch for future projects"

jaskier tries not to feel too bummed out because this is still a connection point and also yay more creative projects with the hot man he is probably definitely in love with and also potentially more money! but he's still a little bummed and then he decides if he's going to feel bummed he should at least do something about it and he says, "i will! you know facebook has video chat too"

and geralt hmms again but there's definitely a smile, and it's even an actual smile! "im aware," he says, and then before he hangs up the zoom call he looks stern and adds, "dont forget about ciri's ukulele lessons" and honestly jaskier wasn't expecting to continue with them but he's relieved they can still keep doing those

he shoots geralt that friend request and sates the need to scroll down his wall by going through geralt's past previous profile photos instead (they're usually of him and ciri and they're adorable)

and then, delight of delights, the next day around when they usually have their meeting, there's a video chat request from one geralt of rivia coming through facebook, and even more delightful: geralt's clearly on his phone and he only waits on the screen long enough to make sure jaskier's there and to give him a quirked eyebrow and a trademark hmm before he turns the camera around and jaskier is treated to an outside view and a walk with geralt and roach via mobile

and thus geralt becomes a fixture of his every day life

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

hey u know the fic where the reader was upset cause she was in love with Jaskier and he gets a girlfriend and she ends up sleeping with Geralt? Could you write a part 2 maybe where she realizes that she wants to be with Geralt all along? Only if you want to lol it’s your story haha

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt x Reader Word Count: 1,478 Rating: T Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Here you go! xo

Time does not heal all wounds but it can ease the pain.

Your unrequited love for Jaskier went from a deep gash to a scabbing, aching thing and you found more and more than it felt more like a scar. A remnant that you forgot unless you glanced at it sometimes. Your friendship grew less strained, though he’d hardly noticed it in his infatuation with his new conquest, and you found that you didn’t wince at the sound of her name as you once did. Sometimes he was look over at you and the sun would hit him just right and you’d be a little taken aback by how handsome he was and the scar would be seen, but you didn’t feel the same sense of agonizing longing that you once had. You attributed a large part of this to Geralt.

Since that night, Geralt had remained a steadfast friend. He’d always been your friend but he’d been more open and checked in with you more since that night. He never initiated anything physical with you, save for the time he saw you brushing Roach’s mane. You’d been singing to her softly, not even noticing that he’d arrived until he was next to you. There was a soft intensity to his gaze as he took the brush from your hands, quickly chucking it aside, and pulled you into a kiss that made you feel like you were drowning in a torrent of unspoken need and left you gasping for air when you pulled apart. He’d found the brush and handed it back to you and then wordlessly left. That night when you came to him it had been different. The sex was good, always good, but it had grown softer and more and more time was spent just pressing your hands against each other’s laughing at the way his totally encompassed yours. You laughed more with Geralt in bed than you had ever laughed with another anywhere else. You grew to learn that he was funny. He had an interest in history and he began to teach you Elder. You found yourself turning to Geralt first when you heard some exciting news or if you told a joke you looked to Geralt for his reaction before Jaskier. The feeling that began to grow inside of you was familiar, but foreign all the same. Like hearing a song you knew sung in a different language. You’d loved Jaskier, truly loved him. But your love for him had turned into a genuine, close friendship whereas your friendship with Geralt grew and bloomed into something more. Something you recognized by tune but the language was different.

You went through the little village where six months earlier you’d thought your world was ending, and maybe in some ways it had. But it hadn’t been an end, only a new beginning to someplace you felt happy again. You and Geralt got a table while Jaskier went to fetch his beloved.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Geralt asked once the bard was out of earshot.

“I am,” you said decisively with a smile. Geralt smiled back and you held each other’s gaze for a moment until you saw Jaskier returning out of the corner of your eye. Alone.

“Where’s your lady fair, Jask?” you asked brightly.

“She… will not be joining us,” he said, eyes looking askance. You shared a worried look with Geralt.

“Jaskier?” you said, not needing to finish the question as his blue eyes, filled with hurt, met yours.

“She no longer requires my company,” he said, a bitter note to his voice as he recited the words. You felt Geralt look over at you but your face grew warm with anger in your friend’s honor.

“That’s her loss then,” you insisted fervently, “There are other, better women who would love to be with you.”

“Perhaps,” Jaskier said glumly, “In any case if it’s all the same to you I’d like some time alone in the room. Might work on a ballad to capture my heartbreak. Or to entice another lover. We’ll see what happens when I get there.”

You waved him farewell and when you looked back at Geralt you saw he was still watching you, a strange, assessing look on his face and if you didn’t know any better some sadness as well.

“There you have it,” he said simply.

“That’s such bollocks,” you sighed.

“Well as you said, there is another woman for him,” Geralt replied, giving you a meaningful look.

“Of course. Jaskier will never struggle to find partners. He’s far too handsome and talented,” you agreed, nodding as you took a drink of your ale and considered sending one to the room for Jaskier.

“I give you my best wishes, then,” Geralt said as he rose and before you could respond he’d walked out of the inn.

-----

Geralt brushed through Roach’s mane slowly, willing himself to calm down and be reasonable. He knew he’d been a distraction for you. He knew that it was temporary and that he shouldn’t let his feelings run away with him. He knew these things, and yet.

And yet he couldn’t get the feeling of your skin beneath his hands and mouth of his mind. He couldn’t shake the sound of your laughter, as beautiful as the moans he could drive from you. He could stop noticing things that reminded him of you everywhere whether it be a plant that held nearly the same hue as your eyes or a glimpse of a pastry he knew you’d like or even the damn brush in his hand. He chucked it across the stable in a fit of frustration, feeling more and more like a fool with every passing second.

“What do you have against that brush?”

He whirled to find you standing in the entrance to the stall, arms crossed over your chest and your mouth quirked up in an amused smile. He turned his attention back to Roach to unhelpfully shook her mane in his face.

“What you said back there, about giving us your best wishes, what did you mean by that?” you asked, crossing the stable to stand in front of him so he couldn’t keep shutting you out. You knew what it sounded like but you needed him to say it, needed him to be open with you before actively giving him your heart. As if it was still yours to give and not fully owned by him already.

“I’ve done what I said I’d do. I supported you as you waited it out and now you will receive your reward. Jaskier is available to you. I only want you to be happy,” Geralt replied, though he couldn’t bring his eyes to meet yours.

“Gods, where to start,” you muttered under your breath, pacing in front of Roach as you thought. “Alright well first of all, Jaskier is a human being with autonomy and just because he is available now doesn’t mean that I’d have him automatically. He has a say in it as well.”

“Of course he’d want you,” Geralt scoffed, as if the idea of anyone not leaping at the chance to claim you as their won was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard.

“Secondly,” you charged on, “I meant what I said. I’m ok. I don’t harbor any feelings for Jaskier anymore. Not like that, at least.”

“You don’t love him?” Geralt asked disbelievingly.

“Of course I love him!” you cried. Geralt flinched and turned around, ostensibly to look for the brush but your hands rested on his shoulders before he could move, stilling him instantly. Even through the layers of his armor and clothing your touch could be felt as clearly as when he was bared to you. You walked around in front of him again, using one hand to cup his cheek and gently tilt his face to meet yours.

“I love him as a friend. I do not love him as I have come to love you, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt’s eyes filled with confusion and a flicker of hope. You rose up on tiptoes to press a kiss against his lips. He faltered for just a moment, uncertain if he should trust this, but then his arms encircled you, pulling you in close and returning the kiss. When you broke apart you rested your forehead against his, stroking the curve of his jaw and the silver hair that threaded through your fingers.

“You don’t have to say it back, you don’t have to say or do anything, but I hope you will accept my love,” you said, murmuring the words softly like a prayer. His hands rose to your wrists, gently moving your hands before his lips so he could gently press a kiss into each palm before the amber eyes sought yours.

“I love you too.”

[hardkinkbardkink]

What if geralt puts jaskier’s little cock in a cage. Maybe the smell of jaskier’s lust is getting in the way of hunts, and at first it’s just a practical thing, but geralt ends up loving how desperate jaskier gets and how much he works himself up, unable to get any relief without geralt’s intervention anymore. geralt watches him trying to rub his soft little cock through the cage, whining and begging for geralt to just let him out, and pretends that he's not getting off on this too, but he iiiis

(chastity anon continued) maybe geralt squeezes the cage until the metal creaks, and the cage is the only thing that stops geralt from crushing jaskier's cock with his witcher strength. maybe geralt milks jaskier's prostate with his fingers, acting all aloof while jaskier whines about not getting to come *properly*. maybe jaskier ruts his caged cock up against geralt at night, desperate for stimulation but unable to get any no matter how hard he tries. (is that too much? i'm a bit drunk lol)

you know what is too much babe? me, taking eight thousand years to fill an ask, especially a Magnificent, Amazing, Showstopping ask like this. awful. tragic.

everyone & their mother's done a cock cage prompt and u know what???? they should, it's a good bloody prompt

anyway fuck me sideways this took ages, im sorry x i'll try very hard to get more prompts out before uni starts. sub!geralt has really been haunting my dreams so possibly expect more of that? no promises, love yous x

incidentally finishing & posting this also mildly intoxicated. tumblr formatting is homophobic. here it is on ao3 cos i really need that x

***

Geralt's nose twitches.

The trail is fresh. Impossible to miss. He closes his eyes, focuses his senses.

All he can smell is the heady, overpowering scent of Jaskier's release lingering on the bard's hands.

"Jaskier," he says. Growls, maybe.

He doesn't turn to look at him, though he can hear Jaskier flinch. The spike in his heartbeat makes his blood pump faster, his scent more pungent, like a particularly cloying perfume. Geralt clenches his fists and his teeth and he's strung so tightly he fears his control might snap.

"What? What is it, witcher, I'm--I've been quiet, out of the way, what could it possibly be this time?"

Geralt can't answer. Won't answer. Focus. Focus. The frigid wind pushes his hair into his eyes and the creature's trail comes to him once more.

Sword drawn, Geralt moves forward into the night, irritated and glad to have something to sink his blade into.

***

"Ah, Geralt!" comes a distressed shout, and then Jaskier's half-running in his direction, tripping over his own feet. His doublet is undone, and so is the chemise. A mark sits high on the side of his neck, still wet from the mouth that left it there.

He grabs for Geralt's bicep, claws urgently at one pauldron before shoving himself between Geralt and the wall behind him.

