#also Vesemir just knocks on Geralt's door with a deep sigh like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

samstree · 3 years ago

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A Study in Blushing

In which Jaskier makes a surprising discovery and decides to test it out.

(tooth rotting fluff, blushing geralt, soft jaskier, love confessions, kissing, winter at kaer morhen, rated teen, 3000 words)

Also, I know witchers can't blush in canon but seriously we should all know better.

read on AO3

“Gods damn it, bard! I know Geralt tolerates all your shit because he’s in love with you, but you gotta put things back where they belong!”

Lambert grumbles something more all the while putting the training swords back on the shelf, and Jaskier’s mind stops.

The world zeroes in on the words he’s in love with you and suddenly Jaskier can’t form words.

“W...What did you—”

“I said—” Lambert throws down the last one with a clunk. “—the swords go back on the shelf!”

“Geralt...is in love with me?” Jaskier breathes, unbelieving.

Lambert pauses,��“Don’t you know?”

“No...?”

“Fuck. Pretty boy can’t get his head out of his ass and now I have to suffer.”

With that, Lambert tries to shoulder past Jaskier but the bard is having none of it. “No!” he puts a hand on Lambert’s chest. “Don’t even think about it. How? Since when? And how do you know?”

Lambert mumbles something unintelligible, before sighing long-sufferingly. “It’s too obvious, Buttercup.”

“How is it obvious? Does Geralt walk around with the words ‘I’m smitten with my bard and all the grumpy face is faked’ written on his forehead? How, pray tell, is it obvious?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Lambert, the bastard, raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Did you truly not know?”

“No!”

Jaskier is so close to grabbing Lambert by the collar just to shake some answers out of him, and finally, the youngest wolf takes pity on him.

“He looks at you differently when he thinks you are doing something cute. He trips over his words after you call him sweet names. The worst of it all—he blushes any time you are close. Blushes, like a fucking maiden. Urgh, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh,” Jaskier deflates, “Witchers blush?”

“See for yourself.” Lambert rolls his eyes, walking past Jaskier with a few long strides. “And put the swords back!”

Jaskier decides to test it out, because there’s no way Geralt is in love with him.

Loving him as a friend, sure, why not? Despite what ignorant folks claim about witchers, Jaskier knows by experience that Geralt has a heart bigger and more capable of love than most. But Geralt being in love with Jaskier? Like, he-wants-to-kiss-him in love with him? No way.

Blushing because of him? Ha! More like in Jaskier’s wildest dreams.

Although that would be really cute.

“Pass me the salt, honey?” Jaskier reaches out a hand to the other end of the table, and Geralt passes the salt without thinking.

Hmm.

No tripping over words.

“Thank you, dear heart.”

He’s putting as much sweetness in his voice as possible and Geralt is…normal. His eyebrows are raised to the roof, and there’s a faint smile by the corners of his eyes. But that’s just how Geralt is…right? He’s home and he’s relaxed, he smiles with his eyes rather than his lips, and it’s got nothing to do with Jaskier.

Jaskier chews, staring at Geralt subtly.

Not subtle enough.

“Something on my face?”

“No—” Jaskier chokes, hacking like a fool and tipping sideways. “Just—too much salt.”

Geralt scoffs, the faint smile turning into a brief grin, and hands over a cup of water.

Jaskier wants the ground to swallow him whole.

The snow is terrible.

The whole keep is freezing like an ice cube, and Jaskier has to blow on his hands from time to time just to function in the library. He’s the lucky one, in the grand scheme of things. The witchers still need to go outside to fix up the walls and tend to the animals.

Geralt hasn’t been back in a while.

Jaskier puts down the quill he’s been chewing anxiously and rushes out the door—

And bumps right into Geralt’s chest.

“Sweet Melitele, that’s a lot of snow!” Jaskier spits out the snow knocked into his mouth, before looking at Geralt properly. “Oh, you’re hurt.”

The cut on Geralt’s eyebrow is a small one, but Jaskier worries nonetheless. Geralt doesn’t look impressed, only walks straight towards the small medkit sitting on a shelf.

“Repairment has to wait. The wind is bad.” Geralt grunts, trying to touch the wound and missing by a mile.

“Here, let me.”

Jaskier takes the salve from Geralt’s slightly shaking hands and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. Geralt is frowning so hard he can crack a walnut with those eyebrows.

“Relax,” Jaskier murmurs, blowing gently at the cut while dabbing at the blood. Upon deeming it clean enough, he applies a scoop of the salve that smells of celandine and mint. “Don’t move. It’ll only hurt a bit.”

Geralt keeps shying away from Jaskier’s ministration so he has no choice but to wrap his other hand around Geralt’s jaw, which manages to still him instantly.

“There,” Jaskier smiles. “Shouldn’t need anything more. Your witcher healing will kick in soon.”

Geralt tilts his head with that soft look in his eyes. “My thanks. Wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“No shit! Who goes out in a storm like this one? If you ask me, Vesemir is too tough on you. Look at you…” Jaskier coos, taking Geralt’s hands. “You are like a popsicle, dear heart.”

He tries to rub some heat back into Geralt’s freezing hands, his skin dry and rough. There’s still some hand cream left in Jaskier’s room. Maybe he can fetch it later. Geralt needs to take care of his hands better when his living depends on them.

Geralt groans, looking away. The frames of his ears are beet red too; he must have been outside without a hat for all this time. Jaskier wants to cover them with his warm palms, only to have his hands batted away.

“No, there’s—I’m fine,” Geralt mumbles. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d think the way Geralt avoids his eyes is a result of shyness. The bard can snort at the ridiculous idea and stubbornly presses his hands over Geralt’s ears.

Oh.

His ears are red because they are so warm, not cold

Now that they are standing so close, only a hand’s breadth away, Geralt looks stunned, his eyes dilating, only leaving a ring of gold around those dark pupils. There’s even a layer of pink dusting over his pale cheeks.

A blushing witcher.

Oh, this is interesting.

“Geralt, sweetie?” Jaskier husks, lowering his voice especially on the pet name. “Are you warm enough?”

“Um, sure…not cold.”

And he watches as Geralt’s mind ceases to work in front of his eyes, the blush deepening. It’s still a subtle thing. No wonder Jaskier has missed it all this time. Calloused hands wrap around Jaskier’s wrists, and the bard finally relents, letting go.

If he spends the rest of the day sitting at the desk with a quill in hand, thinking about the way Geralt’s skin feels against his and the warmth of his cheeks, nobody needs to know.

Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with this piece of new information.

Geralt does blush.

Because of him.

He tries to repeat the experiment. Just to be sure, he tells himself. And every time it yields the same results. As soon as he gets into Geralt’s space, the witcher either stumbles through his words or gets all flustered all over. The fondness is there too, just in a very Geralt and very unnoticeable manner, soft and almost smiling.

Jaskier is so drunk on power.

The only thing left is to tell Geralt that he loves him too. That he’s also in love in love with him, as in an I-also-want-to-kiss-you kind of way, and then… they can finally kiss!

Oh, just inwardly rehearsing the scene makes Jaskier dizzy, and somehow he ends up smiling to himself when he’s so deep in thoughts planning the conversation, once even in front of company.

Lambert throws him a side-eye and a disgusted grunt, but Jaskier can’t care less.

He finds the perfect night, and even takes a sip of White Gull from Eskel’s cup just to calm his nerves.

And he realizes too late that, perhaps, the strongest witcher brew might be a mistake.

The effect is stronger than he anticipated, and Jaskier is giggling through the fog in his mind within mimutes, somehow ending up on Geralt’s lap, draped over his shoulder in a heap of soft, pliant mess.

He rests his temple against Geralt’s and nearly tips backward if not for the strong arm that catches him by the waist.

“Oops, thank the gods I have my big witcher here!” Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers across Geralt’s stubbles. It tickles, and the blush is back, unmistakably, since Geralt is as sober as the day. “I’d fall over on my butt without you! And falling over doesn’t look good before saying important things, does it?”

Huh, he’s said it out loud.

“Saying what things?”

Well, if it’s out there…

“Where do I start again? Right of course, with how beautiful you look when you’re like this!”

His fingers move to tuck the curtain of white hair behind Geralt’s ears. No matter how much Jaskier loves it when Geralt wears his hair down, he needs to look into those amber eyes without obstruction. The molten gold gleams with surprise and Jaskier wants to drown in it.

“I’m not…” Geralt splutters, before closing his mouth with a pop. The flush is stretching down his neck now, and Jaskier chases it with a hand.

“You are!” he insists petulantly. “You are blushing and it’s beautiful. Adorable too! I wouldn’t know if Lambert hadn’t told me—” he burps. “—um, everything.”

“Told you what?”

The alarm in Geralt’s voice should wake Jaskier up immediately, but alas, the White Gull is no joke.

“Shh!” he stage-whispers, “It’s a secret! Don’t tell Geralt! I need to do it right!”

Jaskier lets out a happy sound and leans into the comforting embrace that he loves so much. Under his fingers, he can feel heat still gather under Geralt’s skin, making him look equally annoyed and fond.

“You are not making sense, Jask.”

“Nothing about you makes sense either, but I’m here. And ready.” Jaskier smiles and presses a chaste kiss on Geralt’s cheekbone, humming another happy sound.

Kissing Geralt is nice, gives Jaskier all the fuzzy feelings.

But somehow, that was also the wrong thing to do, because Geralt has gone stiff under Jaskier’s body. The next thing he knows, the witcher is struggling to untangle their limbs and leaving him empty and cold.

“Don’t…do this,” he murmurs, upset. “Just…don’t.”

The anguish the seeps through Geralt’s voice somehow manages to get through the muddy cloud in Jaskier’s mind.

“Wait, what?” Jaskier rights himself on unsteady feet, but his witcher is long gone. Eskel and Lambert are still nursing their tankards by the fire, and Jaskier wobbles past them without a care. He needs to find Geralt, who apparently charged right out of the great hall and into the cold night.

The heavy wooden doors open and Jaskier is hit with the unrelenting wind. The snow has stopped and partially melted, and frozen all over again. It’s the worst kind. Jaskier takes his steps with caution but still, it’s too slippery.

Okay. Mind. Clear. He needs it to be.

“Geralt?” he calls out, churning with anxiety. “Geralt, where are you?”

Damn his witcher speed. Now Jaskier is walking in the dark and freezing his balls off without an ounce of idea where Geralt might be. Oh, the stalls. Roach must be the first thought Geralt has when he needs to talk. Jaskier shudders, hugging his doublet tighter to fend off the wind and searches for the stalls blindly.

“Geralt, are you—ow!”

He walks right into a pillar and falls on his butt. Before Jaskier can register the pain, a pair of hands are picking him up by the armpits and he stumbles into Geralt’s embrace.

There’s a familiar sizzle of Igni, and the torch by the stalls is roaring with life.

“What are you doing out here?” A coat is tossed over Jaskier’s shoulders and he’s ushered back towards the building.

“Looking for you, you idiot!” Jaskier squawks, albeit grateful for the thick fur coat. A few more minutes he would lose all feelings in his toes. “Running into the night like this, who knows what can happen to you!”

“So you followed me out drunk and with no coat and I’m the idiot? Gods, I don’t know why I even…”

The doors creak open and there’s light and warmth and the smell of mead, but Jaskier’s heart sinks.

“I don’t know why you even bother too,” Jaskier muses, suddenly feeling like a scolded child.

Geralt steers Jaskier past the other wolf witchers and straight into his room, where the heat feels like a furnace on Jaskier’s frozen fingers—Geralt has been secretly tending to Jaskier’s fire for weeks after the human came down with a cold upon arrival at the keep. He’s too good to Jaskier.

“You are too good to me.”

“And you are a pain in the ass.”

Geralt sits Jaskier down in front of the fire rather grumpily, before joining him and pulling the coat even tighter. He’s still mad, just a smidge, but the droop of his eyes speaks more of sadness.

“Hey, talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, squeezing Geralt’s knee in reassurance. Whatever argument coming their way, he can’t stand Geralt being sad.

“How drunk are you?”

“Not very.” If Geralt walking out hadn’t put Jaskier out of his daze, the wind sure finished the job. “White gull passes quickly. Hmm, who would have thought…”

“I need to tell you something.”

“But I need to tell you something too! It’s important.”

“Let me go first?”

The plead comes out in a whisper, and who is Jaskier to reject Geralt like this, wide-eyed and earnest?

“I never meant for you to know, and certainly not on a night like this, but Jaskier…” Geralt heaves out a breath, determined and so so brave. Jaskier is drawn closer to Geralt’s body like a magnet, ready to soothe, to meet him halfway. “I am in love with you.”

“Geralt.”

“I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s okay. You make a living singing about loving. Hell, you make a living simply by loving. Music, adventures, people, so many people. It’s okay that your heart is too big for me. But, Jask, I can’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t…not…”

“You flirt with people. You…touch them and kiss them and praise them. It’s okay. It’s the way you are. I understand that when you do the same with me it doesn’t mean anything more, but, Jaskier, I need you to stop.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Do you hate it? I thought…differently.”

The smile that tugs at Geralt’s lips can only be described as crestfallen.

“The opposite. I love it too much. I’ll always want more. Always. I’m greedy like this.”

The guilt weighing down on Geralt’s shoulders is not a good sight, a personal offense to Jaskier. His hand reaches out on its own volition, tilting Geralt’s chin up so their gazes meet. The blush is back.

What did Jaskier do in his past life to deserve this man?

“That’s what I was going to say.”

“That you are greedy?”

The frown remains on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier smooths it with the pad of his thumb.

“No. That I am in love with you. Gods, for someone who’s not a bard, you sure know how to steal someone’s line from the beginning,” Jaskier chuckles. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I return your feelings. But alas, you know the coward that I am.”

“You are…not,” he protests, blinking.

The way Geralt defends him on instinct only makes Jaskier’s insides melt into a pool of fuzziness.

“In this, yes. How I fucked up so bad is a mystery. That’s just me I guess, trying to love you but ending up hurting you, making you feel like I’m stringing you along like anyone else.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you oaf.” Jaskier bops his nose. “You are the most important person in the world for me. This is the most important thing in the world to me! I love you and I love it when you blush. Also, I’d very much like to kiss you, if you want it too.”

Jaskier bites into his lips and watches as Geralt’s gaze drops to them, the pink of his cheeks spreading into the most gorgeous crimson. “I want to. Kiss you, that is.”

“Good.”

Jaskier wets his lips with a peak of the tongue and watches the same gesture returned. Even if the alcohol has left his system, the intoxication remains, only this time because of Geralt’s slightly dilated pupils and quickened breathing. He leans in, not being able to resist—

“Did you say ‘return my feelings’?” Geralt dodges away, looking incredulous. “Jaskier, did you know? And what was that about blushing?”

“Um…” Now Jaskier is the one to splutter. Luckily, he has a trick up his sleeves or two that can make sure Geralt forgets about every last thought there is.

Jaskier lunges forward and tackles his witcher onto the soft rug and kisses him within an inch of his life, deepening it like there’s no tomorrow. Judging by the dazed look on Geralt’s face as he comes up for air, the method is working.

Cupping Geralt’s rosy cheeks, Jaskier croaks proudly, “Tell you later?”

“We have all the later we need.” Geralt’s smile is blinding, and equally mischievous. Without a moment of pause, Jaskier ends up the one flipped onto his back and being kissed until he shudders with pleasure.

Jaskier has to thank Lambert properly one day, considering Geralt will certainly go after him with a vengeance.

For now, having Geralt on top of him and slowly melting into a contented mess should be enough. If he’s allowed, Jaskier vows silently, he would really like to make Geralt blush for him for the rest of his life.

Jaskier will totally make it his life's mission to tease Geralt endlessly and see his beautiful blush. 🥰🥰

On another note, I challenged myself to write 2000 words exactly, and this ended up, um, 3000 words exactly. I’ll count it as a win anyway ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #getting together #requited love #kissing #hand holding #winter at kaer morhen #soft jaskier #geralt of rivia blushes

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

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CONGRATS ON BREAKING 1000 FOLLOWERS. Can i get #7 for the kisses prompt with jask as the kiss-e and some/any witchers (or a yen) as the kisser

I wrote this a while ago but I’ve been holding it back whilst I worked on Christmas stuff... but I didn’t finish my prompt for tonight so... have some amorous bard instead! Just over 1k. __________________________ The wolf witchers were confused by Geralt’s bard. Lambert and Eskel glared at the colourful bard from across the table trying to work him out. He was laughing at some weird shit Geralt had said. He gripped Geralt’s arm and then rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. Lambert scowled and glanced at Eskel. They’d never seen anyone outside of Kaer Morhen touch a witcher so casually, let alone with the Butcher of Blaviken. Eskel shrugged. He obviously didn’t understand either.

“Right, my dears, I promised I would help Vesemir with his potion ingredients. I will see you later.” Jaskier stood up and kissed Geralt’s temple. Geralt hummed but carried on eating his breakfast.

Once the bard was safely out of earshot Lambert turned on Geralt. “What was that?”

Geralt looked up and raised an eyebrow at him.

“The kissing?!”

Geralt shrugged. “That’s just Jaskier.”

Lambert scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If he tries that with me I’ll stab him.”

Geralt just laughed. “He’s quicker than he looks.”

They finished their breakfast in silence, Lambert still trying to process what he’d seen.

__________

It happened again at dinner. Jaskier danced into the room and kissed Geralt’s cheek as if it were nothing more than a hug. Lambert was positive that by the end of winter they’d be making out at this rate. Not that he was judging, he just hadn’t realised his brother was into guys. That was cool.

Jaskier noticed his glare and laughed his musical laugh. “There’s no need to be jealous, Lambert!”

And with that Jaskier sauntered over and kissed Lambert’s forehead. His nose wrinkled up and he almost fell backwards off the bench. “Oi, get off!” He spluttered, feeling his cheeks heat up furiously.

Jaskier winked and plopped himself down in Geralt’s lap, despite the fact there was a perfectly good bench right there. “What the fuck?” He muttered.

_______________________

Lambert was sharpening his swords in his room when Eskel came bursting through his door without even trying to knock. Lambert cursed and dropped his sword. The hilt landed on his bare toes and he was pretty sure at least one of them broke.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” He jumped up and cradled his foot in his hands. “The fuck?”

“Jaskier kissed me?”

Lambert, who had settled cross-legged on the floor stared up at Eskel in horror. “No.”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Eskel shook his head. “He said he was tired and going to bed… and then he just kissed me on the cheek on the way out.”

Lambert just watched the flames dance in his fireplace. He just didn’t understand? Why would anyone do that? And why wasn’t Jaskier afraid of them? Had Geralt used Axii on the bard? That must have done. He voiced his reasoning to Eskel who nodded sagely.

“Axii, that must be it,” he agreed.

____________

Geralt and Lambert were getting ready to go out on the last big hunt before the snow fell. Eskel was staying behind to fix where the wall had crumbled over night and Vesemir was working with Jaskier on the Beastiaries in the library. The bard had the best handwriting out of all of them when he put his mind to it, otherwise it was illegible scrawl, though he did insist that was to stop other bards from stealing his work.

“I need to say goodbye to Jaskier,” Geralt grunted.

Lambert rolled his eyes. “It’s just a hunt, wolf.”

Geralt hummed. “I promised.

“Fine, fine. We’ll say goodbye to the bard. Just hurry up about it.”

He followed Geralt through the keep towards the library. Jaskier didn’t look up from his writing but gave a quick wave of his quill to acknowledge their presence. Geralt shook his head and actually smiled at the bard, much to Lambert’s disbelief.

“We’re going hunting, Jask,” He said, louder than he needed to.

“Hmm?”

“Jaskier?” Geralt repeated and the bard glanced up at him. “We’re going out hunting.”

Jaskier’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he nodded. “Right yes, of course. Stay safe, my dears.”

Geralt sighed and shook his head but moved to kiss Jaskier’s hair. “We won’t be long.”

“Anything you say, love,” Jaskier leaned up to kiss Geralt without really taking his eyes off the parchment in front of him.

To Lambert’s surprise, although really it should have stopped surprising him, Geralt returned the chaste kiss with a hum and then they were off on their hunt.

___________

It kept happening throughout winter. Geralt insisted that he would never use Axii on the bard without his permission and that Jaskier was really just like that. Lambert wasn’t convinced. The worst thing was that Eskel had gotten caught up in it. Eskel now didn’t even blink when Jaskier kissed his hair or cheek or, on one occasion, his nose. Lambert had managed to avoid the overly amorous bard’s affections since the first week but that hadn’t stopped Jaskier from trying. More than once Jaskier had dropped down in his lap instead of Geralt’s and tried to fucking cuddle but Lambert had pushing him onto the floor.

He wasn’t really sure why anymore. In the privacy of his own mind he knew he would quite like the open affection that Jaskier gave to the other witchers, even Vesemir, but he was also fucking terrified that he would be the one to fuck it up, that Jaskier would kiss him once and realise it was all a big mistake. Then again it was the last chance he had. Geralt and Jaskier were packing up Roach and heading back down the mountain together. Jaskier was chattering excitably with Eskel and Lambert was sulking in the corner watching them.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called. “Time to go.”

Jaskier lit up and flashed the White Wolf a dazzling smile. Lambert scoffed. He didn’t know why Jaskier wasn’t scared like most humans but he was starting to realise he shouldn’t take it for granted. Jaskier kissed Eskel’s cheeks and danced over to Lambert.

Lambert took a deep breath and then opened his arms. Jaskier grinned and bundled in for a hug. Lambert hummed as he breathed in Jaskier warm scent, not a whiff of fear. “See you around, bard.” And before he could regret it he kissed Jaskier’s forehead.

Jaskier grinned and returned the gesture. “I hope we’ll run into each other at some point, but otherwise you’d better be here next year, witcher.”

“I will,” he promised and he would do his fucking best to stay alive. No more careless contracts for him. He’d made a promise. “I will.”

#the witcher #geraskier #kaer morhen #lambert #eskel #vesemir #geralt #jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #fontegagrilledcheese

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purplesauris · 4 years ago

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A Moonlit Winter’s Night

This one took me a bit longer to write between work and everything else, but hoo boy am I glad to have it finished. Mostly inspired by a beautiful full moon we had the other night, and spurred on by my gorgeous friends. I guess you could also count this as day 4 of @witcher-and-his-bard winter prompts!

Read on AO3 here!

“Invite him, wolf, before we do.” Lambert is well into his cup, but if he has to spend another winter with Geralt dragging his ass he will end up killing his brother and he’d rather not.

“Hmm.” Invite him? What would Jaskier, bright, warm, stunning Jaskier do in a keep alone with witchers for the four months they’re snowed in? Well, there’s only one way to find out, he supposes.

This time, when Geralt heads down the mountain he’s the last to leave. While Vesemir has never said no to the guests they show up with, something in him hesitates to bring Jaskier here. He’s opulent, almost garishly so, and revels in the finer things when he manages to drag Geralt into a town bigger than the backwater villages they frequent. So he may or may not spend some extra time making up the guest room, Vesemir watching and putting Geralt to work until he finally leaves.

He heads for town after staying that extra week, hurrying a bit more than usual down the mountainside. He doesn’t want to miss their meeting, though he’s definitely going to be late, or else he isn’t sure he'll find the bard this year. He’s a days travel away from Oxenfurt when he’s stopped by a woman on the road, begging for someone to find her husband. She claims he was dragged off into the woods, and promises ample payment, and Geralt is unable to say no. Coin can be hard to come by, especially in the spring when so many monsters are still thawing out.

He brings her back to her village and gives strict instructions to watch his horse and watch her well. If he comes back to Roach missing, he says, there will be more problems than a missing husband to contend with. With Roach guaranteed safe Geralt treks into the forest, following the path that the wife relayed to him on the way back to the village. He finds the husband without much difficulty, shacked up in an abandoned hunting cabin with two other tittering, intoxicated women. The sight of Geralt stops their celebration, and one of the women screams, throwing her half full bottle at him. It crashes against the doorframe, shattering and spewing wine against his leg. He wrinkles his nose, looking at the three before him and doing his best not to flinch when they scream at the sight of him.

“Your wife is waiting.”

“M-me wife?” He nods, crossing his arms and tipping his head back toward town. The man goes with little convincing, stumbling past and shaking like a deer.

“P-please, we didn’t- didn’t know he were married, honest.”

“Somehow I doubt that. I’m not here to meddle, just find him. You live in the same village?” One of them nods, the one who threw the wine bottle, and Geralt sighs. “Sober up a bit before heading back, or they’ll know you were together.”

“Right, course.” The witcher stands there for another awkward minute before grunting and leaving out the way he came. He takes his time going back, knowing there’ll be a story spun and not feeling particularly inclined to dispute it. Despite the obvious lack of monsters, Geralt can tell there was activity, once. He can smell an old nekker nest a quarter mile from the hut, but nothing has used it in ages. There were also animal tracks, but nothing more than a couple of wolves, if he were to guess by the lack of rabbits about.

He gets Roach and double the payment the wife had offered when he gets back, the husband thanking him profusely for saving him. His wife hangs off his side the whole time, teary eyed with relief. Geralt leaves out of the village astride Roach, intent on traveling through the night to get to Ja- Oxenfurt. The contract took up more time than he would have liked, and he wonders how long Jaskier will wait before giving up on him. Roach isn’t one to complain about the long night, and by the time they get into the city Geralt has slid from her back to lighten her burden. He finds the tavern on memory alone, and spends some time brushing and getting Roach settled in the stables before finally heading inside to hope they have a room. The sky hadn't begun to lighten yet, but dawn isn't far off, and Geralt desperately needs some sleep

He reeks of booze, but the barkeep doesn’t care and says nothing when Geralt asks for whatever ale they’ve got that isn’t made with river water. He takes his usual spot in the back, tossing a look around the bar for a bright doublet or a flash of blue eyes, but either he isn't here or he's asleep. Geralt drinks himself into a light buzz and eats whatever stew is bubbling over the fire before going to get a room upstairs for the night. He tries to spend as much time as he can in the main room, but the room is quiet for once, devoid of it’s usual rabble.

He’s halfway down the hall when he smells the faint scent of sweat, lavender and a hint of chamomile, Geralt stopping and dragging in a deep breath. He follows his nose easily, backtracking to the room right next to the stairs. The scent in the hall is stale, but if Jaskier hasn’t been out since last night that would account for it. He wants to knock, to try the knob and show himself in, but that feels like too much a breach of privacy, and Geralt is too tired to think straight anyhow. He retreats to his room, shaking his head and berating himself. Jaskier is here, that much he knows, so all he has to do is go down sometime around dinner, where Jaskier will most likely be entertaining for his room and board. The plan is a good one, he thinks, and he props his swords up by the bed and lights the hearth with a twitch of his fingers. His armor comes off in pieces, left on the table in the corner of the room, his clothes following. He crawls into bed only after examining the sheets closely. Clean, thankfully.

Geralt is stretched out, languishing in a patch of sunlight a few hours later and wondering if he should try to sleep more when he hears footsteps pounding up the stairs. Geralt frowns, hand wrapping around the dagger under his pillow as the footsteps draw closer and closer. His grip tightens, pupils constricting to ease the shift of light as he watches the door.