"Nothing to worry about, dear witcher," Jaskier says breathlessly, ducking to peek from underneath Geralt's arm. "Just a--a misunderstanding, is all. Some parties in our arrangement failed to mention they were otherwise, ah--engaged."

"Jaskier," Geralt says as threateningly as he can manage. He's too fucking tired to deal with this again. And again. And again.

"She didn't fuck like a maiden," Jaskier mutters, and, mournfully, Geralt abandons the message board he'd been scouting, heading instead for the stables with the bard in tow and a group of young men yelling their displeasure in the town square.

***

"I don't see how this is--" Jaskier squeals, tries to shrug out of Geralt's grip. "--in any way necessary, Geralt, the silk will crease, gods have mercy."

Geralt pulls the hood lower over his eyes and walks swiftly, one gloved hand clasped tightly around Jaskier's arm, dragging him down the cobbled street. It's busy this time of day. Jaskier's incessant moaning draws them only more attention.

"Another word and I'll have your mouth sewn shut," Geralt hisses privately to spare them the unnecessary scandal.

Perhaps it is only because he finally realises the gravity of the situation that Jaskier falls silent. Geralt doesn't care for the reason. He quickens his pace.

The shop stands where it always had, inconspicuous and private, tucked away in the shadow of a large armourer. Dust rises from the stale clothes stacked on the shelves, tickles Geralt's sensitive nose; he doesn't spare a glance at the gaudy fabrics. A merchant greets them and Geralt nods at him knowingly, walking straight past him to a heavy door at the shop's back.

"Geralt?" Jaskier says tentatively, his voice quivering.

Geralt pushes the door open and shoves Jaskier inside.

The woman is a different one than the last time he'd visited, though it had been many decades since he'd had any need for services of this kind. Never this one in particular, still.

Jaskier stutters at his side, head whipping around wildly.

"Geralt? Geralt, you filthy old man, what--

He sighs in annoyance at the mischievous glint in Jaskier's eye.

"A gag, perhaps?" the woman asks, amused, and Geralt almost considers it.

"A cage," he says instead, grabbing Jaskier's shoulders and pushing him towards her.

Jaskier flails his arms like a drowning man.

"A--a what now? Geralt? If you think you can keep me in a gods-damned cage, you bastard--"

Perhaps the gag would be a wiser choice.

"Just some parts of you, sweetheart," the attendant says calmly, making to tug at Jaskier's trousers.

Geralt holds Jaskier's arms firmly behind his back as he's stripped from the waist down. He can't help but glance down over Jaskier's shoulder when the woman examines his limp cock.

"Such a sweet little thing," she comments with a smile and gives Geralt a nod before disappearing deeper into the shop. He watches the sway of her hips beneath her skirts.

"Geralt?" Jaskier whispers. His heartbeat drums dully in Geralt's ears, too fast, too loud. "Geralt, what are you doing to me?"

Jaskier's stopped thrashing, though the wheeze of his breath remains anxious in anticipation.

Geralt doesn't answer.

The woman returns quickly, a vial of a viscous, translucent oil in one hand and the steel cage in the other. Geralt marvels at how small it is, though he keeps his expression neutral.

"I'll--" Jaskier begins, though the words die in his throat when lithe, slick hands grab his cock abruptly.

"You'll want to watch, master witcher."

Geralt does.

It's a quick affair, now that Jaskier's given up his struggling. He stands still as a statue, head turned away and eyes squeezed shut. His hands shake when the woman threads his delicate balls through the metal ring, and he gasps when she gently tucks his cock into the cage.

"The fit is a bit snug," she says, lifting Jaskier's newly caged prick, turning it this way and that to get a better look. "Would you like something bigger?"

Geralt shakes his head. Jaskier doesn't try to reply.

The attendant hands him a small padlock with a key in it, and Geralt has to take his gloves off to fasten it on Jaskier's cage. The key goes around his neck, safe beneath his armour.

Geralt tugs Jaskier's trousers up, ties them roughly and perhaps too tightly. He can just make out the cage's shape under the fabric, an obscene bulge that's sure to get Jaskier longing stares.

He hands over most of his purse and urges Jaskier out, back into the world.

***

The bard is silent for three days.

They trudge the path in blissful peace that Geralt will yearn for when it breaks. When they make camp, Jaskier refuses to help. He sets up his bedroll as far as he can, shivering through the night, huffing indignantly. He won't eat until he thinks Geralt is asleep.

The atmosphere is so tense Geralt wonders why Jaskier won't simply leave, until he remembers the little silver key around his own neck.

They get to town, eventually, and Geralt sets out on a contract almost immediately. He doesn't hesitate to leave Jaskier at the inn, for once confident no trouble will befall him. The assurance is a surprising comfort.

On the fourth night Jaskier rouses Geralt from a fitful sleep, perched carefully at the edge of the bed.

"It's enough, isn't it?" he says softly, his expression shattered and pained. "I've learned my lesson. You can--please take it off."

Geralt blinks a few times. Takes a deep breath that chokes him with the urgent scent of desperation, unresolved lust. He thinks, and he thinks.

"No."

"Geralt--"

"No," he repeats calmly, closing his eyes again. "You wear the cage or I cut your useless cock off."

Jaskier gasps, and stutters, and goes quiet again, though not for long.

"If that's what it takes to stay with you then I--I will. I'll do it. But you--" A hand settles lightly on Geralt's abdomen. "You will take it off? Eventually. Right?"

Geralt hums dismissively. He revels in the neediness in Jaskier's voice, his uneven breathing as he settles back on the floor. It nearly rocks him back to sleep, until--

The whimper is a soft thing, barely audible, and yet it's enough to hurl Geralt viciously into wakefulness. He cracks an eye open, breath caught in his throat.

The darkness does little to hinder his sight; he gets a perfect view of where Jaskier's sprawled out on his bedroll, legs spread obscenely, hand desperately clutching his trapped prick. Geralt watches as he tries to get his fingers between the bars, tries to touch his swollen cock through the unforgiving metal. He whines again, louder this time as his head rolls from side to side.

"Jaskier," Geralt says abruptly. Jaskier jumps, though his hand doesn't fall away.

"Sorry," he breathes, voice thick like he might cry. "Sorry, I need it so badly, Geralt--"

And Geralt can smell it, is the thing--the salt of Jaskier's tears and the crushing, overbearing desire that now clings to him. He can't escape it, and maybe--maybe he doesn't want to.

He wouldn't ever admit it, but Geralt's cock grows unreasonably hard as he watches Jaskier frantically try to get off. He'd never thought about it, how good Jaskier would look, how good he'd sound--how achingly wanting he'd become after just a few days in chastity. It almost tempts Geralt to unlock the cage, so he can watch Jaskier's tiny prick bounce when Geralt spreads him out on the bed and fucks him within an inch of his life.

Almost.

"Go to sleep, bard."

***

The cage, Geralt comes to find, does not work as he'd hoped.

Yes, Jaskier's overeager cock can't get him in trouble anymore, and Geralt's glad for that, truly--fending off angry cuckolds never was his favourite pastime.

As far as distractions go, however--well.

The persistent, all-consuming scent of unfulfilled arousal so intense it nearly knocks Geralt to the ground is a slight problem.

He doesn't mind, really, when Jaskier looks so tempting biting his lip and rubbing his thighs together, so delicious pawing at his own prick and his swollen sack. When he begs and pleads and a whine slips into his normally sure voice, turning it thick and watery with tears.

Geralt refuses, refuses, refuses.

Jaskier does not ask to leave.

He gets drunk a lot, now. A cup of wine turns into three and then the whole carafe, and for once Geralt doesn't feel the need to keep a watchful eye and a hand on his sword. He leaves Jaskier to his will and heads to bed, calm and content.

Sleep doesn't seize him for long hours, so when Jaskier makes it back, stumbling noisily through the door, Geralt hums to let him know he's awake. He keeps his eyes shut.

It's a while before Jaskier climbs into bed beside him. The warmth of his bare skin pressed close against Geralt is a shock; the realisation that the cold, hard shape digging into his thigh is the metal of the cage trapping Jaskier's prick is--

Fuck.

His heart doesn't stutter when he feels the hot puffs of Jaskier's breath on his neck, but it might have, were he a weaker man. A hand creeps tentatively over his chest, limbs winding around him until Jaskier lies halfway on top of his supine body.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, sounding wrecked, and his hips move abruptly forward, clumsy thrusts against Geralt's side that make Geralt feel the curved steel even through his clothes. "Please, Geralt, please let me get off."

No, slips right to the tip of Geralt's tongue and stays there, unsaid and distant. The way Jaskier's words bleed together sets Geralt on edge. He doesn't dare move a muscle when Jaskier keeps rutting the cage against his body, keeps trying in vain to seek his pleasure. Dry lips settle on the edge of his jaw, grow wet with sloppy kisses. Geralt's own cock swells in his smallclothes, unrestrained.

"I'll do anything."

A hot rush of power hits Geralt head-on, nearly steals his breath away. The word echos in his head. Anything. Anything.

Jaskier moans faintly, right into Geralt's ear. The arm thrown across his chest moves lower, and for a moment he thinks Jaskier is going to touch his frightfully hard cock and it'll be over. He wouldn't have enough restraint to stop himself, then.

But Jaskier merely reaches to touch his own prick, like he did so many nights before; desperately trying to fit his long fingers between the bars, caress his plumped, reddened, tortured cock. Geralt releases the grip he'd had on the blankets underneath him, flexing his fingers against the ache in his knuckles. He wonders if--and he wants to--

His sudden movement doesn't startle Jaskier, to the bard's own credit or the wine flowing through him. He groans when Geralt bats his hands away from where he's fondling himself, leans forward and sucks a mindless mark to the side of Geralt's throat.

Geralt thinks of the way Jaskier's whimpers had sounded in the deep nights just as he grabs hold of the cage and squeezes.

The effect is immediate, though he doubts Jaskier gets any physical stimulation off it. Still, he chokes on a breath, and whines, and suddenly he's trembling wildly against Geralt's side.

Geralt tightens his hold just a little. They both hold their breath when the metal creaks pitifully beneath his fingers.

"Geralt," Jaskier says again, but this time his voice waivers with dread.

Geralt's whole body hums, sings, screams at him to grip just that much harder, fuck--perhaps enough to warp the cage, so it always digs into hot flesh and reminds Jaskier that it could have been his bare prick crushed in Geralt's fist instead, perhaps--

He lets go with a shuddering exhale, rolling swiftly on his side, back turned to where Jaskier's gulping down lungfuls of air.

"Tomorrow," Geralt says, all too loud in the darkness. "You can--I'll let you come."

"You'll take it off?"

"I'll let you come."

Geralt doesn't sleep, arousal hot in his core, skin prickling with anticipation.

***

"Fuck," Jaskier whispers heartily. His hands tremble where they rest, bound, at the small of his back. Should've got the gag, too. "Fuck, you bastard."

He's quite the sight, like this, knelt on the bed with his knees spread and his face shoved into the blankets. Open. Presenting. Captive and helpless and entirely at Geralt's mercy.

Geralt has yet to decide how merciful he's feeling.

He gets an eyeful of Jaskier's round arse sloping beautifully into the arched curve of his spine. Geralt aches to touch, yet he does not.

"You said--" Jaskier begins, muffled against the bedding.

"I know. Patience."

His own cock throbs, confined in his leathers, and Geralt reels at the thought that Jaskier's suffered through this for weeks.

He weighs his options. Reaches for the oil he keeps in case he needs to take Jaskier's cage off. Pulls his hand back before he manages to grab it, thinking. Thinking.

Jaskier wails when Geralt buries his face between his cheeks, tongue flat against his tight, untouched hole.

"Geralt, Geralt, Geralt--"

And Geralt never thought he would want this--never thought he could have this--but a flame of possession, of ownership flares bright and hot in his chest, and he knows he won't ever want anything else.

"That's filthy, you--"

Jaskier mewls and gasps, his thighs quivering until they give out, knees sliding impossibly more apart. Geralt fucks him with his tongue and goes near-delirious when Jaskier cries, big, heaving sobs shaking his body. He tastes decadent. He tastes of despair.

Jaskier's bound hands reach Geralt's head, long fingers weaving into his hair, pulling, holding. Geralt works his jaw greedily and Jaskier's body parts for him, unravels and blooms until even Geralt can't stand it any longer.

The outraged huff Jaskier gives when Geralt flips him heavily to sprawl on his back is vaguely amusing; nearly enough to cut through the thick cloud of desire settled over Geralt's mind, though not quite.

Oil spills over his fingers before he knows it, slicks Jaskier's feverish skin, makes it glimmer and glisten. His fingertips caress the steel cage almost reverently. He stares at it, at Jaskier's gorgeous prick flushed an angry red, swelling against the bars. He stares and it's as if a spell carves itself into his bones, heavy and binding and inevitable.

He pushes two fingers inside Jaskier just as he leans in to put his mouth around that cute little prick, cage and all. It clinks against his teeth. Geralt forces his tongue between rigid metal bars, desperate for a taste. Jaskier writhes beneath him, but his arms are still tied behind his back, immobilised between him and the bedding.

The cage is so small it doesn't even reach Geralt's throat and that's--

Fuck.

Fuck.

Geralt pumps his fingers blindly into Jaskier's tight hole, fits a third one in before he reasonably should. Jaskier moans delectably. His pleas grow in volume.

"Please let me come, pleaseletmecome, I'll be so, so good, I--I've been so good, Geralt, gods--"

Geralt presses his hips against the bed and guides his mouth higher, over Jaskier's trembling belly, over the ribs Geralt can now make out beneath his skin. He sucks a mark there, right over the bone. Moves higher. Thrusts his fingers faster, until he feels Jaskier jolt and his moans drip into a constant, maddening staccato. He puts his mouth around a nipple and finds it delightfully sensitive. He'll try, on another day, to get Jaskier to come just from having his tits fondled. Now, though--

Geralt wonders if he can fit a fourth finger without reaching for the oil.

He can.

A bite just below Jaskier's jaw. A hand closing tenderly around the cage. Squeezing. Crushing. Jaskier goes still, silent, breathless--he clenches tight-tight-tight around Geralt's fingers as the sharp scent of his release pierces the air.

"Good boy," Geralt says, watching Jaskier's soft cock spurt pitiful drops of come over his abdomen. Most of it catches on the cage. Geralt yearns to lap it up, but not before--

His own hand feels heavenly around his cock when he finally makes to undo his breeches. Geralt kneels between Jaskier's splayed legs; watches his hole spasm around nothing, the way his prick tries to twitch in its confines. It isn't long before his orgasm creeps up his spine, mind-numbing in its intensity.

Geralt spills over the cage.

Only then does he settle between his bard's thighs once more to lick him clean like a newborn cub.

[crowleyellestair]

may i request a jaskier x reader smut? one where the reader is being playful and trying to distract him whilst he's working on his songs, so they end up blowing him lol? ok but cranky yet horny!jaskier just makes me go feral for some reason

AN//// I wrote this as a fem! Reader just because it was easier to write (I haven’t written full on smut stuff like this for a long time) But if you would like me to change pronouns, please drop me an ask, specifying. I hope this is good!

Mature content

Song: Lovestruck by Alex Ernst

It had been a while since the trio had stopped at an inn, and Y/n was living. Jaskier had made money through song, Geralt through hunting, but she was a magical healer. Though it didn’t make much as there was most likely a healer already living at any given town, Y/n was also a persuasive pick pocket. Most would frown upon something as that, but she had only ever snuck things from the rich. Of course, she would make exceptions for kindhearted souls that just so happen to make their way to the top of the food chain, even more so justifying her skill.

So, when Geralt had decided he wanted to rest for longer than one night as usual, she had decided to gorge on the high life for the weekend from the mass coin she acquired. Little pouts would come across her every so often however, as Jaskier was preparing. They had stopped in Novigrad, the melting pot of art and people. This would be a great opportunity for Jaskier, the night prior bringing in a lot of coin from the first performance.

But that didn’t sit fully well with Y/n.

They had stopped so they could take a break from work and travel for a weekend. And though listening to Jaskier was one of her favorite things to do, she had other things in mind.

Ever since he had decided to bathe that morning, she’s had him on her mind. She woke to the sight of him getting out, the sun complementing his barely sun kissed skin. The light weaving into his brown locks, giving him a holy glow. He had always been a touch envious of Geralt’s stature, but he was perfect to her. Perfectly broadened shoulders that stood high as he confidently walked through a crowd. Strong forearms from playing his lute, with strong hands to accompany them.

If she were to close her eyes, she could easily feel the callouses on the pads of his fingers as they teased her inner thighs. Jaskier was one for keeping up with skin care, so he would have lotions to try and sooth the roughness of his fingertips- though it would never work, and the soft hands would then mix with the pads deliciously.

But instead of her suggestions, Jaskier sat at the desk in the room, writing things down frantically. Y/n sat there, watching him write, seeing him up. He had sat in only a shirt, and his position giving her a glance at his perfectly round backside. Jaskier hadn’t sat like most at the desk. No, to find a comfortable spot, he was positioned slightly away from the desk, inner foot resting on the bottom drawer he pulled out to rest it on. His knee peaking higher than the other leg that covered him from her prying eyes, but showing her a peak of his inner thigh. His paper rested on the top of the perched leg, Jaskier scribbling furiously.

“Jaskier-.”

“Y/n, my love, I can’t stress this enough. No. We don’t know who could be there tonight, and I want to make sure I’m putting my best out there. And as much as I love- love the feeling of you, I can’t.” She put a familiar pout on, but he didn’t spare her a glance, going back to furiously writing. Her spot on the bed had shifted a while back, her chin resting on her forearms so she could have a comfortable spot to look at him shamelessly.

“But you could find inspiration from a… new adventure.” He looked up with raised brows, skepticism evident. “The adventure being me.” She finished her sentence of with a wink, and she smiled, seeing some resolve break. It dropped quickly as he realized what was happening, him shaking his head and looking down again. “J-.”

“Are you trying to rile me up more than ever before?” He looked up, pointing the end of his quill a her. “Because even if you did, you’d still have to wait. Maybe you’re taking pleasure from this- this game of yours.” She huffed, standing.

“No, I’d be taking pleasure from you touching me. Yet you’re over there, and I’m over here.”

“That’s how it should stay until your calm enough for me to be over there. Don’t think I didn’t see you devouring me the moment you woke up. As much as I find that tempting and downright filthy-.” He stopped when she smirked. “You’re not getting what you want today.” His eyes wracked her body after she stood, shifting in his seat as the look of her got to him. She walked over to him, his blue orbs following her until she situated herself on the floor in front of him. Y/n’s eyes being level with his quickly hardening member.

Her hand slid behind his calf, gently dragging it upwards to settle behind his knee. The leg began to slowly move outwards by her pushing. His legs were spread, open for her to do what she wanted. Jaskier could never really resist her, and he knew his earlier denial would eventually cave if she pushed.

Her fingers gently rubbed circles on his inner thighs, but staying down by his knees. Y/n’s eyes were blown black and the sight went straight to his cock. She didn’t need to break eye contact to know he was twitching in anticipation. Jaskier went to move his propped leg, but her hand held the limb against the desk, the action spreading a blush over him. What she said next solidified the flush.

“Tell me about what you’ve been writing. I know reading it aloud helps you concentrate.” Though he’s given in, he still tries- in vain, to continue his writing.

“I would be able to concentrate better if you would just let me write.” She rolled her eyes, her lip getting caught between her teeth for a moment.

“I’m allowing you to write. I’m doing my own thing- you aren’t touching me, so where’s the harm?” Jaskier was going to protest, but he was cut short at two figures firmly grasping the base of his cock. His breath was caught, head slightly lolling back. He caught himself when she didn’t move her fingers, their gazes meeting again. “Go on bard, tell me what you’ve been writing.” He looked baffled, but her impatient look told him she wasn’t joking. He placed his quill on the table and picked up his many pieces of parchment.

“I don’t want to lose this feeling. My love has to have a mean-meaning.” He stuttered as he felt her tongue swipe over his aching head. He threw a glance at her, noticing she was already looking at his expectantly. Jaskier let out a shaky breath and continued. “You are everything I’d ever n-need. You’re a dream!” This last word morphed into a loud groan as his member disappeared behind her lips, the heat of her mouth traveling through his whole body. Y/n’s tongue swirled around his tip quickly, and unrelentingly. Her grip on the base of his cock never moving, strongly staying put. Her other hand was still occupied by keeping his legs open, feeling the slight shake of his pleasure through her grip on his thigh.

She noticed his head was thrown back as he let out mewls, never being one to cover his sound. She released his cock, going to lick a stripe on the underside from her fingers to the head, then backing away to get his attention. His head snapped to look at her, brows drawn in pleasure and confusion.