The knob turns in slow motion, and the scent of sun- warmth and lavender hits him like a ton of bricks. He doesn't have time to do more than sit up in bed before Jaskier is slipping into the room, ducking and looking around frantically. He knows Geralt's first instinct is to throw his knife it seems. His eyes skim over Geralt's armor and the fire burning low in the hearth before he finally spots Geralt, motionless on the bed, dagger peeking out from under his pillow. Geralt hears Jaskier's heart stutter in his chest, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

"Geralt!" Jaskier closes the door fully, grinning and padding over as Geralt swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He's about to get up when Jaskier surges forward, throwing his arms around the witcher's neck and squeezing him tight. Geralt goes still, eyes wide, before allowing himself a moment to enjoy and take in the bard. The warmth that seeps through his doublet, and the stronger lavender scent that Geralt inhales when he buries his face in Jaskier's hair is like being home again. He wraps an arm around Jaskier, holding him against his chest and squeezing gently. They stay like that for a minute, then two, Geralt refusing to be the one that pulls away first this time. Finally Jaskier seems to have had enough, because he pulls back, eyes misty and a wry smile on his face.

"You're late."

"Surprised you're here." He replies, and honestly he is. He's more than a little late.

"Where else would I be?"

He shrugs, not sure what to say to that, and Jaskier smiles fondly. "They told me a big brute with white hair came through early this morning. I would have come in earlier, if I'd felt inclined to nurse a stab wound."

Geralt huffs a small breath at that- it's as close as he'll get to a laugh this early, or late he supposes, in the day. He's fully awake now, but his muscles are loose and the scent and sight of Jaskier close has him relaxing, leaning back on a hand. He watches Jaskier puttering around, exploring the new armor he'd had crafted on the way up the mountain and looking at the clasps closely. He glances over at the bed, blue eyes curious, and raises a brow. "Good winter?"

Geralt shrugs, pulling the dagger from under his pillow and rising to his feet. "Mhm. You?"

"It was fantastic, if I'm honest. I'll tell you more on the road." Geralt takes that as his cue to get dressed, and he gently nudges Jaskier out of the way to do so.

-*-

Something had happened to Geralt. He wasn't sure what- he couldn't see any visible change, no knock to the head or magical influence, but something had changed. Jaskier hadn't been able to help himself when he found Geralt in the tavern, hair mussed from sleep and golden eyes vulnerable to whatever emotions played through his head. He hadn't expected Geralt to reciprocate the hug, allow it even, but he'd squeezed them close together and Jaskier's heart had soared at the contact.

He wasn’t much different on the Path, though. They still bounced from town to town, taking whatever pickings there were. Geralt was stricter on the bounties though, asking for larger sums than he had before. Despite it, when they agreed and stiffed him later he didn’t raise a hand. Instead, he seemed pleased with himself, and took the coin that they did offer. He also stayed away from towns if he could absolutely help it. He isn’t sure if the long winter made Geralt more skittish or he just doesn’t want to, but Jaskier tries his best not to complain.

They spend much of the year this way, pushing hard and taking any contract they can find. Jaskier will play for the bigger villages and stay back at camp mending when he has nothing else to offer. He becomes startlingly proficient with starting a fire no matter how wet the surroundings, and his game trapping could actually carry the both of them through the empty nights where they would have had nothing before. Through all of it, Jaskier finds himself happier than he was during the winter. They talk more, or at least Jaskier gets more replies instead of dead silence. A hum here, a nod and Geralt’s pretty cat eyes locking with his to let him know he’s paying attention. If Geralt sees the way he preens under the attention he doesn’t mention it, but he doesn’t stop either. Fall has come early this year and sunk claws into the land, and all around them is the smell of decaying leaves. It's Jaskier’s favorite and least favorite time of the year.

“We’re stopping in Novigrad.” Jaskier perks up at the first words Geralt has spoken today, smiling.

“Finally decided you missed the comforts of a bed, hmm?”

Geralt hums, tugging on Roaches reins to keep her from straying toward a particularly green patch of grass. “It’s for you.”

“Me?” Geralt nods, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Jaskier thinks he spies a bit of pink to Geralt’s cheeks, but he just swings his lute up into his arms and begins to practice. He’s going to need money to spend in Novigrad, after all.

-*-

Jaskier navigates the streets of Novigrad like he was born here; with a drunklike stagger and a grin on his face. He winks and waves at any strumpet that walks by, and laughs when Geralt tells him to stop teasing them. They stop in the main square to check out the notice board, and Geralt sighs out a heavy breath at what he finds.

“Something good?” Jaskier peers over the man's shoulders, up on tiptoes and wanting to see what could possibly make Geralt excited. Because he’s almost certain that’s what that noise means, and he happens to be an expert on his witcher by now.

“Something dragging townspeople away.”

“Drowners?”

Geralt shakes his head, and leaves it at that. He goes to see the soldier who posted the report, and tells Jaskier to get comfortable at the inn. He’s expecting it to be a long hunt, based on the bodies alone, and he doesn’t expect he’ll be back for a couple of days. Jaskier doesn’t like it, but that night he plays in the Kingfisher, and makes enough coin to pay for their room three times over. As he does the next night, and the next night after that.

Jaskier is nursing a hangover in bed on morning three alone when the door to the room swings open, slamming into the wall. He groans at the noise and influx of light, but the sight of Geralt stops him short. He looks… bad, for lack of a better word.

The sight is enough to have Jaskier stumbling out of bed, closing the door behind the witcher and hurrying with sleepy fingers to get the clasps to his armor undone. Geralt’s eyes are hazy with fatigue, and he doesn’t say a word when his armor drops in pieces onto the ground. Blood stains every inch of his clothing, and Jaskier has no clue what’s his and what could be the monsters. Fear shoots through him, cold and slimy, and he shudders at the thought of Geralt out there alone. Jaskier calls for a bath and a meal, picking all of the armor up and depositing it with the rest of their stuff. His armor seems to be intact, and the only blood is on his gauntlets and greaves. Whatever soaked into his clothes must be dead.

In the time it took for Jaskier to tidy up Geralt has stripped down and tossed his clothes into the fire. He doesn’t seem to care about trying to salvage them, and Jaskier frowns at the waste. Bloody grooves slash over the scars littering Geralt’s back and chest, and he can see two neat puncture wounds scabbing over on the meat of Geralt's shoulder.

“Shit Geralt, what the devil happened? What was the contract for?” Geralt doesn’t seem to hear him, staring glassily at the fire. Jaskier’s chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat. He’s never seen Geralt like this after a hunt. The tub and food are brought up quickly, and he drags it in himself, sending the attendant away. He doesn’t need anyone else seeing a naked, wounded witcher in his room. He’s not sure what Geralt would do to anyone else who saw him this way anyway. “In the tub.”

Again, he doesn’t respond, and Jaskier walks over, taking Geralt’s hand in his. The older man pulls in a breath as if starved of air, and his pupils are tiny slits as he stares at the point of contact. “C’mon love, lets get you cleaned up.”

This way, holding onto Geralt in some capacity, is the only way that Geralt seems to be able to focus. He hisses at the first contact of the hot water, but Jaskier uses a firm hand on his shoulder to keep Geralt from escaping. He uses the best washcloth they have to gently wipe him down, dabbing at the worst of the cuts and frowning at their jagged edges. The water goes murky and then pink as he works to get the witcher as clean as he can. Once he’s satisfied he leaves Geralt to soak for a moment, digging through their packs until he finds a small round bottle, a red band wrapped around the neck. Swallow. Relief washes through him, and he hurries back to Geralt, pulling the stopper and holding it to Geralt’s lips.

“Drink.” Geralt presses his lips together, twitching away from the bottle, and Jaskier frowns. He takes hold of Geralt’s chin, holding him still, and moves the vial closer again. “Don’t be an ass, or I’ll let those cuts get infected.”

Geralt’s pupils are still miniscule, and if he didn’t know better he’d think that the man was high on something. They stare at each other, Jaskier’s grip tightening bit by bit until Geralt’s hand comes up, taking the vial and tipping it back into his mouth. Jaskier takes the now empty vial and tucks it back away, taking a deep breath to hide the shaking of his hands. Water splashes behind him, and he has to avert his eyes at the sight of Geralt standing up and getting out of the water. The potion must be working, because even though he’s sluggish, he’s moving and acting better than before. He dries off with stiff movements, and grunts before collapsing onto the bed.

“Are you going to eat or sleep?” Geralt’s stomach growls loudly at the mention of food, and Jaskier gives a shaky smile. This, he knows better. He grabs the tray of food and moves back to the bed, humming a soft tune. “Move over.”

Geralt groans but wiggles his way over, allowing Jaskier to clamber up on his knees and tuck himself next to Geralt on the bed. Jaskier drags the nightstand a bit closer and sets down the tray as Geralt settles his head in Jaskier’s lap. He isn’t sure what to do with that, but Geralt holds his hands out for something to eat and Jaskier gives him what’s easiest. Fruits first, then the cheese and bread, and by the time he’s finished all that, even Jaskier can see that sleep is dragging at him. He’s expecting Geralt to move once he’s eaten his fill, but he merely stops asking for food and closes his eyes, his breathing settling down almost immediately. Already the cuts on his chest are sealing shut and fading, and something lightens in Jaskier's chest. He knows Geralt will be okay, he came back relatively whole, but the glassy, lost look sticks in the back of Jaskier’s mind. He’s stuck here for another few hours at least while Geralt sleeps, so he settles in for the long haul and closes his eyes. He trails fingers through Geralt’s hair, messing with the soft strands and gently tugging at any knots he finds.

Jaskier’s headache is gone when he jolts awake later, snorting and blinking his eyes open. The fire in the hearth has burnt to embers, but Jaskier is pleasantly warm even without the covers over him. When he looks down at Geralt he finds golden eyes staring back, and he huffs. He’s being watched quietly, a contemplative look on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Come north with me.” That’s about the last thing that Jaskier had expected, and he chokes on a breath, leaning away to cough and thump at his chest.

“Pardon? I don’t think I heard you right, because the Geralt I know would never ask that. You are Geralt, aren’t you? Not a doppler in disguise?”

The man in his lap wrinkles his nose in such a distinctly Geralt way that though he doesn’t say it, Jaskier believes him already. “No. The potion would have killed me.”

“Ah, so has a grievous head wound occurred?”

“I’m serious.” Jaskier laughs, shaking his head in disbelief, but Geralt is still looking at him with that same contemplative look. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I’m going. When do we leave?”

“Soon.”

-*-

Soon ends up being by the weeks end, once Geralt is sure Jaskier has warm enough clothes. Jaskier had objected at first; he’s weathered many a winter with what he has, but Geralt insists. Jaskier isn’t sure how they’re going to be able to pay for all of the clothes Geralt tells the tailor they need, but Geralt pays down to the last crown without complaint and without letting Jaskier help. Jaskier has a sneaking suspicion that all Geralt’s higher bounties had been an excuse to get the original sum without complaint. Once they get all they need and load Roach up, there’s nothing stopping them from heading out of Novigrad and toward Kaedwen.

Jaskier has never been this far north, though he’d always dreamt of going to Zerrikania or seeing the valley of Dol Blathanna for himself. He entertains himself with thoughts of far off lands while they trek through the forest, and eventually, rising toward the mountain peaks in the distance. Geralt had warned him before they left that the path up the mountain was dangerous, and that if Jaskier didn’t listen to him he was unlikely to survive the journey up, let alone back down. It wasn’t hard at first, though- it was as if they were on their way to another town for a contract. He’d kept telling himself that even as the terrain got rougher and the air biting cold.

They’re stopped for the night, huddled around a fire that Jaskier hasn’t left since Geralt made it when he speaks. He hasn’t talked much since they got well into the mountains, finding he needed his breath more than they needed conversation.

“I feel as though I’m going to shake my way off the mountain. How do you stand this- this cold?”

“Told you.”

“Yes, well, remind me never to doubt you again about anything weather related. When will it snow again, by the way?”

Geralt pauses then, looking up toward the sky and sniffing before replying in perfect deadpan. “Two hours.”

Jaskier smiles fondly, rolling his eyes and going to tuck himself away in his bedroll for the night. He doesn’t give Geralt the satisfaction of a reaction when snow begins to fall almost exactly two hours later.

-*-

When they finally crest the peak and Kaer Morhen comes into view, Jaskier thought he couldn’t get anymore out of breath. The sight of the keep nestled with its back against the mountain steals whatever air is left in his lungs, and he has to pause to take it all in. Parts of the outer wall are crumbling and he can see an entire side of the keep has collapsed in, but it cuts an imposing figure all the same. Almost more so for what Jaskier can see it’s survived. Like Geralt, the keep has seen more than most would ever know, and carries the battle scars to prove it.

“It’s… breathtaking.” He admits, looking back to find Geralt watching him, a small smile on his face. He doesn’t have any words to truly describe how he feels right now, but Geralt has never needed words, and he can see the understanding in the witcher’s eyes. He’s just as affected by the sight of his home, and he can’t imagine how homesick Geralt must feel climbing the path up to the mountain, or the relief at finally being here. “C’mon Geralt, let’s go see your home.”

Geralt nods, and they descend into the valley, Geralt letting Jaskier run a few paces ahead, breath puffing out ahead of him and ears red from the cold. He keeps a close eye out for any monsters that Vesemir hasn’t had a chance to come out and get, but the way to the entrance is blissfully clear. The gates are open when they finally make it, and two figures stand, arms crossed with twin swords on their backs. Jaskier slows his pace, suddenly nervous at the thought of meeting Geralt’s family. He’s never been to Geralt’s home or met his family, and suddenly he finds himself doing both. He smoothes a hand over his hair, hoping it isn’t too messy, and straightens his cloak a bit.