“I thought you were trying to concentrate.” He let out a shaky laugh, while shaking his head.

“You’re a minx.”

“And you’re stalling from your work, master bard. You wanted to work so badly, then work. I’ll stop anytime you do, so might as well continue the serenade.” Jaskier let out a huff, trying to bring the parchment back up to focus on the words, and not the hot cavern that went back to sheltering him. His free hand went to her hair, tangling his fingers in the locks. He slowly started to rut as he said his lyrics.

“Y-you give me something to hold…hold onto.” He swallowed hard, blinking fast and trying to concentrate. Y/n started to take more of him as he spoke, his stutters coming in more as her lips met her fingers at his base. “It’s truly you that I belong to-.”

She released him again, leaving him to gently thrust into the air.

“I like that line.” She spoke, then went back to her task. It took Jaskier a moment to find where he was again as Y/n head started moving up and down over his shaft.

“Lovestruck and maybe it’s alright with me, you’re a- you’re a… you’readream.” He forced the words out quickly, having it be followed by a long, low moan. Her fingers finally moved from their spot, moving in tandem with her other movements. Y/n could take all of Jaskier, not needing her fingers, but she moved them opposite of her mouth, adding a different feeling. “Gods, you’re a dream.” His parchment fell from his hand, and it found purchase in her hair like the other. “You feel so damn- fuck.” His gentle thrusts had grown harsher as he could feel his climax rapidly approaching. “So perfect.”

Y/n dropped her fingers, taking the rest of him, and gently swallowing. The pressure mixed with her hand now cupping his balls had sent him over the edge. His whole body tensed, while rapidly arching towards her, head flying back. Y/n swallowed what she could, letting his cock fall from her and she stood, swaying back to the bed. He just looked at her with shinning eyes.

She laid down, looking to him.

“Am I going to have to do this myself too?” Jaskier rushed to her on shaky legs.

He would find inspiration in their little adventure, and it had her blushing as he played the outcome that night. She sunk into her chair as Geralt stared at her with brows raised in bewilderment at the bards newest- lewdest song.

[sociallyawkward--fics]

#34 of the kissing prompt with Geraskier because I love them! Thanks!!

I also love them! Thank you for the prompt! Hope you like this! And thank you for being patient for me for taking so long to do this lol (also the alghouls are based off what I remember fighting alghouls was like in the first witcher game, those guys were ugly lol)

34. We Survived Kiss

Word Count: 868 words

[ao3 link]

——————————

It was supposed to be a wraith. The town claimed it was a wraith. That was the whole reason Geralt allowed Jaskier to come along. A wraith was easy and simple, not even something to consider taking a potion for, and Jaskier was always begging and pleading to be allowed to see Geralt in action.

But it wasn’t a wraith. It wasn’t even close to being a wraith. It was two damned aghouls, much hardier opponents than a simple wraith. At this point, Geralt didn’t know if they had been lying to him to assure he picked up the job and he hadn’t noticed, or if the townsfolk truly didn’t know the difference between a wraith and two alghouls.

And of course, with their luck, even with Geralt trying to draw their attention long enough to get Jaskier to run, they split off and attacked them both. Geralt could do nothing to help Jaskier as he was forced to put his full attention on the aggressive beast trying to rip out his throat to make him its next meal.

Geralt beat it off as quickly as he could, but he still took too long. Jaskier could only dodge and run for so long, and it seemed that the alghoul had already gotten a few good hits in. Jaskier’s doublet was torn, he seemed to be limping as he tried to back away as quickly as he could, and there was a long scratch across his forhead.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, and Jaskier must’ve understood the inflection of his voice, because he hit the ground fast.

Geralt, before the monster could react to Jaskier’s sudden drop, lunged at the monster from behind and beheaded it. The head disconnected from the neck with a sickening shurlp and thudded to the ground, the body following quickly after, just barely missing Jaskier’s prone form.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, dropping to his knees to check his wounds over. “Where are you hurt?”

Jaskier sat up with a groan. “It’s worse than it looks.” He looked up at Geralt and his eyes went wide. “Actually, I think you might be worse,” he said, reaching for Geralt’s leg.

There was a huge tear in his trousers, a deep gash oozing blood underneath. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before, but it was going to be hell waiting for it to heal. Now that he was coming off his battle high, the pain was settling in, and it was certainly far from comfortable.

“Hm.”

“Dammit, Geralt!” Jaskier breathed. “You could have died!”

Geralt scowled and looked back at Jaskier. “It was far more likely that you would, unarmed and without a witcher’s reaction times–”

Jaskier lips, sudden and unprompted, pressed into his mid-sentence. Geralt felt foolish talking about witcher reaction times, now, because his eyes were still blown wide with confusion when Jaskier pulled back.

“Sorry,” Jaskier started to babble with a slightly hysterical laugh, wiping blood out of his eyes that was dripping from his forehead. “It was probably just the adrenaline, you know. The mix of the fear from the fight and the high from surviving, I don’t know what–”

Geralt finally regained control of himself and pushed forward again, pressing a gentle kiss against Jaskier’s rambling lips. Jaskier made a surprised noise, but recovered far more quickly than Geralt had and began kissing back, taking the kiss from slow and sweet to frantic and heated very quickly, as if this was their last moments together.

Geralt pulled back before things could escalate too far, and Jaskier whined, trying to chase him with his lips. Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that forced its way onto his face.

“Come on,” he said, not unkindly, and rose to his feet, pulling Jaskier up after him. “We have all the time in the world for that later. We need to deal with the risk of infection first.”

Jaskier hummed. “I expect you to follow through on that, the whole ‘all the time in the world’ business. Though, I would like to use some of that time to start my next ballad. Not that kissing you isn’t grand, and I’ve certainly waited long enough to do it, but I want to write this down while it’s still fresh. Imagine the story, two pining lovers sharing a passionate kiss after barely escaping their demise–”

“It was not that dramatic,” Geralt cut in flatly, though he had a fond smile on his face. “And our injuries aren’t nearly that bad, we were overreacting.”

“Oh, do be quiet, darling,” Jaskier pouted, though he planted a quick peck on Geralt’s cheek. “That story isn’t nearly dramatic enough to sell. Then how will I buy you a bath to get all these guts out of your hair?”

Jaskier continued to ramble the entire time they limped back to where they’d left Roach, continued to ramble as they checked and dressed their wounds, continued to ramble as they rode back to town and collected their payment.

The moment they got to their room at the local inn, however, Jaskier’s endless babble was instantly cut off, interrupted by Geralt’s lips. Based on his pleased sighs, however, Jaskier certainly didn’t seem to mind too much.

[seanfalco]

Blood in the Water - Part I

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Mafia!Jaskier x f!Reader Word Count: 2295 Rating: E Warning(s): Violence, Blood, Car Sex a/n: This is a modern mafia! au loosely based on a dream I had.  Also props to Kat who helped me decide on the pub name lol  I hope you enjoy! Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​, @nevadawolfe​, @witchernonsense​, @magic-multicolored-miracle​, @witcherwritings​ (I hope its okay to tag you as well!)  - If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please let me know!

It was a Friday night and the Dandy Lion pub was filled nearly to capacity.  Your shift was only half over and already you were ready for the night to end.  It seemed like every time you turned around to mix a drink the amount of patrons vying for your attention doubled.  Luckily you had experience with this type of rush, something not many other bartenders could say.  Working for one of the busiest pubs in the city did that for you however.  

It was one of those unspoken secrets that The Dandy Lion was owned by the infamous Pankratz family and while the thought that any one of your customers might be a member of the mob made you, understandably, a little nervous, you tried not to focus on the blood on their hands and only the sizable tips they gave you.

Finally, during a lull in the drink orders, you leaned forward against the worn bar, taking some of the weight off your feet with a sigh.  Fridays were open mic night, and already there’d been a slew of new faces performing, as well as a few familiar ones.  Scanning the crowd you searched for the one face in particular you wanted to see the most -- he never failed to turn up before the end of the night to play every Friday, like clockwork, swiftly becoming a fan favourite.

You didn’t know his real name, just the one he introduced himself with, which was obviously a stage name, but that didn’t really bother you.  The way it tasted on your tongue when you were moaning it under him was pretty amazing.

Finally you spotted him as he took the stage, ornate acoustic guitar hanging from the strap at his shoulder.  

Jaskier.

He bowed to the gathered crowd, a broad grin lighting up his cherubic face --that face that could go from puppy dog eyes to fuck me eyes in zero seconds flat.   As he straightened, his clear blue eyed gaze settled straight on you and he winked cheekily before launching into his first song.  Able to watch his set nearly completely uninterrupted you found yourself singing snatches of his songs under your breath as you wiped down the bar, to at least appear a little busy; the rush of people ordering drinks dwindling as they settled in to watch Jaskier.

Half the time he sang to the crowd, but the other half it was obvious he was singing to you.  And this was exactly how he’d managed to charm you into his bed that first time.  

As soon as he finished, Jaskier made a b-line for the bar, pulling up the stool directly in front of where you stood.  Greeting him with a grin you poured him a glass of his preferred bourbon and set it before him.

“What would you do if I said I wanted something different today?” he asked teasingly, cocking an eyebrow as he gingerly lifted the tumbler and swirled the amber liquid around.

Raising your brows in return, you fought to bite back a grin.  “I’d say, drink it or I will.”

Jaskier chuckled in response, holding your gaze as he downed the bourbon in one go; your eyes following the laguid movement of his adam’s apple with interest.

“What did you think of the set tonight?” he asked casually, holding his glass out for a refill.  Shaking your head ruefully, you poured him another splash of bourbon.

Despite his nonchalant phish for praise, you knew he genuinely cared what you thought and that thought stirred up the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.  Besides, you had a hunch Jaskier wasn’t as completely self-assured as he let on.

“It was amazing, as always,” you replied, leaning forward against the bar.  “Was that last song the one you were working on earlier this week when I was over?”

“Ah, caught that, did you?” he asked with a sly grin, clearly pleased that you’d been paying attention.  

“Of course,” you said with a shrug, “I love your songs.”  

Setting the empty glass down on the bar, Jaskier leaned forward as well, beckoning you closer with his eyes.  “Sooooo,” he prompted, his hand sliding over your’s, fingers brushing skin maddeningly, “when’s your shift end, love?  I hope you get off soon.”

-----

“Ohh fuck Jaskier!”