“I look okay, don’t I?” He looks toward Geralt for an answer, but a slightly higher voice calls out over the distance.

“Hurry it up you slow bastard! I’m freezing my ass off over here.” He hears Geralt growl and mutter something under his breath, but Jaskier raises a hand and waves to the two witchers waiting for them.

“Who do we have here? A paramour of yours?” Jaskier doesn't react to the phrasing, instead glancing to see how Geralt will react. He tries not to let his heart hurt over the fact that Geralt would never think that way.

“You know who he is.” Geralt grits out, glaring at the witcher before him. He’s a bit shorter than the others, hairline receded further back and nose hooked, broken at least twice. Despite that, he’s not bad to look at, and Jaskier mentally makes a note to try and meet an ugly witcher. Jaskier looks between the two obviously feuding witchers, noting the tension and seeking some way to break it. The other witcher though, stands there peacefully, as if he were used to this as an everyday occurrence. He’s handsome, though Jaskier is beginning to think all witchers are. Three wicked scars slash down the right side of his face, and that tickles at his memory. Jaskier stops for a moment, frowning, before a grin splits his face and he reaches out to take the man by the arms. He holds him still, looking him over, and laughs. Both Geralt and the unnamed witcher go still, watching the casual touch with barely concealed interest.

“Eskel! I should have known you were a wolf! I must have been drunker than I thought that night!” Eskel smiles, the scars bisecting his lips tugging with the movement, and draws Jaskier into a tight hug. It only lasts a moment, but Jaskier is rosy cheeked and bright eyed with excitement. Something twists inside Geralt at the sight, and he clenches his teeth together to keep from saying anything stupid.

“Good to see you again, Jaskier. The academy treating you alright?”

“Well they weren’t too happy to lose a professor for the winter, I can tell you that. Oh! Geralt, why didn’t you tell me Eskel was your brother?” Jaskier turns those blue eyes on him, and Geralt just shrugs, unsure of what to say.

“You didn’t tell him?” Jaskier looks over at the other man, and raises a brow when Geralt snarls loudly. “Did he tell you about me at least?”

Jaskier looks the third man up and down once, glances toward Geralt, and then shakes his head. “Must not have been important.”

“Not been- Oh, I like this one Geralt. I’m hurt you haven’t brought him sooner.”

“Lambert.” Geralt’s voice is full of warning, but Lambert gives a tooth filled grin and motions for them to actually come into the keep.

“Let’s stop standing around, your bard has a tour to get to and Vesemir has a thousand bullshit tasks for us to get done. I tell you, the old man had a list written down before I even stepped my ass into the courtyard.”

Lambert takes off at a brisk pace, seeming more inclined to get out of the cold than chat anymore, and everyone else follows him. They pass through the training grounds first, leaving Roach at the stable, and Jaskier doesn't object when his arms are filled with a pack or two. He just shoulders the weight and trails along behind, eyes wide and flying to take in every detail he can. Geralt lingers behind a bit, occasionally pointing out a small detail Jaskier hadn't noticed yet, warmth blooming in his chest at the smile Jaskier gives in return.

"Is he always like that?" Jaskier leans over to whisper, eyeing the back of the grumpy witcher's head.

"Wait until Vesemir gets him going." Jaskier snickers, bumping their shoulders together lightly. His cheeks are red from the cold, and he's glad for the ability to hide his blush for once.

Jaskier wants to stop and look at everything as they head for the keep, but Geralt takes him gently by the elbow to keep him going. He would fight the grip, but Geralt reassures him he'll have plenty of time to explore while they're snowed in. For now, Geralt is obviously itching to get settled and see his brothers. So Jaskier tells himself to be patient, and doesn't voice any objections to their pace. He's going to have plenty of time to overturn every stone. Lambert and Eskel break off when they finally step inside the keep, giving Geralt a look before making a beeline for where a round of Gwent seems to have been abandoned.

"How did they know to stop and come out?" He doesn't realize he's voiced it aloud until Geralt answers, shrugging and heading for the far side of the room.

"Witcher senses."

"They can't be that good."

"They are!" Lambert calls after them, voice resounding through the room and bouncing off the walls. Jaskier scowls, throwing a dirty look toward the eavesdropping witcher before retreating into the next room. Geralt leads them up to where the guest bedroom is, pausing on the landing before the door. For the first time in years, Jaskier thinks that Geralt looks nervous.

“Is this mine?” He asks softly, not wanting to spook him but eager to look around. Geralt blinks a couple of times, swallows, and then nods. The sight of Geralt nervous is rather endearing, and Jaskier falls for him a bit harder. “Well, show me in, dear witcher.”

Geralt twists the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside and out of the way. Jaskier follows behind him, stopping in the doorway as he sweeps the room with a first cursory glance. It’s slow, but Jaskier’s bright eyes soften, and a smile curls at the corners of his lips. A large fireplace is tucked against the far wall, near it a bed that clearly hasn’t been touched in many, many years. The blankets seem a bit threadbare, but Jaskier bets they’re warm, and he could go for a good nap right now, if he’s honest. Old velvet, deep red and trimmed in gold hangs from the ceiling along the walls, making the room seem warmer than it actually is. The middle of the room is dominated by a fur carpet, and a wooden table is shoved into one corner, two stools tucked underneath.

“It isn’t much.” Geralt mumbles, growing more and more restless the longer Jaskier stands and stares. Jaskier takes a couple more steps in, dumping his things on the bed and turning to Geralt. There are tears in his eyes, sticking to his lashes and slipping down his cheeks in shimmering streaks. Geralt reaches up to brush them away without a thought, thumb sweeping gently across sun kissed skin. “Jask-”

“It’s perfect.” Jaskier leans into Geralt's touch, reaching up to cradle his hand as he places a gentle kiss onto the calloused palm. Geralt’s whole hand tingles pleasantly at the contact, and he takes a step closer as Jaskier closes his eyes, sniffling softly. “You did all this for me?”

“You deserve it. To be comfortable. I know we live a little- rough.” He isn’t sure what else to say, is choking on the warmth and yearning and love rising in his chest. Jaskier’s eyes are made even more brilliant by his tears when he opens them again, and Geralt loses himself in them. They’re inches apart now, and Geralt’s nose fills with the scent of cold, lavender and that edge of chamomile. Jaskier looks at him, searching for something, and Geralt is about to do something very stupid when Jaskier does it first. He leans up, closing the space between them and gently pressing a warm kiss to Geralt’s lips. His touch is featherlight, like Geralt could break at any moment, and in a way he does. A dam fractures in his chest at the contact, and Geralt uses the hand still cradling Jaskier’s cheek to guide him closer as feelings he’d hidden deep away rage through him.

Their lips press together harder, less hesitant, and Jaskier’s hands come up to curl in the edges of Geralt’s cloak. He presses himself up against Geralt, drawing him closer as their breath mingles and Geralt’s fingers tangle in his hair. Jaskier hardly knows where he begins and Geralt ends, and it isn’t until they hear a sharp whistle and an “Atta boy!” from the bottom of the steps that they break apart. Jaskier is breathing hard, and he laughs when Geralt growls, glaring toward the stairs. Jaskier tugs lightly on the cloak in his hands, and Geralt’s attention is drawn back as easily as that, golden eyes soft in the low light coming from the hall.

“You know, if I’d known this would happen when you brought me to visit, I would have insisted years ago.”

“Years?” Geralt hardly recognizes his own voice, rough and out of breath, and he leans to kiss the smile from Jaskier’s lips on instinct alone. Jaskier melts into the kiss, leaning heavily against Geralt. He slides his hands over Geralt's chest before pulling back and bumping his nose against Geralt's.

“You’re very dense, when you want to be. I don’t normally nurse witchers back to health for fun, you know. Blood isn’t my strong suit, nor are monster guts. I’m not very inclined to write dozens of songs about them just because I like fame either, though the stories do make good coin.” Jaskier pauses, smiling when he feels a rumble vibrate under his hands. He goes on tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on the corner of Geralt’s mouth in apology. “The fame is nice, I’ll admit. It makes it easier to travel with you, to provide something, even if it’s only songs that drive you mad.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier kisses him again, chuckling softly against his lips and just enjoying being close.

“I couldn’t agree more. Now, I know you’re eager to visit with your brothers, so go see them.” Geralt begins to protest, brow scrunching, but Jaskier silences him with a firm, hot kiss, and Geralt finds he’s rather enjoying being silenced like this. “You get to see me all year. They don’t. I’ve got some unpacking to do, and a nap to take. Come up later, if you’d like?”

“Mhm.” Though he’s still reluctant, he does as Jaskier asks, retreating back down the stairs with silent steps. Jaskier closes the door behind him and gets a fire roaring in the hearth, grinning like a fool. His whole body tingles, and he traces his lips with trembling fingers. He’s sure he’s going to wake up any minute, no matter how the cold pinches at his toes to tell him he’s really here. In Kaer Morhen, with a witcher who’s spent the better part of this year earning enough coin just to bring him home to his family.

Jaskier putters around unpacking as he told Geralt he was going to, and once the room has warmed sufficiently he sheds his outerwear. The velvet helps trap the heat in surprisingly well, and when he peeks behind them he finds windows. The fur is soft under his feet as he digs through their packs, trying to find something to wear to nap in. Near the bottom of the pack is a white shirt, something Jaskier has never seen Geralt wear, but it’s soft and warm and smells like him. He slips it on without a second thought, swimming in the fabric, and then tucks himself into the bed for a nap.

He’s woken up by the door clicking shut a little while later. There’s only one person he thinks that would come in without knocking, but for now he keeps his eyes shut and snuggles a bit deeper under the covers. He waits until he hears the soft clink of metal to open his eyes, and watches lazily as Geralt methodically strips out of his armor. His back is to the bed, and Jaskier enjoys the view more than he was allowed to before. When Geralt tugs his shirt over his head and glances over his shoulder, Jaskier doesn’t bother pretending to be bashful. His gaze is hungry as it trails over pale skin before meeting Geralt’s eyes, the man quirking a brow. Jaskier merely winks in response, warmth blooming in his chest at the soft chuckle he earns.

“How are your brothers?”

“Nosy.” Jaskier rolls onto his back as his witcher pads over, sitting on the side of the bed and leaning down to kiss him softly. Jaskier reaches a hand up to thread his fingers in Geralt’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and tasting the sigh that brushes against his lips. Geralt shifts, turning himself so he isn’t quite so contorted, and Jaskier moves with him, sitting up and letting the blankets pool in his lap. Geralt uses a hand to steady Jaskier, fingers splaying against his ribs before they bunch in the fabric of Jaskier’s shirt. Jaskier hears Geralt’s breath stutter and catch in his throat, and the kiss moves from soft and sweet to heavy and hot. Geralt laps at his lips, nipping gently until Jaskier opens up. He’s swept away by the way that Geralt is able to use his tongue, and heat pools low in his belly at the implications of it.

Jaskier’s side cramps with the way they’re sitting after a few blissful minutes, and he pushes the blankets back, breaking the kiss for a second to clamber into Geralt’s lap. Geralt scoots himself back a little bit, plants his feet better and grabs at Jaskier’s shirt again, yanking him close. Geralt leans up, trying to kiss him, but Jaskier smiles, taking a fistful of Geralt’s hair and tugging. The soft whine that he gets in response goes right to his groin, and he mouths at the sensitive skin just under Geralt’s jaw. When he nips at the skin, teases at leaving a mark Geralt’s whines again, arching his neck and pressing up into the touch. Jaskier can’t deny Geralt when he asks so nicely, and he kisses his way to a nice spot before digging his teeth in. His grip tightens in Geralt’s hair when Geralt’s hips buck, keeping himself from being displaced. The witcher keens needily underneath him, and Jaskier hums against his skin. Jaskier bites a bit harder before releasing and sucking at the mark, leaning back to admire his work. Witcher’s skin is hard to mark, but he's pretty proud of himself at the mark that he’s made. He leans down to add a couple more, enjoying the sounds that he coaxes out with each sharp point of pressure.

Bruises bloom in a pretty arc of teeth marks, darkest purple in the middle and fading toward a lighter pink at the edges along the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt is panting, hands clenching and unclenching against Jaskier’s sides, and Jaskier brushes his thumb lightly over one of the marks. Geralt’s eyelids flutter at the feeling, and Jaskier shudders at the rush of power it brings him to see Geralt this way.

“What got you so worked up, love? Hmm?” Jaskier keeps constant contact with Geralt in some way, sitting in his lap and rolling his hips lazily as the man comes back to him slowly. He’s sure Geralt is back when he blinks rapidly, hands grabbing onto him and holding him still. Geralt rolls his neck, stretching to kiss Jaskier before answering.

“The shirt.”

“Oh?” Jaskier purrs, rolling his hips down until Geralt tightens his grip again and presses him down firmly. Once Jaskier stops trying to move Geralt’s hands wander, skimming over Jaskier’s thighs and back up, hands sliding under Jaskier's shirt. Geralt's fingers tickle at the soft skin over Jaskier’s ribs before he brushes over one of Jaskier's nipples with the pad of his thumb. The younger man hums at the attention, draping his arms over Geralt’s shoulders and kissing the shell of his ear. “What about the shirt, Geralt?”

“S’mine.” Jaskier hums in encouragement, and Geralt shivers under him. “Makes you smell like me.”

“And you like that, don’t you? That all the others here know I’m yours?” The answering growl and roll of Geralt’s hips is all Jaskier needs, and he kisses just under Geralt’s ear, sucking at the sensitive skin until a faint mark blooms. “Geralt?”