Your gasp was quickly swallowed as his lips found yours, bruising and insistent and hungry.  His tongue eagerly exploring your mouth tasted of bourbon and you shuddered as he squeezed your bare ass, pulling you forward roughly to grind against him, his cock already buried deep inside you.

Though the back of your car wasn’t spacious by any means, it was large enough for you to straddle him, and he’d been so kind as to already help divest you of your skirt and stockings.  The heat of your passions had swiftly fogged the car windows until the dark brick of the alley around you was no longer even visible.

“Gods [Y/N], you feel amazing,” Jaskier groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you began to ride him in earnest.  The pent up, mindless desperation that fuelled you drove all other thought from your mind except the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through you.

Jaskier’s hands on your hips guided you as he moved with you, his hips bucking as much as he could in the cramped space.  Thinking perhaps you should have at least cracked a window, sweat rolled down your back and gathered on your brow.  With a frustrated grunt you tilted your head and swept your hair out of your face.

Taking advantage of your now exposed neck Jaskier’s lips traveled across your feverish skin, tasting you anywhere he could reach as your bodies moved together.

“Don’t you dare leave any marks where people can see this time Jask,” you growled, thinking back to the other week when you had to cover three hickeys with concealer and even then you still got comments on them from strangers.

“Oh, no promises darling,” Jaskier merely laughed against your throat.  “I seem to remember you enjoying it at the time.”

“Jaskier!” you exclaimed, a note of annoyance in your voice, nearly stopping until he tilted his head back to look you in the eye; his chestnut hair falling over his brow.

“Alright, alright, I’ll be good.”

You seriously doubted that.

“Can I mark you where only I can see?” he asked instead, but the only response you could formulate was a drawn out moan as he pulled aside your blouse and his lips found the slope of your breast just above your bra.

“I’m so close,” you gasped minutes later, after he’d thoroughly marked your chest.  Your muscles were beginning to burn, your body beginning to tire though you had no intention of stopping; the tight coil of pleasure in your belly screaming for release.

“Come for me,” Jaskier purred, his breath laboured; his teeth dragging across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Just a little more --

With a strangled cry your muscles tensed as your climax gripped you and you clutched tighter at him, who muffled his own sounds of ecstasy by seeking your lips, his arms holding you flush against him as he arched up into you even deeper.

Chest heaving against his, you curled around him, past caring about how your sweat slicked blouse clung to your body and relishing the feel of his arms around you.  

“Gods, I wish I could go home with you,” Jaskier murmured, pressing his damp forehead to yours.  Smiling softly you opened your eyes and sat back.  

“I know.”  With a peck to his swollen lips you rolled off him to sit next to him in the back seat, searching for your discarded panties and skirt.  “What do you have to wake up so early for anyway?” you asked.

The heavy sigh that left Jaskier’s lungs in a rush made it clear whatever it was he was not looking forward to it.  “I’m having brunch with my father,” he explained, his voice grim.  

This was the first time Jaskier had mentioned his family to you, and the more you thought about it, you realized you’d never seen any photos of them in his apartment either.  Though it was apparent they weren’t close and curious as you were, you decided not to pry -- if Jaskier wanted to tell you, he would.

“That sounds fun,” you remarked with a touch of sarcasm and he snorted as he buttoned up his jeans.

“Oh, loads,” he scoffed.  “He’s probably going to pester me again about why I’m wasting my time on my music instead of taking more initiative with the family business.”

“I’m sorry,” you offered, placing a hand on his arm.

Your touch seemed to pull him from his thoughts and he smiled.  “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to spoil the mood with my dour complaints.”

“Hey, complain away, I really don’t mind,” you said earnestly; your hand on his arm squeezing lightly.  “I’m here for you.”  

You hadn’t meant to let that slip, but the way Jaskier’s face brightened had your stomach somersaulting.  

“[Y/N], how are you so sweet?” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss, his hand resting against your cheek as if he wanted to pull you in for more.  Sighing as he pulled away however, his eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes.  “You’ll call me tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” you answered without hesitation.

“Good.”  Jaskier opened the car door and stood.  “Because I miss you already.”

Snorting a soft laugh, you couldn’t quite wipe the smile from your face as you scooted to the edge of the seat and took Jaskier’s outstretched hand.  As soon as he pulled you to your feet you realized your phone wasn’t in your pocket and swearing under your breath, you glanced back into the car, frowning.  

“Damn, I think I left my cellphone in the bar,” you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration.  “You go on Jask, I’ll just let myself back in and grab it quick.”

“You sure?  I can come with you,” Jaskier offered, but you shook your head

“It’s fine.  Besides you need your beauty rest before facing your dad,” you said, shooting him a smarmy grin.

“I’ll have you know I need very little sleep to look this beautiful,” Jaskier replied, pulling you in for one more quick kiss.

“Uh huh,” you answered skeptically, cocking an eyebrow at him as you leaned into his chest.

“It’s quite true, and you should know this.  You’ve kept me up all night more times than I can count --” 

“Shhhh!” you exclaimed, laughing as you pressed your hand over Jaskier’s mouth, muffling his words til he was shaking with silent laughter and you pulled your hand away.

“Goodnight [Y/N].  Text me when you get home,” he said softly, stepping back.

Nodding that you would, you waved at him as you parted ways, glancing over your shoulder to watch him as he walked to his car and you fumbled with the keys to the bar’s back door, letting yourself in.

Humming one of Jaskier’s songs under your breath, your mind still in the backseat of your car, you maneuvered the dark hallway back to the barroom.  One quick sweep of the bar later, you found your phone tucked away under the shelf where you’d been talking with Jaskier earlier.  With a contented sigh you turned to head back to your car, thinking fond thoughts about your bed waiting at home when a faint sound caught your attention.

Frowning, you turned, straining your ears.  Hearing it again, slightly louder this time, you followed it toward the kitchen.  Through the small window of the swing door you could see light coming from inside and you raised up on the balls of your feet to peer inside.

Several dark shapes obscured the single light, casting distorted shadows against clean counters and tidy shelves.  You squinted, barely daring to breathe when one of the shapes, a large man wearing a dark jacket moved out of the way and you gasped, clapping your hand over your mouth at what you saw.

Tied to a chair amidst of the group of men surrounding him, lit up by the lone lamplight was a man -- his eyes clearly swollen shut; dark blood, a mass of bruises, and duct tape obscured his features, and you breathed in sharply around your hand, your eyes growing wide as the man in the dark jacket pulled back his fist to swing again.

Even through the door you could hear the dull thwack on the man’s knuckles connecting with the bound man’s temple and bile filled your throat at the weak muffled sobs that followed.  As he raised his hand again you caught a metallic glint and bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut for the blow.  When you opened them again the man’s head hung down to his chest, unmoving.  

Ice cold fear choked you, holding you frozen to the spot.  You were not supposed to see this.

These men were mobsters.  If any of them saw you, knew you were there, you would be in serious trouble.  Perhaps even ending up like the man in the chair.

Forcing yourself to breathe you took a shaky step back from the door.  Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible you had to fight the urge to turn and run.  Instead you crept away, taking care to make as little noise as possible until you were out the door and in your car.

-------

“Hey boss, we may have a bit of a problem.  Yeah, a witness.  One of the bartenders.  Mhmm, we’ll pay her a visit in the morning and you can talk to her yourself.”

[knifewieldingenby]

I posted 1,789 times in 2021

308 posts created (17%)

1481 posts reblogged (83%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.8 posts.

I added 1,289 tags in 2021

#fanart - 326 posts

#nsft - 236 posts

#fanfic - 222 posts

#lex rambles - 151 posts

#geraskier fanfic - 129 posts

#lambden fanfic - 74 posts

#lambden - 56 posts

#aiden - 40 posts

#my writing - 34 posts

#fic ideas - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 120 characters

#but if you’re replying with angry hate-filled replies in posts that aren’t even about her this is the wrong blog for you

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Consider:

Aiden gently headbumps Lambert to show affection and love. Lambert has no idea why Aiden does it but it gives him butterflies so he just lets it happen and blushes every time. Until they’re at Kaer Morhen and someone else sees and is like “wow Aiden fell hard for you didn’t he?” and Lambert is just like “???!??!!?” *system shutdown noise*

409 notes • Posted 2021-01-13 18:04:53 GMT

(the rest under the cut cuz there are some longish fics)

#4

hello!! I wish you would write the "drunk confession" trope pls. with modern au geraskier, is possible ❤️

Ask and you shall receive! It’s not that great but I tried lol, thanks for sending this in :) no warnings except a completely wasted geralt 

“Fuck it all, you’re heavy,” Jaskier spat out. His arm wrapped around his best friend’s back and chest, a sad attempt to drag him up the stairs. Jaskier wasn’t weak by any means; he was more than used to lifting a whole human in the air when he pair-skated, but Geralt wasn’t a person. He was a fucking brick house with near-impenetrable walls, dead weight hanging off Jaskier like he didn’t even realize he was being dragged. Jaskier pulled one hand away carefully and quickly used his spare key to unlock Geralt’s apartment. He pulled the large man inside and just barely made it to the couch before his arms gave out and he dropped Geralt unceremoniously. In a perfect world he would have picked Geralt up bridal style, carried him lovingly to his bed, and tucked him in with a kiss. 

This wasn’t a perfect world, though. Even if he could lift Geralt, the other man wouldn’t want him to. Geralt didn’t want him like that, never had, probably never would. It was a fantasy Jaskier would never see come to fruition.

“Do you need anything?” Jaskier asked. Geralt looked at him with glassy eyes half lidded and shook his head. “Bullshit. I’m getting you water.” 

In the time it took him to fill a glass with water and get back to the living room, Geralt had tried to rid himself of his shirt and gotten it stuck on his head. Jaskier tsked, put the glass down, and helped unwrap the shirt from around his hair.

“Exactly how much did you have to drink?” Jaskier discarded the shirt and handed Geralt his water. He sniffed it and made a face.

“Thi-this isn’t alcohol.”

“I should hope not. Drink. And don’t dodge my question, mister!”

Geralt took a few sips and put the glass down. Jaskier was quite proud that he only spilled a little on himself in the process. 

“I just had a little...bottle…”

“A whole bottle? Of what?”

“That...that apple moonshine?” Geralt was starting to tip over slowly, so Jaskier sat next to him on the couch and propped him up with his body. He was incensed by the fact that someone, one of Geralt’s damn brothers, let him get this drunk off shift when they were supposed to be cutting people off. 