“Mmm?” Geralt noses at Jaskier’s hair, breathing in softly as his hands wander once more, smoothing down Jaskier’s thighs. He isn’t wearing pants, and his smallclothes don’t hide anything and Geralt aches to touch.

“Can I- can I touch?” Geralt grinds his hips up, shuddering when Jaskier gasps so close to his ear, and Geralt does it again just to hear Jaskier make that same sweet sound.

“Only if I can.” Jaskier surges forward to kiss him then, whispering ‘deal’ against his lips as he fumbles to open the fly of Geralt’s pants. Geralt falls back against the bed, taking Jaskier with him and never letting him stray too far.

-*-

When Jaskier wakes up that next morning, he’s sore in ways he hasn’t been in months, and sated in a happy, boneless kind of way. Geralt is already up, no surprise there, and Jaskier groans, sitting up to get dressed. Geralt slips the shirt from last night on over his head, tugging his hair out of the collar and tucking the ends into his pants. It’s a bit rumpled, but Jaskier helps fix it as best he can while dressing himself for the day. He knows not to doubt how cold it is anymore, and dresses warmer than he would normally. Geralt waits patiently by the door, tying his hair back and holding a hand out to Jaskier once he’s got his boots on.

“Why are we up this early again?”

“Chores.”

“Right, right.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand and lets himself be guided, yawning and rubbing at his eyes down the stairs. He trusts Geralt enough not to let him fall, and together the two of them pad into the main hall. No one else seems to be around other than Eskel, toiling away in the kitchen, and though he eyes the bruises blooming along Geralt’s throat, he doesn’t comment.

“Vesemir’s waiting for you outside. Jaskier, you’re with me.”

“See you at breakfast.” Geralt presses a kiss into Jaskier’s hair before heading outside, leaving the bard and the other witcher alone. Jaskier wanders over, wringing his hands, and Eskel nods toward the space next to him.

“Roll up your sleeves, we’ve got bread to make.”

“Bread?” Jaskier does as he’s told though, and spends the better part of an hour learning the basics of doughworking from Eskel. Once they’ve got the bread in what Jaskier assumes is a huge version of a stereotypical stone oven Eskel has him wipe up and begin to cut up the vegetables they'll need for the day. Jaskier falls into the rhythm of work easily, moving past Eskel without crashing into him and tossing vegetables into a pot set to simmer over the fire until lunchtime. He even takes the time to tidy the kitchen up a bit until Lambert and Geralt come inside, shoving each other and laughing on their way to get food. Jaskier watches them fondly, snapping a spoon across Lambert’s knuckles when he tries to nose around the stew and shooing him away. Eskel gives him a proud smile and winks, heading off with his brothers to sit down and eat.

Jaskier leans against the counter watching them for a moment, and jumps when he hears footsteps come up next to him. The witcher next to him has to be Vesemir, based on the grey hair and fact that the only other witchers here are all at the table in front of him.

“So, you’re the bard he kept talking about, hmm?”

“And you’re Vesemir, his father?” Vesemir nods, arms crossed across his chest.

“Tomorrow morning, get up a bit earlier. The chickens need tending if we’re going to have enough meat and eggs for the winter.”

“Yes sir.” Jaskier is sincere, looking toward the witcher to find Vesemir looking back. He doesn’t feel trapped like he usually would; instead he finds it’s more like Vesemir is reading him, and hasn’t found anything particularly horrible yet.

“Hey bard! Eat before everything gets cold.”

“Coming!” Jaskier turns to Vesemir to ask if he’s going to eat as well, but the older witcher has disappeared, and Jaskier blinks in confusion before grabbing himself a plate and going to join the others at the table. He settles himself on the bench next to Geralt and digs into his food, enjoying the fluffiness of the eggs and the lovely crust on the bread from yesterday. Jaskier is halfway through his plate when a sly look comes over Lambert’s face.

“So,” he begins, and Jaskier looks up. Lambert uses his fork to gesture toward Geralt, raising a brow. “Was that you?”

“Lambert.” Geralt starts, but Jaskier holds up a hand and Geralt goes blissfully quiet.

“I would take care, Lambert.”

“What, is it crime to wonder who made my brother's neck look like an ekimmara's amateur work?”

“Unless I deign to tell you, I’d prefer if you keep your thoughts to yourself.” Jaskier’s eyes narrow minutely, and Eskel looks between the two of them. They’re two untested forces, and no one is sure who’s going to break first.

“What, can’t handle a few hard questions? If so, I’m surprised you made it up the mountain.” Jaskier stands up, pushing the table up against Lambert, and in spectacular form, punches him directly in the nose. Lambert goes crashing off of the chair and takes the table with him, swearing. Geralt stares, wide eyed at Jaskier with his fork still poised for a bite. Eskel had picked his plate up well before, and he's clutching it in mute shock as Lambert rages on the floor. He sits up, gripping his nose and shoving the table off of himself with the other hand. Eskel looks between his brother, then the bard, then back to his brother, and begins to laugh. Louder and louder until he’s doubled over trying desperately to pull in breaths between laughing at Lambert and telling him he finally got what he deserved.

Jaskier shakes his hand out as Eskel laughs, blood staining his skin red. He stoops down and plucks a napkin from the table, using it to dab at his knuckles with mechanical indifference. There’s a messy crunch as Lambert rights his nose, and Eskel finally stops laughing long enough to help him off the floor. Geralt has abandoned his fork by now and comes to gently take the napkin from him, inspecting the skin carefully. Most of the blood seems to be Lambert's, but Jaskier has split two of his knuckles, and the skin around them is already bruising.

Geralt wipes away the blood best he can and glances up at Jaskier when he flinches. "Okay?"

"Fine." Jaskier's voice is light, almost forcefully so, but he smiles wistfully when Geralt gently kisses the first knuckle, then the second. "You know that isn't sanitary."

"No, ancient magic. Mothers have used it for centuries." This makes Jaskier smile, genuine this time, and he grips Geralt's fingers weakly. Jaskier turns to Lambert, watching as he presses a napkin to his nose to staunch the rest of the bleeding. Geralt is ready to get between them if Lambert decides to be spiteful, but instead he sees something like respect in Lambert's eyes.

"You're alright, bard. You're alright. Never had a human knock me flat."

"Pray you don't see me angrier." Jaskier replies with deadly seriousness. This time it's apprehension that shines in Lambert's eyes, and he gives a curt nod.

While Geralt goes to get something for Jaskier's knuckles the bard helps right the table, picking up cups and plates off the floor. It's a good thing they don't seem fond of fine cutlery, or Jaskier would be picking shards of ceramic off the floor. Instead all he has to do is use another napkin to gather the eggs and bread off the floor and dispose of it. Lambert helps once his nose has stopped bleeding, and waves Jaskier off when Geralt comes back to finish tending to him.

Jaskier follows Geralt a few steps away from the table, hopping to sit on the tabletop. Geralt nudges at his knee and steps easily between Jaskier's legs, taking hold of his hand again to look at it.

"In the hall, Geralt? You could at least wait until they'd left." The joke is weak but Geralt takes pity on him and chuckles, shaking his head.

"I'm sure they know to respect your privacy now." Jaskier hmms at that, hissing when Geralt presses a thumb into the bones of his hand. They shift uncomfortably, but nothing moves out of place and Geralt seems pleased with that. Once he's certain Jaskier hasn't broken anything he smears a sharp, pungent salve over Jaskier's knuckles and uses a bit of cloth to bandage his hand. "Good as new. No lute today."

Jaskier gasps, affronted, and presses his injured hand to his chest. "Whatever shall I do without it? How else am I to write my newest ballad? 'The man who punched the Prick'?"

Geralt wrinkles his nose, and Jaskier nods sagely. "You're right, the name could use some work. Back to the drawing board I suppose."

"Whatever you do, it'll have to be left handed." Jaskier winks, raising a brow, and Geralt snorts. He doesn't say it, but he gives Jaskier a look that says later.

-*-

Jaskier fits himself into their routine without much of a fuss after that; he gets up to tend the livestock with Vesemir long before anyone else, and joins Eskel in the kitchen preparing the day's meals after he's done. After breakfast the boys head for the training grounds while Jaskier makes for the library where he pours over tomes no one has seen in decades and gathers information for his songs. Vesemir joins him when they're finished with training, and Jaskier spends an hour picking his brain before lunch. Despite his gruff exterior, Vesemir seems glad to have someone to talk to who doesn't try to piss him off. Lunch is a short affair, just a quick meal before everyone branches off to finish up final chores and take some time for themselves. Jaskier spends his time after lunch in the woods surrounding the keep, setting out traps for the smaller game and keeping Geralt close for anything bigger. Dinner is the longest affair of the night, where the ale is broken out and Lambert insists on at least three songs. The first time Jaskier had tried to sing Toss A Coin he'd been met by three golden glares, and hasn't touched the song since. That was fine though, because Jaskier had plenty to sing about and more that no one had ever heard yet.

It’s nearing the end of their first month that the keep seems to get busier than ever. The snow has fallen thick and there’s no more going out into the forest, so Jaskier spends most of his days stuck inside. The witchers still train despite the biting cold, and Jaskier insists on helping them clear the training grounds of snow when he has time. None of them will let him stay outside for more than an hour, not when he shakes the way he does even with three or four layers on. The other witchers seem to grow more distant too, as if the end of the month meant something that Jaskier wasn’t privy to.

They’re in bed after retiring early from dinner, Jaskier in one of Geralt’s shirts when Geralt tugs him a bit closer and tucks his nose into Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier hums softly, never glancing up from his book but reaching to take Geralt’s hand in his.

“Hmm?” Neither of them need many words anymore, and Jaskier doesn’t want to break the cozy atmosphere they have by talking. Geralt presses a kiss against his temple, and Jaskier smiles. Geralt doesn’t seem to want to say anything either, he just seems to want to hold Jaskier a bit closer and smell his hair. They sit that way for a little while until Geralt sighs, tugging on his shirt and whining softly. Jaskier turns, kissing Geralt gently before going back to his book, but that doesn’t seem to sate him this time. He whines again, and Jaskier finally closes his book and tucks in on the floor under the bed. “Bed time?”

Geralt nods, and Jaskier slides down further under the covers, bundling Geralt into his arms and closing his eyes. Geralt tucks his head under Jaskier’s chin, nose pressed against his collar bone, and throws an arm over Jaskier’s stomach. The fire in the hearth is still roaring merrily, but the light isn’t enough to bother either of them and Jaskier drifts off to sleep warm and cozy.

A breeze rustles Jaskier’s hair later that night and he shivers, huddling under his covers to try and block out the cold. He’s almost drifted off to sleep again when he realizes there shouldn’t be a breeze at all, and he sits up in bed. Moonlight floods his room, washing out the color of the velvet and casting everything in stark contrast. The bed next to him is empty, the sheets cold, and Jaskier frowns. Where in the devil could Geralt have gone?

The floor is icy when he slips out of bed, and he tosses a few more logs on the dying embers of their fire and hurries to yank on pants. He shoves his feet into his boots without socks and grabs whichever cloak is closest, which happens to be his. He heads out of his room with the singular task of finding where Geralt has gone, wrapping his cloak tight around him and shuffling down the steps. Geralt’s room a floor below his is empty, even more barren than he would have expected, so Jaskier carries on. He’s never been up this late in the night, and the keep is eerily silent without any arguing witchers or the crackle of a fire. He pops his head into the kitchen, thinking Geralt, with his bottomless stomach might have wanted a snack, but again he finds the room empty.

He’s about to head up to the library when he hears wood splintering and cracking outside, and Jaskier is heading for the huge doors of the keep without a second thought. He wouldn’t be cutting wood would he? The barn out back is full up, and besides, why would he do it so late? Jaskier follows where he thinks the sound came from and trudges through a couple of inches of snow to the courtyard. He hears the sound again, and this time he can tell it’s coming from the training yard. He doesn’t bother being quiet, breaths puffing out in front of him as he pulls in sharp, jagged breaths. He didn’t dress to be outside long, if at all, and he hurries to the training grounds so he can get Geralt to come back to bed.

A snarl ripples through the air as Jaskier gets closer, and he stops at the low wall of the walkway to peer over the edge. He looks just in time to see Geralt toss both Eskel and Lambert off of him, the two witchers flying through the air and landing nimbly in the snow. They charge back at him, and Geralt sweeps Lambert’s feet from under him, slamming the palm of his hand against Eskel’s chest. Eskel goes down wheezing, and Jaskier is running before he can think about what the hell is going on. He slips and slides down the path and rounds the corner into the training yard, staring in open mouthed horror as Lambert sends Geralt crashing into the scaffolding on the far side of the yard. Wood groans and cracks under Geralt’s weight, and judging by the damage it isn’t the first time he’s been tossed that way either.

“Melitele's tits, stop.” His voice is shrill in the cold air and he’s beginning to lose feeling in his toes as he stands ankle deep in the snow. “What the hell are you guys doing out here?”

Three pairs of cat eyes lock on him at once and he gets three different kinds of growls. Lambert starts toward him, snarling when Eskel grabs his shoulder and digs his fingers in. Eskel hasn’t looked away from him, but his voice is rough and full of barely concealed rage. “Go inside.”

“What are you guys doing out here? Beating each other in the middle of the night? For what?”

“Jaskier, you don’t have much time. Go. Inside.” Eskel’s voice is strange, strangled and blurry. The witcher glances behind him, toward the sky, and Jaskier glances back too. The moon is huge and yellow and so, so impossibly close this high in the mountains. The sight would be mesmerizing if it weren’t for the snarl and feeling of something warm and very, very riled up emanating behind him. He swallows, heart fluttering in his chest, and turns around slowly to find Geralt inches from him. Jaskier relaxes a bit, smiling, and jumps when Geralt’s hand comes up and grabs his arm tightly.

His fingertips dig in mercilessly and he gasps in pain, turning and placing a hand against Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, let me go.”

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” He grits out, grip loosening only marginally. “Inside.”

“Not without you.” Geralt snarls, shaking his head, and finally releases his grip.

“You don’t want me with you. Not tonight.”

“I do. Geralt, tell me what’s going on. Please.” His voice is pitifully soft in his own ears, and Geralt lets out a sharp breath before jerking his head toward the keep.

“Geralt.” Eskel’s voice is sharp, afraid, and Jaskier isn’t sure why. Lambert is shaking under Eskel’s grip, and Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand, leading him out of the snow and back toward the keep. Well, it looks like he’s leading, but he has a feeling Geralt is really herding him back inside instead. Jaskier grips Geralt’s hand tight, afraid that if he lets go Geralt is going to bolt back outside and he won’t get his answers. He shivers as he makes his way back upstairs, slipping into his room and shutting the door as quickly as he can to keep in the heat from the fire. Geralt stands resolutely by the door, back rigid and fists clenched. Jaskier tosses another log on to keep the fire going strong and unclasps his cloak, tossing it on the table.

“Geralt, what’s going on? I woke up alone and- and I’m not sure what I did or what’s happening to you but-” His voice wobbles, betraying him, and he turns around to see Geralt trembling. Jaskier pads closer, taking one of Geralt’s hands and kissing his knuckles one by one. He can feel the fine tremor that goes up Geralt’s arm at the contact. “Talk to me, please. Don’t lock me out.”

“It’s a witcher thing. We- monsters are strongest during a full moon- but- so are we. Energy has to go- somewhere.”

“So this happens every month? Is that why you always took longer contracts around the full moon?”

“Yes. Don’t wanna- hurt you.” Jaskier huffs, stepping a bit closer. Geralt takes a step back, Jaskier following, and he growls when his back hits the wall. “Jaskier, don’t-”

“You won’t hurt me. Not in any way that can’t be fixed, or any way that I would mind.” Jaskier rises up on his toes, brushing his lips against Geralt’s gingerly. He presses himself bodily against the older man, and Geralt’s hands come up to grab at his sides. Geralt whines, shaking, and Jaskier’s grin is serpentine. “You said the energy has to go somewhere, right? Well, I happen to know a couple of ways to get rid of energy without having to be in the cold.”

Geralt groans then, breathing out sharply and drawing Jaskier tighter against him. Jaskier captures his lips in a firm kiss, slipping a hand up into Geralt’s hair to tangle his fingers in the silver strands. Geralt leans forward, away from the wall, and Jaskier bends with him. “Jask, if I-”

“You won’t.” He whispers, and Geralt can feel his smile as Jaskier kisses him briefly. “And if you do, you’ll be back out in the cold for the night. Deal?”

Geralt nods, heat roiling under his skin and hands grabbing roughly at Jaskier. They’re about as close as they can be, but Geralt presses him closer anyway and catches his lips in a filthy, heated kiss. Jaskier moans into the kiss and laps into Geralt’s mouth, tasting his breath and jolting at what he finds. He isn’t sure whether it’s the moon or Geralt, but his fangs are long and sharp, and the way Eskel’s voice sounded garbled makes more sense now. It doesn’t deter Jaskier in the slightest, and heat licks down his spine at the thought of those teeth leaving pretty marks. Jaskier breaks away to kiss down the length of Geralt’s jaw, nipping gently.

Geralt moans suddenly, fingers digging into Jaskier’s sides as Jaskier kisses his neck, palming him through his pants and using his other hand to pin Geralt’s hips back. His head tips back against the wall, baring his neck, and Jaskier spends some time leaving small marks. Deft fingers tug at the ties of Geralt’s pants, and the older man jolts when Jaskier takes him in hand, tugging him out of his pants. He almost complains that his fingers are cold, but the temperature difference between them does something funny to his stomach, and he isn’t sure he wants Jaskier to stop touching him.

Jaskier huffs hotly against his neck, stroking him slowly and pressing his thumb against the head. He listens to every whine and twitch of Geralt’s hips, adjusting his grip and speed until Geralt is writhing back against the wall, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. One of Geralt’s hands lets go of Jaskier and he cups the bard's cheek, tipping his head up and kissing him desperately. The kiss is messy, but neither of them care, Geralt groaning into Jaskier’s mouth when Jaskier pulls back too soon. Jaskier’s eyes are dark, the pupil swallowing most of his iris, and he turns his head, nipping at Geralt’s thumb and smirking when Geralt twitches in his hand. “Be good.”

Geralt isn’t sure what in the hell he’s doing to be bad, but then Jaskier is sinking to his knees in front of him and all his breath leaves him at once. Jaskier glances up, gauging his reaction, and leans forward to place a wet, openmouthed kiss on the side of Geralt’s cock. He doesn’t stop there, humming and licking a long strip up the underside before taking the head into his mouth. Geralt’s hips twitch forward and Jaskier raises an eyebrow, lapping at the slit in what Geralt supposes is reprimand. He only whimpers in response, mind going blank when Jaskier hums, taking him further into his mouth. He bobs his head achingly slow, enjoying the weight of Geralt’s cock in his mouth and his taste on his tongue. Jaskier can feel his jaw complaining already, but he welcomes the soreness. They’d done a lot in the month that they’d been here, but Jaskier seems particularly fond of being on his knees whenever he can.

Geralt buries his fingers in Jaskier’s hair as he pushes deep but stops short of all the way, eyelids fluttering at the feeling. Jaskier’s mouth is so incredibly wet and warm around him, and he’s unable to help himself this time when his hips twitch forward. Much to his surprise Jaskier moans, hands coming up to grab the sides of his thighs and urge him forward. Geralt is gentle at first, pressing forward until his cock hits the back of Jaskier’s throat and then pulling back. Jaskier doesn’t let him get far, chasing him and swirling his tongue around the head. Geralt growls, fingers tightening in Jaskier’s hair in warning, but Jaskier is persistent, only stopping when Geralt snaps his hips forward roughly. The vibrations from Jaskier’s moans rock through him, and Geralt tips his head back, setting a rougher pace than he’d thought about before.

Jaskier doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, swallowing around him and tilting his head to make the angle easier. Geralt glances down, and the sight of Jaskier’s lips stretched around his cock, drool on his chin as Geralt fucks into his mouth makes his cock twitch hard. Pleasure washes over him in steady waves, pooling in his belly and making his muscles clench as he lets out a shaking breath. His hips stutter, Geralt moaning and tugging on Jaskier’s hair. He mumbles Jaskier’s name in warning, closer than he’d like to admit, and Jaskier moans, fingers pressing into Geralt’s thighs and urging him forward again. Geralt grips Jaskier’s hair tight, and he’s sure Jaskier will tell him to stop, to let go, but Jaskier bobs his head and sucks harder, all too eager to please. He doesn’t bother trying to warn Jaskier again, grinding into his mouth and shuddering as his release hits him, heat searing from his head to his toes. Jaskier takes him as deep as he can, nose pressed to his skin and throat tightening around him as Geralt comes, hips stuttering. His vision whites out as Jaskier pulls back, sucking and lapping at the head until Geralt is overstimulated and has to use his hold in Jaskier’s hair to keep him still.

He can feel his thighs trembling underneath Jaskier’s hands, and he tries to regulate his breathing as best he can as Jaskier pants, leaning into Geralt’s hand and whining softly. Arousal, sweet and heady, overwhelms any other scent in the room, and Geralt guides Jaskier to his feet. He uses his thumb to wipe Jaskier’s chin before leaning in, kissing him thoroughly and tasting himself on Jaskier’s tongue. Jaskier whines into his mouth, shifting, and Geralt stoops a bit, scooping the bard up easily. Jaskier wraps his legs around Geralt’s hips, muscled thighs flexing as his kisses harder, nips at Geralt’s lower lip and only pulls away to yank Geralt’s shirt up and over his head. Jaskier’s cock is hard against his stomach, and he grinds up, craving friction as Geralt carries him to bed. Geralt walks without really looking, and he grunts when his shins hit the bedframe and he tips forward. Jaskier gasps as they sway, and Geralt catches them before he squishes Jaskier on accident. Jaskier’s nails dig into his shoulders as his heart thunders, and Geralt snarls, pressing him back into the bed and grinding down.

“Fuck- Geralt-” Jaskier arches up against him, digging his nails in harder and gasping when Geralt bites at his neck. Geralt’s chest rumbles against his, and Jaskier realizes with a jolt that he’s purring. Jaskier drags his nails down across Geralt’s chest, leaving angry red marks, and Geralt trembles. Jaskier uses his heels to push at Geralt’s pants, sick of clothing being between them, and Geralt moves to help. Geralt is now blissfully naked, but Jaskier is still fully clothed and he fumbles with the fly of his own pants. His hands are batted away so Geralt can make quick work of the ties, and Jaskier groans when some of the pressure on his cock is lessened. He’s hard, painfully so, and he feels like he could come just from Geralt looking at him with those cat eyes of his. When Jaskier moves to take his shirt off Geralt stops him, eyes dark at the sight of Jaskier bare but wearing Geralt's too big shirt.

“The- more I hurt, the rougher I get-” He’s trying to explain best he can when his mind isn’t quite so jumbled, and Jaskier’s scent spikes with what Geralt can only describe as love.

“I won’t break.” Jaskier promises, cupping the back of Geralt’s neck and dragging him down into a kiss. And he won’t- he knows his own limits better than anyone could imagine, and he also knows what he wants. What he wants just so happens to line up with what Geralt needs in the moment. Jaskier slides his fingers up into Geralt’s hair and grabs a tight fistful, pulling and reveling in the snarl and snap of Geralt’s hips, arousal sweeping over him in waves. Geralt sits up, Jaskier losing his grip, and Jaskier tries to go with him, but Geralt pushes him back and leans to grab something from the nightstand. Jaskier knows instantly what it is and his cock throbs. “Wanna fuck me?”

Geralt growls low, nostrils flaring, and Jaskier is the one to crowd into his space this time, thighs bracketing around Geralt’s hips as their cocks slide together. The friction is delicious and Jaskier spends a moment just grinding down until he hears the pop of the stopper. Geralt has hooked his chin over Jaskier’s shoulder to see what he’s doing, and Jaskier shudders when oil-slick fingers dip between his cheeks, drawing tight circles around his rim. He croons at the sensation, grinding his hips forward and gasping when Geralt’s chin digs into his shoulder. Jaskier takes Geralt’s earlobe between his teeth and tugs, gasping into his ear when Geralt presses against his rim with a warm finger. Jaskier goes still, focusing on that one sensation as Geralt slowly pushes in. Jaskier moans, rocking his hips down, and Geralt presses a second finger in quickly after the first.

Jaskier whimpers at the stretch, squeezing around Geralt’s fingers and rocking between his fingers and his groin. Geralt shifts, pressing sharp teeth against Jaskier’s neck and rumbling when Jaskier’s cock twitches between them. Geralt thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way that Jaskier squirms and begs, whining when Geralt teases a third finger before pulling back and thrusting his fingers in again. Geralt’s skin is flushed, hot with the roaring fire at his back, but Jaskier has left the velvet pulled back and a cold breeze sweeps through the room. Jaskier is so close to coming, moving desperately between grinding down on Geralt and riding his fingers, and he still hasn’t added another finger. Jaskier slides his hands down Geralt’s back, over the many ridges of his scars, and rakes his nails back up fiercely, Geralt howling.

Jaskier is expecting more, aches for it, but he cries out all the same when Geralt shoves a third finger in him and crooks his fingers, rubbing mercilessly against his prostate. Jaskier’s release builds rapidly in his stomach, scorching through him, and he whimpers pitifully when Geralt’s other hand clamps around the base of his cock, squeezing tight.

“Wh- no, nonono Geralt please. Please.” Jaskier begs, writhing in Geralt’s lap as fingers crook inside him again, rubbing hard and making his cock dribble. Geralt doesn't seem to hear him anymore though, and he pulls his fingers out completely, waiting until he knows Jaskier isn’t going to come. Jaskier’s cock is flushed an angry red, and even the breeze coming from the old window makes him whimper. Geralt lifts him from his lap, turning him around and rearranging him the way he likes. Jaskier moves pliantly under his guidance, tucking a pillow under his chin as Geralt slides a hand down his spine and presses Jaskier’s chest into the bed. Jaskier hears the pop of the cork again, and he tries to turn his head to look back at Geralt to watch what he’s doing.

Geralt drapes himself over Jaskier’s back, fitting them together and lazily grinding his cock between Jaskier’s cheeks. Geralt has used plenty of oil, and every time the head catches on his rim Jaskier tries to angle so that Geralt can slide in, but Geralt just hums and adjusts his own angle, denying him a little while longer.

“Told me to be good, but then did that.” Geralt’s voice wavers with the purr that’s taken residence in his chest, and Jaskier whines. “S’like you don’t want to walk tomorrow.”

“I’d consider it a failure on my part if I can.” Jaskier gasps out, sliding a hand back to scratch at Geralt’s thigh. That small movement costs him, and Geralt snarls in his ear, bearing more of his weight down on Jaskier.

“Stop it. You don’t know-” Jaskier does it again, and then again, raking over that same spot until he’s almost certain that if he does anymore Geralt will actually begin to bleed. Geralt trembles against his back, jerking with every scratch, and Jaskier chokes on a breath when Geralt suddenly begins to press in, cock twitching weakly. He goes fast- hardly gives Jaskier time to adjust to the heady feeling of stretching so deliciously around his girth before he’s snapping his hips. One hand braces beside Jaskier’s head and the other grips his hip with almost crushing force, Geralt snarling and panting in Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier moans and whines at each hard press of Geralt’s hips, spreading his legs wider to create a more stable base as Geralt desperately tries to pound him into the bed.