“And what possessed you to get this wasted, alone, on a Tuesday, when you have to work at noon tomorrow?”

“S’your fault.”

“My fault? I didn’t hold the bottle to your lips! Explain yourself.” Geralt stared at him with wide eyes now, and if Jaskier didn’t know better he’d say Geralt looked hurt. Emotions weren’t easy for Geralt. It had taken months before he’d even admitted that they were friends, years before he called Jaskier his best friend, and despite once drunkenly confessing to loving them, Geralt still wasn’t open to hugging him very often. It was a testament to the alcohol that Geralt looked him right in the eye and spoke the truth.

“You got engaged.”

Jaskier damn near broke his neck with how fast he whipped around to look at Geralt. “I...what?”

“Saw your post on facebook.” Upon seeing Jaskier’s blank stare Geralt sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. “The ring, Jaskier. I saw your ring.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked down to the silver band on the ring finger of his right hand. He supposed, with the small gems embedded in the center, that it did look like it could be an engagement ring, but that still didn’t explain why Geralt was now plastered. 

“Geralt, darling, it’s on the wrong hand.”

Geralt looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “But...you always said the gays put it on the right hand?”

Jaskier snorted. “Yes, some do. And you’re one of ‘the gays’, remember? Would you like your engagement ring on the right hand?”

“You’re not engaged?” Geralt ignored his question, eyes wide and...hopeful? No, now Jaskier was the one being hopeful. It never panned out well for him. 

“No darling,” he said softly. “I’m not engaged. I still don’t understand why that would cause you to drink to excess. Were you upset that I wouldn’t tell you first?”

“No,” Geralt whined, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s just- I...I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Jaskier felt like his heart was pounding in his chest. All these years of secretly pining after Geralt, hoping desperately that the man would feel even an ounce of the love that Jaskier felt for him, and he’d completely missed it. Geralt had been pining too.

“We-we should have this discussion tomorrow. You’re drunk.” 

“But I mean it,” Geralt said in what he thought was a whisper, but really it was more like a gentle shouting in Jaskier’s face. Jaskier placed his palm on Geralt’s cheek and stroked his thumb up and down. His best friend - his love - leaned into the touch.

“I know, dear heart. And I mean it when I say that tomorrow morning, after you’ve called out of work with a massive hangover, I promise I will tell you just how long and how much I love you.”

See the full post

418 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 14:28:32 GMT

#3

Lambden headbutting/nuzzling, anyone? warning: slight sexual innuendos

Lambert was...confused. It wasn’t an emotion he felt often, and certainly not one he enjoyed feeling, so he tried his best to push it down and act natural. Of course, Aiden was a witcher; if anyone could see right through Lambert’s emotional walls it was him. He was nice though. He gave Lambert a pass, continuing on with the conversation as if Lambert hadn’t just frozen in place, hadn’t turned away to hide his blush.

It was all Aiden’s fault really. They were sitting in front of a fire, nestled close together with their knees touching ever so slightly, chowing down on cooked rabbit. Aiden had brought a small pouch of mixed spices on the road, something he’d acquired in Toussaint after the winter, and for once their dinner wasn’t bland. Lambert had told something close to a joke, maybe too gruff and sarcastic, but Aiden still laughed hard and then...and then. He leaned over into Lambert’s personal space and nudged him with his head. Maybe nudged was the wrong word. He nuzzled, lingered there for a minute with his forehead against Lambert’s bicep. And then he was gone, offering up a witty retort. And Lambert was left to try to remember how to swallow, lest he choke on rabbit.

It became a thing of theirs. On the road, when they were walking peacefully and Aiden was standing close; as they sat by the fire at night; in their room at the inn, when they laid down for bed. Those were the nights that had Lambert crawling out of his skin, when Aiden would turn to face his back or chest (whatever was right in front of him) and nuzzle his bare skin. It sent prickles down Lambert’s spine. He laid awake longer than normal those nights, listening to the wind against the building mingled with the soft, calming sound of Aiden’s slow heart beat. Trying to figure out what it all meant, or if it meant anything at all. Maybe it wasn’t that deep.

“Come with me,” Lambert whispered one night when Aiden curled up against his chest, half asleep. It probably wasn’t the best time to ask but Lambert was significantly less brave when it came to matters of the heart. Aiden stirred, unusually bright green eyes fluttering open to look at him.

“What was that, pup?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen. Winter with me.”

A lazy but fond smile stretched across his plush lips. “You really mean it? You want to introduce a bastard Cat to your brothers?”

“Fuck ‘em, it’s not about them.” It was mostly true - he couldn’t deny that the idea of his brothers approving of Aiden made his heart swell, but if they didn’t like Aiden, that was their problem. “It’s about...us.”

“Us?” Aiden smirked, quirking his eyebrow.

“Our friendship!” He said quickly. “We always meet up in the spring, and it’d be easier if I didn’t have to search for your sneaky ass.”

“You search for me, do you?” He was definitely fucking with him now, and Lambert shoved him gently.

“Quit dodging the question, kitty cat. Are you coming or not?”

“You tell me,” Aiden purred. He cackled at the blush that crept over Lambert’s cheeks. “Yes, of course I’m coming. About time you asked.”

“Okay. Well, that’s - okay.” Lambert willed his heart to settle down. Aiden silently curled up against him again, conversation over, and Lambert tried not to think much about it. Aiden flirted with everyone. On one memorable occasion he got so drunk he even flirted with a chair. It was just who he was. It meant nothing.

Then Aiden wrapped an arm around his waist and softly nuzzled his cheek back and forth over Lambert’s heart, making soft sighing noises until he slowed and eventually fell asleep.

Lambert didn’t sleep at all that night.

——

As expected, his brothers hadn’t been overly excited about meeting Aiden. They hadn’t been rude, at least, and if they stared at the two with curiosity Lambert chose to ignore it. His growing feelings for Aiden aside, he didn’t want Geralt and Eskel’s assumptions to make his friend uncomfortable.

Vesemir was less pleasant, displaying only as much politeness as was necessary to not piss Lambert off, but even he had a certain look in his eyes when Aiden got too close, too physically affectionate with Lambert. It wasn’t judgemental exactly. It still made him itch. Did he need to wear a sign that read “we’re just friends you fuckers”? He was strongly considering it.

“How do you tolerate the cold?” Aiden said one night after dinner. They sat around the hearth, a warm fire blazing, and even that didn’t seem enough for the Cat. He was used to traveling in warmer areas. Lambert could relate - the keep was often far too cold for his liking.

“At least you’ll be under your furs soon,” Eskel offered. Having bonded over which monsters they’d fucked in the past, they seemed on better terms. Geralt silently passed Aiden a bottle of liquor to warm him up.

“It’s cold there, too. Big empty bed with nobody to keep me warm,” he grumbled, downing a shot and passing the bottle back with a nod of thanks.

“Why don’t you sleep with me?”

Lambert regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. Geralt and Eskel both shot him looks, and even Vesemir, half asleep in a chair, raised his eyes curiously. Lambert could feel his cheeks burning.

Aiden ignored them all. “I’d love to, pup. You’re a furnace.” He stood and stretched, shirt riding up to reveal brown skin and a soft, dark trail of hair that disappeared below his waist line. Lambert pointedly looked away, aware that all eyes were on him. Lambert stood with him.

“Let me go grab my furs and I’ll meet you in your room.” Aiden leaned over and nuzzled him like he always did when they parted, whether for five days or five months. It was his thing. He flashed Lambert a gentle smile and left without another word.

“Well fuck,” Geralt snorted. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lambert snapped.

“Come on Lambert,” Eskel sighed deeply. “You’ve done a good job playing dumb until now, but you can’t hide it any longer. We all know what that head bumping thing means.”

See the full post

471 notes • Posted 2021-01-15 03:26:29 GMT

#2

New picrew tag!

https://picrew.me/image_maker/678422

Tagging: @kueble @officerjennie @stinastar @bastardofmothman @anythinggoesfandoms

Edit: if you weren’t tagged and want to do it, GO FOR IT ILY!!!!

502 notes • Posted 2021-04-04 15:18:36 GMT

#1

awkward encounters

The geraskier “first words your soulmates say to you are tattooed on your arm” trope, but Geralt and Jaskier both have some rather awkward words. warning: suggestively horny toward the end

tagging: @geraskier-trashh @honeysuckletook @kueble

-----

Jaskier was in his element. The room was warm, everyone too drunk to give much notice to their sweaty bodies. Jaskier was only vaguely aware of his own body, more in tune with the alcohol and his dancing partner. Priscilla laughed as she grabbed his hand and spun him around, dipping him dramatically with a wide smile. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling. He was at a club, buzzed and happy with his best friend. What could be better than this? 

At one point in the night Priscilla pulled him close, pressed her lips to his ear, and said “that man keeps looking at you.” She pointed behind him and sure enough a man leaning against the bar kept stealing glances, although Jaskier noted that he also seemed to be staring intently at some place beyond Jaskier. He was...well, gorgeous almost didn’t seem like enough. His long white hair was pulled back in a high bun with a few strands falling over his face. He was built like a tank, all hard muscles accentuated by a tight black t-shirt and even tighter pants. Jaskier would blame the alcohol for how hard he ogled the man, but he had to admit that even sober Jaskier would be drooling at the sight of such a beautiful creature. 

The man turned to say something to the bartender, an equally built man, and glanced back, though this time he looked irritated and was definitely trying to see around Jaskier. He shrugged and turned back to his best friend. An absolute God he may be, but he didn’t seem interested in Jaskier, and he had no intention of chasing a man tonight. 

Drunk on vodka and euphoria, the gravelly voice suddenly loud in his ear made him jump.

“Move, baby slut.”

“Well fuck you too!” He shot back, whipping around to face his opponent. Something was nudging at the back of his head, trying to tell him something important, but his head was beginning to spin and his hip...why did his hip feel so hot? The man in question, the super hot man from the bar, let his irritation slip and stared at Jaskier with wide eyes.

“What?” Jaskier demanded. 

“I-I need to apprehend someone. Please move. Except don’t - don’t go far. Stay.”

For some unknown reason Jaskier stepped out of the way but still obeyed, staying where he was. The man moved past him and he watched as he approached the sleazy man who’d been slinking around the club all night, leering at random women. The man grabbed him by the arm and wordlessly dragged him away, presumably to throw him out.

“Jaskier. Jaskier!” Priscilla snapped in his face.