Jaskier can feel his orgasm rushing up on him again, and he reaches back, grabbing a fistful of Geralt’s hair and tugging him down to kiss him desperately. He keens into Geralt’s mouth when Geralt shifts his hips, slamming against his prostate and shoving him over the edge. Jaskier clamps sinfully tight as he comes, pulling at Geralt’s hair and sobbing against his lips as he spills onto the bed sheets. Geralt doesn’t let up though, sitting up and planting Jaskier in his lap. This angle has Jaskier shuddering with each thrust, eyelids fluttering madly as Geralt grinds directly against his prostate. The feeling quickly becomes pleasurable to the point of pain, and Jaskier whimpers. Geralt’s lips curve into a smile against his, and he wraps one hand around Jaskier’s softening cock. Jaskier shies away from the touch, it’s too much, too soon- but there’s nowhere to go, and Geralt continues to roll his hips, grinding against his prostate and forcing Jaskier to fuck up into his hand.

Jaskier rocks between those two torturous sensations, crying out when he’s forced very quickly into a second dry orgasm that has him shaking like a leaf in Geralt’s lap. Geralt drops his hand from Jaskier’s cock finally, petting at his stomach and allowing Jaskier to settle heavily in his lap. He purrs in Jaskier’s ear, tugging the collar of his shirt out of the way and leaving soft, gentle kisses along the column of his neck. Jaskier focuses solely on breathing so he doesn’t pass out, whining whenever he shifts and Geralt’s cock presses deeper into him.

“Okay?” His voice is thick with arousal, but Geralt nuzzles sweetly at his neck and Jaskier can’t help but squeeze around his cock.

“Cruel, torturous witcher.” His voice cracks, wrecked from Geralt fucking his throat, and Geralt chuckles throatily.

“I warned you.” Jaskier hums, knowing he’d brought that particular punishment on himself and finding he can’t stop himself from pulling on the handful of Geralt’s hair he still holds. Geralt growls, pressing sharp fangs against the meat of Jaskier’s shoulder in warning. He mumbles against Jaskier’s skin, warm breath making him shiver. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Mmm, I think I’ll be okay. Haven’t even finished yet.” Jaskier pulls again and tightens around Geralt’s cock, calling Geralt’s name when he snaps his hips up roughly. Their skin slaps together obscenely as they settle into a rhythm- Jaskier lifting himself off as far as he can before Geralt drags him back down, thrusting up to bury himself deep. He can’t say he’s ever had someone fill him up quite like Geralt does, and the angle is more heavenly than he’s ever had before. It doesn’t take much more coaxing from Jaskier for Geralt’s hips to stutter, Jaskier giving one last harsh pull on his lover’s hair before Geralt is snarling, shoving up and spilling inside of him. Jaskier cries out when pain lances through his right shoulder, Geralt’s fangs sinking deep into the meat near his neck as he comes, holding Jaskier tight against him. Jaskier’s not sure that pain on this level is supposed to be hot, but he melts bonelessly back against Geralt, shivering as something akin to an orgasm washes through him. The feeling makes his legs tremble and his cock give a valiant twitch, but Jaskier is thoroughly spent and it’s all he can do not to fall asleep in Geralt’s arms right now.

Geralt rolls his hips up, grinding as he works himself through his orgasm before finally going still. Moonlight washes over the both of them, but it’s weaker, and Jaskier knows dawn isn’t too far off now. Jaskier releases his hold on Geralt’s hair, petting the tangled fibers down flat and crooning softly as Geralt comes back to himself. It takes a few minutes, but once he realizes Jaskier’s blood is in his mouth and his teeth are still very much sunk into Jaskier’s flesh he pulls back gingerly. Jaskier hisses at the pain that trickles through his shoulder as Geralt lets go, and twin lines of blood drip down his chest and soak into the black fabric of Geralt’s shirt. Jaskier tries to twist his neck to look back at Geralt, but the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through his shoulder and more blood trickles from the wounds. Jaskier settles down again instead, reaching to take one of Geralt’s hands in his for a moment and peeking out of the corner of his eye.

There’s blood on Geralt’s lips still, and some smeared along his chin, but the sight doesn’t bother Jaskier as much as it should. Geralt on the other hand, looks stricken, eyes wide and scared. He can smell the harsh copper of Jaskier’s blood, can taste it on his tongue, and shame sweeps through him when his cock twitches inside of Jaskier against his will. “I’m- I-”

Jaskier shifts in his lap, lifting up until Geralt slips out of him and he can turn to sit face to face in Geralt’s lap again. Despite Geralt’s growing horror at what he’s done, Jaskier’s eyes are bright and full of love, and he tips forward, kissing at Geralt’s neck before sinking his teeth deep in one smooth movement. Jaskier’s teeth aren’t nearly as sharp as Geralt’s and he hears Geralt’s skin crunch horribly before giving way. Despite the waning moon Geralt lets out a noise somewhere between a growl, a snarl and a hiss, grabbing at Jaskier’s thighs and wrenching their hips together. His shoulders twitch madly as fire lights along his nerves all over again. It’s hard to stay coherent with pain surging through his neck, but the moon’s influence is weaker and Geralt masters himself with a couple of deep breaths. Jaskier’s mouth and chin are bloody to match when he pulls back, and Geralt watches in helpless fascination as Jaskier licks his blood off his lips.

“There,” Jaskier says, sitting back a bit and smiling. “Now we match.”

“Jaskier, I could’ve-”

“Hurt me? As I said before love, you didn’t do anything that won’t heal, or that I didn’t want.” Jaskier’s gaze is soft and patient, and he presses his forehead to Geralt’s, just breathing for a minute. Geralt matches his ragged breaths with Jaskier’s slow and even ones, and soon his heart settles back into it’s slow, heavy patter.

“You- wanted that?”

“Every bit of it.” Geralt stares, waiting for Jaskier to break down and admit how scared he was- is- but Jaskier does no such thing. He only presses a soft, coppery kiss to Geralt’s lips and slides from his lap. “But, I wouldn’t mind if you felt inclined to sneak us a bath.”

Jaskier stays behind in the room while Geralt tugs on pants, feeling filthy but knowing he can’t wander the keep naked in this cold. Geralt has a tub in his room, and he brings that up the stairs before venturing down to hope that there’s enough hot water left in the kitchen to get the both of them sufficiently clean. His neck throbs with every step that he takes, but his wounds have already clotted and by tomorrow they’ll be halfway healed. Jaskier won’t have the same luck, even with the salve they have, but they’ll have to take it one step at a time. He’s in the kitchen, dumping more water into the pot and using Igni to hurry the warming process along when Lambert and Eskel come in, arms crossed.

Geralt ignores them, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms as well. Neither of them say anything as they go about grabbing a late night snack, but as always, Lambert is the first to crack.

“So,” He starts, and Eskel groans. “What happened to the whole not hurting him thing?”

Geralt shrugs, uncomfortable with the reminder, but Eskel comes to his rescue. “Please, look at his back and neck. I think Geralt had more to worry about than Jaskier did.”

That makes Geralt chuckle, and Lambert takes another good look at him before whistling low. “Damn, the White Wolf looks awful red.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt says, but there’s no malice in it and he has to keep himself from smiling. Eskel doesn’t let Lambert say anything else before dragging him away, and Geralt lugs the hot water up to the room. Jaskier is sitting at the table, staring at the bloody wound on his shoulder through the small mirror he’d brought with them. Geralt’s stomach flops as he nudges the door shut, and he pours the hot water into the tub to cool down some before they climb in. Jaskier has finally shed Geralt’s shirt, and he smiles when Geralt comes over to gently touch the skin near the wound. Jaskier shivers lightly at the touch, snagging Geralt’s hand and pressing a warm kiss to his palm.

“Right as rain, love. Want to help me with the sheets?” Geralt grunts, but doesn’t actually let Jaskier help in stripping down and changing sheets. The only thing he lets Jaskier do is get himself in the tub, sinking low into the water and sighing happily. He keeps his shoulders above the water, and when Geralt strips to join him Jaskier winces. “Sorry love.”

“Hmm?” Jaskier gestures for him to come close, and he traces soft fingertips over the marks on Geralt’s thigh. The blood vessels beneath his skin have burst, leaving dots of red-purple in nail shaped trails down the side of his thigh. Geralt bends down to kiss the top of Jaskier’s head, slipping into the bathtub behind him and resolutely ignoring the way the heat prickles uncomfortably at his thigh. “Right as rain.”

Jaskier laughs at the mimicry, leaning back against Geralt’s chest and closing his eyes. “So, this happens every month?”

“Making plans?”

“Well, I’d hate to get us banned from every inn we stay in.” Geralt laughs softly, tucking his cheek against Jaskier’s and gently kissing at his shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #major sluttiness #nsft #winter prompts

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

Text

Sun Shines Bright

I had the honor of co-writing a fic with my most dearest of soulmates @jaskierswolf for @lindianaj0nes birthday! Happy birthday Linda!!!!!!

All the good parts of this fic were written by Wolfie and the rest was me 😂

Lambden

Warnings: self image/body insecurities, mentions of past bullying

Lambert wasn’t sure what was brighter, the sun shining through the windshield of their car or the smile lighting up Aiden’s face as he made another joke. He practically radiated the sun’s rays back with how vibrant he was. Aiden’s personality was everything Lambert’s had never been, bright, optimistic, joyous. He loved the man more than words could possibly say.

A speedbump brought Lambert back to reality, grimacing as Aiden pulled into a parking spot at the beach. They wasted no time getting out of the car, already pulling off his shirt to soak in the warmth from the sun. He had been thrilled by the idea of a beach trip and the second it had become warm enough he had begun begging Lambert to join him. It had taken a lot of convincing on Aiden’s part and Lambert had really only conceded because he knew it would make his boyfriend happy. He honestly hated the beach.

The last time he actually remembered being at the beach, he had probably been thirteen or fourteen and he had been laughed at until he had retreated to Vesemir’s side to hide in the shade of an umbrella. Lambert had always been incredibly pale. His black hair and dark brown eyes stood in a stark contrast to how pale he always was. Even when he did spend time out in the sun he never really seemed to tan, he simply burned.

And sure, he and Aiden had been together for going on six months, and he had certainly seen Lambert in all states of undress, but he had never seen Lambert out in the sun like this. Lambert had been called ghostly before, complaints had been made that he reflected the light back, blinding everyone around him with his unnaturally pale skin. Until he began to grow redder and redder, of course and then the insults changed. His pink tinged skin had been compared to that of a hot dog and, when he really reddened, he had been compared to a lobster.

He wasn’t ready for Aiden to see him like this.

They were polar opposites in this regard, Lambert’s pale complexion was incredibly different from the deep olive tone that Aiden sported in the winter months which easily darkened a few shades when he was finally able to get out in the sunlight.

Aiden was just… beautiful.

A knock to the window beside him jolted him from his reverie. Aiden was standing outside the car, staring curiously at Lambert.

Lambert pushed open the door slowly and slid out of the car, shooting a hesitant smile at Aiden, “Sorry, got lost in my own thoughts.”

Drawing Lambert in close, Aiden tilted his head to the side as he studied his boyfriend closely, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lambert responded, trying and failing to sound unbothered.

Aiden reached up, framing Lambert’s face with his hands, “Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me, Lamb.”

“I just… don’t have the best memories of the beach.” Lambert turned his head, knocking away Aiden’s hands.

Aiden sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn’t make any attempt to push the matter. Lambert was grateful for that. He never reacted well when he was backed into a corner, having a tendency to lash out at the ones he loved. That was why he’d been alone for so long, to the point where he’d begun to feel unlovable.

Aiden had changed that.

Aiden had been the one to thaw out his heart, to carefully take down the walls that Lambert had spent years building up with every insult that was thrown his way. If he could trust anyone with this, it was him, but that didn’t stop the nerves from crawling over his skin. It didn’t stop his heart from fluttering in his chest like a damn hummingbird.

He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair only to realise his boyfriend had done exactly that just moments ago. He snorted. They’d just been berating Geralt and Jaskier for acting like an old married couple just the week before, and now he was doing the same thing with Aiden, mirroring his boyfriend without even realizing.

Fucking hell, he was smitten.

He took a deep breath as he tried to gather his thoughts, tried to find a way to explain the storm of emotions brewing inside him. It wasn’t easy, but then neither were relationships. That’s what everyone kept telling him, but Aiden was worth the effort.

Aiden was worth everything that Lambert could give him.

He reached for Aiden’s hand without words, lacing their fingers together. Aiden’s other hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the touch, letting it ground him. The warmth of Aiden’s palm against his skin calmed the storm, gave him strength to be vulnerable.

“Kids are cruel,” he started, squeezing Aiden’s hand and pressing his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “I was different, pale… too pale, a ghost.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aiden whispered, looking at Lambert with such adoration that he almost wanted to run. It was too much, too overwhelming, but his gaze didn’t waver. He was stronger than his past. He could learn to take the affection that his boyfriend was so determined to lavish upon him.

“Then I’d start to burn,” he continued before Aiden could distract him, he needed to finish. Perhaps he could get that closure that his therapist was always telling him about. “Fucking lobster!” he spat out, the word bitter in his mouth.

Aiden’s eyes were a burning fire. He was Lambert’s sun, but right now he was a blazing inferno of rage. “I wish I could murder every bastard who made you feel anything less than perfect,” his boyfriend hissed, gritting his teeth and tensing up his jaw.

Lambert rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to Aiden’s forehead. “No one is perfect, love.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not, and neither are you,” Lambert teased, “but imperfect is beautiful.”