“Fuck, I’m listening, what?”

“Your words! That man said your words.” She placed a hand on his right hip for emphasis and Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. That’s why his hip felt like it was burning. It was him.

His soulmate. 

He didn’t have much time to process that before he felt a hand gently pat his arm and he spun around to face his soulmate. The man looked sheepish.

“Sorry about...that.”

“Which part?” Jaskier teased. To his great pleasure the man blushed, barely visible in the darkened room.

“Um, both I guess? For my behavior and- um, and the words.”

Jaskier laughed and pulled his shirt up, shorts slightly down, to reveal those words tattooed on his skin. He never minded them. His parents may have hated them but they always made him laugh. 

“Oh, I don’t mind them so much! I should be apologizing for mine. That couldn’t have been a fun phrase to carry around with you.” 

“It was...something. I kind of thought-” He cut himself off and looked down, embarrassed. He seemed like such a different man now, no longer the slightly intimidating, gruff man who’d watched him from the bar. He looked softer now. “I’m Geralt.”

“Geralt, it’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you. The name’s Jaskier.” On a whim he reached out and took Geralt’s hand. “Now, why don’t you finish that sentence.”

“...Fine. Come with me.” Geralt gripped his hand tighter and pulled him to an isolated part of the bar, close to the door the bartender entered and exited from. Jaskier felt like he probably shouldn’t be standing there but Geralt seemed at ease. “I kind of thought my soulmate would hate me. Because of the words.”

“Oh Geralt,” Without thinking, Jaskier placed his hand softly on Geralt’s cheek. Before he had time to worry that he’d overstepped Geralt was leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering. “I don’t hate you at all. I’m quite happy to have finally found the man who called me baby slut,” he laughed. 

Again Geralt blushed, this time much deeper. “Your shorts…”

It was only then that Jaskier remembered the outfit he was wearing. A long-sleeved crop top, fishnet stockings, and tight shorts that read “baby slut” on the ass. They were a gag gift from Priscilla, and although Jaskier thought they were ridiculous he kept wearing them in the hopes that some random person would comment on them. He’d all but given up hope but kept wearing them because they made his ass look great.

“I didn’t realize you were looking,” he purred. Geralt was positively red by now.

See the full post

506 notes • Posted 2021-01-12 14:34:40 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[alittlebitmaybe]

👀

hello nonny!! for you i have a bit from my “jaskier has to go undercover with nilfgaard” post s1 fic that i will probably never actually go back to, but i like the 6k words of it i’ve written lol

By the new light of dawn and the dim glow from last night’s candle stub, Jaskier takes a sealed inkpot from his pack, along with a sack of flower petals and several sprigs of dried herb. Carefully, as Yennefer had shown him, he crushes one of the petals between his fingertips until it weeps a vivid blue and stains his skin. He adds this to the ink. Moving next to the herb, he places a leaf on his tongue for just a moment. He waits only as long as necessary before he removes it, spits the acrid taste onto the floor, and drops the sodden leaf into the pot as well. From around his neck he draws a small drawstring pouch containing a bundle of long black hairs. With the point of his quill he stirs one strand in as well, waves away the smoke that exudes from the pot as the ink turns violet. He scrawls out a cramped note on a spare scrap of parchment.

All same, it reads. More rumors of movements throughout Rivia. Nothing yet definitive. Two more headed separately for the rendezvous point. I will begin that direction as soon as possible. Please remember to clip your claws and treat your warts before we all arrive. We wouldn’t want to frighten the new soldiers. Ever yours, Passerine.

The note, held over the candle flame, releases a dark mist as it burns. As the last of it disappears there’s a muted crack like a miniature lightning strike. His fingertips, already blue, come away singed.

This task complete, Jaskier leans back on the stool and stretches his arms over his head, cracks his knuckles. All he has to do now is wait.

He fills the time making some edits to his latest strongly worded anthem where the rhymes are a bit too strained to justify. By the time the reply arrives, he’s abandoned his compositions and has a razor gliding over the sensitive skin under the hinge of his jaw.

The lightning strike sound nearly makes him slit his own damn throat; as it is, he does not escape unscathed. “Mother of—” he hisses as blood slides toward his collar. He manages to catch it with a washcloth before it stains the lace of his chemise. “You are not worth my life, witch. Nor my clothes.”

Just to spite her, though she’ll never know it, he finishes his shave before reading what she’s written. Then, for good measure, he packs up nice and slow, carefully folds his doublets and even his stockings, eats a handful of granola and washes it down with a sip from his waterskin, which he then refills. Adjusts his boot where it’s tight around his calf. With everything ready to go and slung over his back, then and only then does he retrieve the note from where it fell beside the washbasin.

Go fuck yourself, he reads. Then, written considerably smaller, Rumors often grow from roots of truth. Be careful.

(eyeballs emojis in ask box in exchange for wip snippets!)

[mypoisonedvine]

Could you write a Jaskier x reader where the reader has had an awful day and goes to Jaskier, asking him if he could sing for them, just to get their mind off of things? Maybe ending in a little snuggle session/feelings confession? Kind of like, giving them both a chance to vent for the day, plus a bit of appreciation for this boy's beautiful singing.

I kept this one short-ish (you know, the length these things are actually supposed to be?) but I loved this prompt! I have given my poetry muscle a serious workout lately with all these damn Jaskier songs... hopefully this one doesn't show my soreness :p

Word Count: ~800

Rating: G :) all fluff

Taglist: @100percentamess @ultracolorfulnerdcollection (I have a vague memory of you asking to be tagged in my jaskier stuff but I'm on mobile and I don't want to check lest my tedious formatting be ruined so lol enjoy this) @mytinybaguette (ofc mobile is being annoying and won't let me tag you so I'll just dm you lol)

You threw yourself onto the bed and laid your head on his lap, letting out a very dramatic, and yet not exaggerated, sigh.

“Long day?”

“You have no idea,” you groaned.

“I like to think I do, actually.  My set went terribly,” he sighed.

“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking.”

“I was booed off stage.  You should’ve seen it! You should’ve been there- I swear, you’re my good luck charm.”

You smiled, and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers start to comb through your hair.  

“Would you sing for me?” you asked softly, your voice already sounding a little sleepy.  He just hummed at first, some random tune that still managed to be so beautiful and elegant even as he made it up on the spot.

“Actually,” he said after a while, breaking your trance, “I wrote something.  I had wanted to get your opinion on it.”

You sat up, and he reached for his lute.

“It’s just this silly thing- well, not silly- I don’t know.  I’m still working on it,” he rushed.

“Skip the preamble and just go!”

“Promise you’ll be honest,” he implored.

“I can’t say my opinion is going to be of much use to you, but yes, I’ll give my honest opinion,” you promised.

He started to play, softly, something much more delicate than his usual fare.  You weren’t sure what to expect lyrically from a piece which started as tenderly as this: no jig, certainly, and no tale of the Witcher’s travels.

Where lilies bloom at midnight

When the moon hits the stones just right

I wait to meet her there

And she wears my flowers in her hair

As she walks by the world gets warmer for a while

The sun could not compete with her smile

The stars reflected on the ocean shine in her eyes

The waters stir and toss with the storms as she cries

And it kills me to hold her so close

To be haunted by her after she leaves like a ghost

But this beautiful torture I must bear

How painfully lovely for her to be so far, but right there

On the horizon the earth will kiss the sky

And they are bound together as the days go by

Yet the moon and sun chase each other endlessly

If only she would chase after me

Instead I'm tied in knots and falling like a fool

She wears my flowers in her hair and what could be more cruel?

But this beautiful torture I must bear

How painfully lovely for her to be so far, but right there

The plucking of the lute slowed to a stop, ending on a chord that felt like a sort of unsatisfying end, to the point that you didn’t even really register that the song was over until he looked up at you expectantly.  You wiped tears from your face, tears you didn’t actually remember crying.

“What do you think?” he prompted when you didn’t say anything.

“It’s rubbish,” you chuckled softly, trying to regain your composure, “absolute garbage.”

He smiled but didn’t say anything, glancing down to the floor.

“It’s beautiful, of course,” you sighed.  “Julian, it’s… that was incredible.”

“I only know you’re serious because you called me Julian,” he said, and you could see him trying to smirk, but it was all so quiet, and you realized you both were whispering, and you weren’t sure why.

"What's it about?" you asked nervously.

"Isn't it sort of obvious?" he replied.  You swallowed.  

"Maybe to a poet," you smirked.

"Don't make me say it," he pleaded softly.

You leaned forward, and before you'd done it you'd convinced yourself that it would be easy enough to just pull him close and kiss him.  And yet, as your hand reached around to the back of his neck and as you were about halfway closing the space between you, your nerves kicked in and you stopped.  So there you were, looking at him way too up close and there he was, looking back at you with the most uninterpretable expression. Maybe you'd misinterpreted the whole thing and it was just a song about that blasted Countess.

It was him who had to reach out and pull you into him, the lute making a disconsonant scratchy sound as you brushed against it.  You didn't really even notice, though, because all you could experience in that moment was his lips against yours: for some reason, in your mind, you pictured the horizon.

You fell into his arms, which wrapped around you tightly, and he had moved the lute aside so he could press himself against you but once again your mind was on anything but the developments in the physical location of the lute at this point.  You felt so nervous and awake and hyperaware of the way he felt- you hadn't felt this way in so long, it was like the awkward romanticism of childhood all over again. Then again, everything was awkward romanticism with him, wasn't it?

[set-phasers-to-whump]

be okay

X=done, O=taken

Prompt: bleeding out

Whumpee: Geralt of Rivia

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix show)

For: @deepwoundsandfadedscars​

I haven’t written much for this fandom before (this is only my second work) so I’m kinda figuring stuff out, so this may not be the best, but I hope it’s ok!! (also i hope my like. lore and shit is not too bad i googled stuff lol)

Geralt’s life was simple. Find the monster. Fight the monster. Kill the monster. Get paid. Get out of town. As it always was. 

Except this time, it wasn’t. All because the fucking bard had decided to come along. Well. Decided wasn’t really the right word for it. Decided implied that Geralt had given the bard a choice of some sort, when in fact the exact opposite was true-Jaskier had simply spotted Geralt from across the tavern the night before his hunt, and refused to leave once he knew what was going on. So Geralt was stuck with a companion he didn’t especially want but who he absolutely could not get rid of. 

He’d awoken early in the morning to set out on his hunt for the group of drowners which had been lurking in a pond in the forest at the edge of town. Several young women had already met their demise by the time Geralt had caught word of it, so he’d perhaps spent slightly less time preparing for his hunt than he normally would have. The one saving grace of having Jaskier present, he supposed-the bard could pack his supplies while he sharpened his blade. 

So the two of them set off into the forest. The pond wasn’t too far deep into the trees, so Geralt had elected to leave Roach at the inn and walk instead, a move which he regretted as soon as they stepped foot into the woods and Jaskier swung his lute off his back and began to play. 

Fortunately, as soon as the pond came into view, Jaskier went silent, understanding how important it was to be quiet, now that the fight was nearing. 

The fight itself was not particularly difficult-only three drowners apparently resided in this particular pond, and Geralt, his enhanced senses coupled with the effects of a blizzard potion, had little trouble taking them all out. 

He could feel the effects of the potion begin to wear off as he straggled out of the pond, covered in blood and monster guts and algae. He tossed the head of one of the drowners, retrieved as proof to the townspeople that their monster had been taken care of, to Jaskier, who was standing far too close to the edge of the pond to have been safe should a drowner have left the fight to find another victim. Jaskier reflexively caught the head, saw what it was, yelped, and dropped it on the ground. It rolled away, and would have rolled straight back into the pond, were it not for Geralt sticking out a foot and stopping it. 

“Why the fuck,” Jaskier said, brushing drowner guts off his clothes, “would you do that?”

“You want to come on a hunt, you get to help.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hm. Too late.”

Geralt tossed the head back to Jaskier, who caught it with a groan and held it by the hair as far away from his body as he could. 

The pair began their trek back to town. Jaskier did not reach for his lute this time. Not that he could, of course, his hands being occupied with the drowner head as he continually passed it back and forth between them, as though it were something hot and he was trying to minimise the damage it would do to his hands. 

Jaskier was switching the head from his left to his right hand when a few feet ahead of them, a rabbit crashed out of a bush with far more noise than Jaskier thought it had any right to make. He dropped the head to the ground once again, and it began to roll rather quickly down the slight slope that they were walking down. Jaskier hurried off after it, already feeling Geralt’s anger at him having nearly lost the damn thing twice. 

He had just caught up to the head and bent to retrieve it when an arrow whizzed past his head, so close that it ruffled his hair. The head forgotten, he stood up quickly, searching for his assailant. A second arrow came flying out of the right side of the woods, and he stepped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet as it came within an inch of his face. 

“Geralt!”

Geralt had, of course, already been aware of the attack before Jaskier had shouted-in fact, he had run into the woods as soon as Jaskier had run off after the head, having heard a twig snap unnaturally and catching the scent of humans who were surely up to no good. 

He reached these humans just as the second arrow was fired, and stabbed the man who’d fired it directly through the chest. Two other men rounded on him immediately, with daggers in their hands and bows slung across their backs. He struck at the first one and managed to cut his neck as he ducked, but the second man was on him in an instant, silvery dagger flashing in the sunlight. But a dagger was no match for a sword, and Geralt easily parried the man’s strike, then stabbed him through the stomach. He collapsed to the ground, and Geralt turned away.

One left. He moved to strike, and stopped cold when a sword plunged into his back and through his body. He looked down at the tip of the blade that stuck out from his armour and wondered how in the hell he’d missed the fact that apparently, one of them had had a sword. 

However, not even a sword through the back could stop a witcher with monsters to kill, and he made short work of the one man left standing, then rounded on the one he’d stabbed through the stomach, whose hands and face were splattered with Geralt’s blood. He hefted his sword, feeling his arms begin to shake, and stabbed the man through the chest, skewering him to the ground. 

He leaned on the hilt of his sword, breathing heavily, as he tried to work out what to do. He’d been stabbed before, obviously, but never quite as...extensively as this. He groaned and sank to his knees just as Jaskier came crashing through the trees, brandishing his lute like a sword, coming to a screeching halt when he saw the carnage in front of him: three dead men, an array of bows and daggers splayed around them, blood seeping into the dirt and leaves, and Geralt at the center of it all, on his knees with a sword clean through his torso. 

Jaskier dropped his lute and rushed to Geralt’s side. 

“What happened?”

“What’s...it look like?”

“No, okay, I know what happened, but...what happened?”

“Got stabbed.”

“Impaled, more like. What the fuck...what the fuck am I supposed to do? Geralt? Geralt, what...?”

“‘S fine,” Geralt coughed, a thin trickle of blood running from his mouth. He couldn’t survive this. He would lose too much blood before they’d be able to reach help. “Always knew I’d...die bloody.”

“No. No, you are not dying. Absolutely not.”

Geralt groaned again. Fuck, this hurt. He could feel his normally-slow heart beating far too fast, the blood pumping out of his wound in time with its beating. 

“Think I am.”

 Jaskier dropped to his knees in front of him. “No, you are not. Tell me what to do.”

“Nothing.” With that Geralt fell forward, the tip of the sword digging into the dirt. 

“No, no, no, okay, think...” Jaskier muttered frantically to himself. What could he do?

If he thought much longer about what to do, Geralt would die. There was no time to think-he just had to act. Be impulsive. He knew how to do that. 

Jaskier stood up, grabbed the hilt of the sword protruding from Geralt’s back firmly with both hands, and pulled up. 

Geralt nearly screamed when he did it, writhing on the ground in some desperate and futile effort to escape the pain. 

“Why,” he gasped out, “did you do that?”

“I don’t know, I panicked, okay?”

Jaskier realised immediately that what he’d done was not the right thing to do-without the sword to slow the bleeding somewhat, Geralt’s wound was bleeding far more profusely now, and Jaskier frantically searched for something, anything-there! 

One of the dead men had a bag slung over his shoulder, a cloth one with a thick rope handle. Perfect. Well, maybe not perfect, but it would do. 

Jaskier pulled the bag off the dead man’s shoulder, dumped its contents to the ground, and searched wildly for something to cut it with, his eyes quickly falling on one of the dead men’s daggers. He chopped the fabric of the bag roughly in two, then cut off the handle. 

He returned to Geralt. “Geralt, I’m going to need you to sit up, okay?”

No response. 

“Geralt?”

Nothing. 

He frantically checked the witcher’s pulse, which was alarmingly quick and faint. 

“Fuck, don’t make me do this by myself.”

But Geralt still didn’t respond, so Jaskier set to work on his own, pushing the witcher into a sitting position as carefully as he could, removing his bloody armor to better address the wound (if Geralt lived through this, and he would, he had to, he’d kill Jaskier for that). Jaskier sucked in a breath through his teeth as the full extent of Geralt’s injury was made visible. A large, fairly smooth entrance wound at the back, and a similarly large but dirty exit wound at the front, and far, far too much blood. 

Jaskier pressed a piece of fabric to each wound, wondering if this would really do anything at all. He couldn’t think like that, he reminded himself. Geralt would live. He had to. Jaskier tied the makeshift bandages up with the rope, as tightly as he dared, then carefully let Geralt’s body sink back to the ground. 

He stood up and grabbed his lute, slinging it over his back. He thought for a brief second, then placed the dagger he’d used to cut Geralt’s ‘bandages’ securely in his belt. He then returned his attention to the witcher, once again carefully lifting him to a sitting position, and then to his feet, which was quite a harder task than it sounded, but he managed it. 

“Okay, Geralt, I could really use your help here,” he muttered. “Please?”

Geralt’s eyes fluttered open for a second. “Jas’...wh’tre you doin’?”

“Saving your life, idiot. Which would be a lot easier if you’d bloody help.”

“Hm.”

Geralt did his best to help, which mostly consisted of taking small and shaky steps and making rather pitiful noises each time he did. Jaskier did his best as well, which was quite a lot better than Geralt’s best, at the moment, and fairly carried the both of them back into town, which, fortunately, hadn’t been too far away. 

The second they (Jaskier, really) stepped into the square, they were surrounded by clamouring locals. 

“Do any of you know a healer?” Jaskier fairly shouted, desperation cracking his voice. 

A few of them nodded, pointing to a small hut near the woods on the opposite side of the square. “Ol’ witch Thornton will set you right,” said a kind-faced man in blacksmith’s clothes. “Let me help you.”

Jaskier sighed in relief, though he knew this whole thing was far from over. He began to walk towards the hut, the blacksmith helping him and taking on some of Geralt’s dead weight. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure what he’d expected of ‘ol’ witch Thornton,’ but he was greeted by a woman who looked like she could be a grandmother. She smiled warmly at her new arrivals and directed the two men to lie Geralt across a small bed in a corner of her surprisingly-spacious hut. That done, the blacksmith headed out, with a quick wish in the way of Geralt’s healing.

“What happened?” the witch asked, as she began to work on Geralt with a variety of jars and bags of things Jaskier could not (and perhaps did not care to) name. 

“I dunno, really. Someone shot at me twice, with a bow, and by the time I got to where it had come from, Geralt had killed three men, and he was stabbed through with a sword.”

“That is quite a story, young bard. Tell me, has your witcher here ever been stabbed through with a sword before?”

“Probably not. He said he was going to die. He isn’t, is he? You can fix him?”

She nodded calmly. “Oh yes, I can fix him. He has lost quite a bit of blood, but with his constitution, he should be just fine. I simply wondered because, as I take it, you carried him here nearly on your own, which is quite a feat for a bard. I thought perhaps you’d carried him before.”

She began stitching Geralt’s wounds. He didn’t even move, too far gone with the blood loss to register anything at all. Jaskier supposed he should be thankful for that-he couldn’t imagine it felt very nice to be stitched up while completely lucid, even with a witcher’s strength.

He thought on the witch’s statement for a moment, watching the needle pierce his friend’s flesh as though nothing was wrong with that, as though everything was fine, which it would be, he reminded himself. Geralt was in good hands. “I haven’t. Carried him, I mean. Usually I’m just tagging along with him-if either of us ended up carrying the other, I’m sure I would’ve thought it would be him carrying me.”

“Do not underestimate yourself, bard. You saved his life today.”

Jaskier nodded-he had done that, hadn’t he? And Geralt...Geralt had thought he was going to die. 

But here he was, alive. Currently unconscious, bloody, paler than death, and being stitched up, but alive. 

He would be okay. 

He would be okay.

I feel like the ending could be better but if it didn’t have a bad ending it wouldn’t be my writing would it lol, anyway hope you enjoyed!!! I liked writing this!