Aiden snorted, shaking his head as he pulled Lambert in for a chaste kiss. “You’ve been hanging out with Jask too much.” Lambert shrugged. He wasn’t going to admit that he’d stolen the line from their friend. He was quite content to plagiarize. No one needed to know. “You’re a bastard, Lamb.”

Lambert grinned. “And you love me.”

Aiden’s own smile turned coy, and Lambert recognized the mischievous glint in his boyfriend’s eyes. His hands slid up the inside of Lambert’s shirt, and he placed a kiss to the corner of Lambert’s mouth. “I promise that I won’t laugh, sweetheart. I just want to enjoy a day in the sun with my boyfriend, and that includes rubbing sunscreen on your back, maybe even your front… anywhere I’m allowed.”

Lambert scoffed, rolling his eyes as he captured Aiden’s lips in a kiss, mostly to shut him up. Not only did Lambert burn easily, but he also blushed brighter than a tomato. It was embarrassing and Aiden loved it. “I’ll still burn,” he mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips.

“Even more reason to make sure I don’t miss a single spot,” Aiden practically purred.

“Can’t believe you’re trying to seduce me with sunscreen,” Lambert groaned, pressing his face into Aiden’s shoulder.

Aiden laughed, and just like that all the tension eased from Lambert’s body. Lambert hated how much the bastard could affect him, he wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to letting someone into his heart, but somehow Aiden had managed it. “Is it working?” Aiden asked, his fingers running up the length of Lambert’s spine.

“Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.”

“That’s a maybe, cocky little shit,” Lambert growled.

Aiden cupped Lambert’s cheek, pulling his face up so they were gazing into each other’s eyes. “I love you.”

Lambert smiled, a warmth glowing in his chest. “I love you too,” he mumbled back, his cheeks undoubtedly burning a bright red.

Aiden’s laughter was sweet, a balm against the hurt from his childhood, and Lambert knew that his boyfriend was laughing with him, not at him. He was just happy.

Happy.

That was a thought, Lambert smiled and ducked his head to hide his blush. He rather liked happiness, and happiness was found in Aiden.

“So,” Aiden began, “will you join me on the beach? If you don’t want to we can go home.”

Lambert shook his head, unable to stop smiling, “I’ll join you, but you better make good on that sunscreen promise.”

“You won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” Aiden responded, leading the way toward the beach.

Lambert looked around him, taking in the brilliantly blue sky and the sun's reflection off the waves of the ocean and felt peace. It was long past time for him to make some good associations with the beach and with Aiden by his side, this would undoubtedly be the best association he could make.

Check out my masterlist!

Tag list: @stinastar @feraljaskier @bastardofmothman @hailhailsatan @moonysrz @its-onions @elliestormfound @dapandapod @jaskierswolf @fontegagrilledcheese @negativenuggetz @veritasrose @feral-jaskier @kozkaboi @kueble @llamasdumpsterfire @selectivegeekwithstandards @dani-dandelino

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #fanfiction #lambden #laiden #lambert #aiden

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officerjennie · 4 years ago

Note

23 with all the Witcher characters you'll write

Anon.

-squishes your face-

Anon I love you. I wish you nothing but the absolute best life anyone could ever imagine, because you have given me such a gift.

Characters included here: Jaskier, Aiden, Lambert, Geralt, Eskel, Vesemir (let’s be real, he’s just there for the snacks. Catch him filling his pockets with nuts and pastries to horde in his office). Prompt: orgy

(edit most of the way through writing this: HOW THE FUCK DID I WRITE SOMETHING FOR THE PROMPT ORGY AND INCLUDE NO SEX, I JUST-)

Despite popular believe, Jaskier had the best ideas.

The entirety of his previous afternoon had been spent with preparations for the event. It had only taken a little bit of bribing to convince Vesemir that this wasn’t going to end horrifically or with some destruction or another, and really only another bottle of (very expensive) wine as the cherry on top to be given permission to use the mess hall in Kaer Morhen as the location. Though honestly, there wasn’t anywhere else that would have suited the party - so Jaskier was very glad no more bribing was in order there.

If he was honest, convincing everyone to take part in it was the easy part. One really didn’t know the definition of ‘sexually repressed’ until one met a horny witcher who was trying to deny himself the lusts of the skin and Jaskier could count on his first three fingers some witchers that suited that bill to the T.

The fact that he knew exactly five made that rather sad, but he digressed.

With some rather flirtatious invitations, Jaskier had secured participation, but that was only phase one of his plans. After that was making it an actual party, an event, because there was no way in all of the fresh hells that he would let this be even close to mediocre.

So, the table settings began.

At the end of the evening he found himself spinning in glee, hands clapped in front of his face, fingers touching his lips as he admired his handiwork. All done by himself - the boys could all thank him later for his hard work, since he’d wanted it to all be a surprise for the lot of them, and he had honestly outdone himself.

He hoped no one asked how he got the flowers during this time of year. Some secrets were better left untouched.

It was close to dark, the outside colors bringing in brilliant oranges and purples, when Jaskier set off to round everyone up. Geralt was the first person he found - a given, really. He’d spent enough time traveling around with him that he knew exactly where he’d be, the exact position he’d be in on his bed as he sharpened his sword (because his daggers would have been the first he sharpened, and it was too late in the evening for him to be starting on the task), no doubt trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking forward to anything or affected by the thought of such an event.

His rather tight pants gave him away, though. With a very firm kiss to his delicious lips and a swipe of his eager tongue, Jaskier let Geralt know it was ready. He tugged him up off the bed and patted his arse and sent him on his way, determined to find everyone else before he went down himself and got far too distracted.

The grumbling he heard from his witcher just made him smile more.

It took a little longer to locate Eskel, but Jaskier had figured it easier to find him than the others. Surprisingly he hadn’t been out visiting Lil’ Bleater, the little lady having already been put up snug in her bed, bleating out so cutely when she saw Jaskier that he had to spent a few minutes giving her some love before he went on his way. As he did, he couldn’t help but think about how witchers just...really did love to imprint on animals. Geralt with his precious Roach, Eskel with his classy lady. He wondered what sort of animal Vesemir might relate to, or Lambert?

Wait, no, he didn’t want to know that second one. He blinked in horror and set that thought firmly to a forgotten corner of his mind to grow dust.

Instead of finding Eskel with his adorable little lady, Jaskier ended up running into him in the kitchen. It had been the smell of some wondrous pastries that had clued him in, drawing him in like the hungry sweets demon he was, his fingers already itching to snatch some up and run away with his booty.

Not that he really needed to steal one. It was just more fun that way.

Sure enough, his nose had not lied to him. Eskel was pulling out some of his own handmade and famously delicious apple pastries out of the oven just as Jaskier peeked his head in, and his mouth watered just at the sight. Also, dare he say it, but Eskel was very cute with flour dusted on his spikey, scary shirt.

“Are those for little ol’ me?”

Eskel didn’t startle at his voice but Jaskier didn’t expect him to, used to the terrifyingly good hearing that came with all of the other witcher mutations. “You did say snacks, right? Figured these might do.”

“Oh! Oh, Eskel,” Jaskier felt his eyes tearing up, skipping into the kitchen and just stopping himself from flinging his arms around his now officially second favorite witcher. He skidded to a stop right in front of him, wringing his hands with emotion to keep from burning himself or Eskel (or accidentally impaling himself on said scary spikey shirt). “You really didn’t have to, I had the snacks all set up and planned out, but I’m ever so touched you did! Oh, these will make the perfect addition.”

“They have to cool first, Jask.” Eskel had a very knowing twinkle in his eye as he stepped around the bard, going to place the flat pan on a rack he had set up on the table. “I’ll bring them down when they’re ready, then you can have one.”

Jaskier pouted, eyeing the pastries and wondering if it was worth burning both his fingers and his tongue on them. Which, yes, it was, but he’d rather not disappoint the pastry chef. So he deflated with a deep sigh, content in knowing that he’d get some later - and that Eskel very much did not forget about his plans.

Vesemir was next on his list, and it only took one single stop by his office to remind him. All Jaskier had to do was knock on his door and wait patiently for Vesemir to say he could come in, then he poked his head in to see if he’d be joining them.

“I’ll be there.”

That’s all the answer Jaskier got, and he considered it good enough. With him checked off the list, there was only two left, and they would thankfully be easy to locate this evening. They weren’t usually - well, Lambert by himself was. But any time Aiden was joining them for the winter Lambert was made scarce, always off doing something with his dear friend, and that something was usually mischief.

Aiden was a wonderful and a horrid influence on Lambert, and everyone adored him for it. Most of the time.

Luckily, Jaskier already knew where they were. He’d heard their training all the way in the keep and made his way to the training grounds, stopping by Geralt’s room to steal one of his coats on his way, not willing to face the cold with his own considering Geralt’s were much warmer (even if much less fashionable - had the man never heard of color?).

As it happened, they’d just recently stopped their training session - luck considering how long they’d go some evenings. Both of them had abandoned their shirts at some point, maybe even right at the start of their training, though Jaskier wasn’t sure how either of them could stand it when the snow in some places came up to his shins.

Stupid sexy witchers. It was entirely unfair. Both the cold resistant part and the sexy part.

“Hey, little songbird.” Aiden stretched his arm back and rested it against his shoulder, dangling his sword behind him and watching as Jaskier’s eyes followed the movement. “S’time already?”

With his mouth suddenly quite dry, and what with his feet suddenly not knowing how to walk in snow, Jaskier had to stumble out some sort of an answer. Not that he could really hear it, he was paying too much attention to how Aiden flexed his arm just so - damn stupid sexy witchers.

Lambert laughed at him without a single ounce of pity, and if Jaskier’s brain wasn’t currently melting he would have pointed out that the same damn tricks worked on him if Aiden wanted them to. At least Aiden took some pity on him after that, heading back to the keep and shooting him a wicked grin as he brushed past him.

Even with all the snow, it was suddenly a bit too warm for the coat he’d nabbed.

But that - that was everyone. Jaskier shook himself, a wide grin blooming on his face, the cold air biting at his cheeks and nose. Everyone was headed to the mess hall, the snack tables and punch were all ready. Eskel had been kind enough to make some of his apple pastries which would be a big hit. And! Jaskier had procured enough lubricant that they wouldn’t all be regretting it come the morning.

He rubbed his hands together as he turned around, hurrying back to get to the mess hall himself. This, without a single doubt, was his best idea yet - and hands down a night that he would always remember.

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oh-for-fic-sake · 5 years ago

Text

A Witchers Pack Final

The time has come and the pups arrive but will everything be alright in the end for the unconventional family of witcher's

Masterlist

Warnings:Angst, Birth, Near death or a child, Swearing, Fluff

A/n: Oh My God...so I am very happy with this and this story is now complete! Yay! I hope you like it, I enjoyed writing it and want to thank @havenoffandoms for helping me come up with this, without them this would never have been written xxx

Taglist: @ayamenimthiriel @chynagirl13 @iloveyouyen

A Witchers Pack Final

You rocked slowly in front of the fire place in your and Geralt's room, one hand roamed your protruding bump. The rocking chair that had been found in the old nursery has been a god send ever since you couldn't get up from the bed, you'd been sleeping in it. You sighed it had been one hell of a night and you almost cried in relief as the sun began to peak over the mountains, long sleepless nights with only the fire for company were dreadfully boring and becoming painful, you hadn't gotten any sleep again you just pasted the time and rocked slowly pushing of the floor with your toes. You heard Jaskiers soft snores from the bed, he always stayed in here with you whilst Geralt was away on contracts. He would be back at some point today with Lambert and Eskel, they were meant to be back a few days ago wanting to be back for the birth. The birth you knew was close, it had to be if it wasn't you don't know how you was going to get them out, with the size you were it was becoming a real worry, sighing the shook the thoughts away. You turned your head and peeked threw the bars of the crib holding Rebbeka, she was sleeping soundly still clutching her rabbit that seemed to go everywhere she went at fifteen months she was already a stubborn little girl headstrong...She had everyone wrapped around her little finger and the little bugger knew it. She was a beauty her eyes had not changed one bit, still had calm light blue irises that were wide and attentive, her hair was a little lighter now longer to resting in thick loose curly waves at her shoulders soon you would be able to pull it back into pigtails.

She was still small but she didn't let that stop her. She was a perfect combination of her father and papa ,she explored with no fear getting into all sorts of mischief, becoming an early walker just to try and unsheath one of the knifes hidden in Geralt’s boot!. No one knew how she spotted it but that was just her all over she was curious to curious and a determined little madam everyone needed eyes on the back of their head when she was toddling about. But she also knew who to run to when things got a little to hairy...And no it wasn't always Geralt when he would catch her doing something naughty and scold her, she would always stop and look around and you can guarantee if Vesemir was near by she would drop to the floor and crawl as fast as she possibley could to her grandpa reaching for him whilst throwing Geralt cautious looks over her shoulder. It was quite comical watching her tuck her self into Vesemir babbling at him, clearly trying to get her father in trouble. If Vesemir wasn't around she would just give the great white wolf the run around... Then there was the time she climbed the stairs for the first time, he all but died when he found her precariously balanced half way up the stone stairs to your room playing with her snuggles. He could never keep a stern face for long always cracking when she would give him a cheesy smile and giggle at him reaching for a cuddle.

You smiled to yourself rubbing your tummy in long circular strokes trying to ease the tension, this pregnancy had been tougher and easier for different reasons. It was tougher longer much longer than with Rebbeka you was sitting on a full eleven months now, just over. It was concerning the others but you reasoned that if they had any mutations they might take a little longer to arrive ,as long as they were healthy you didn't care. Moving around was much harder this time as your stomach was huge and you had a much larger appetite e you couldn't move or sleep or do anything really. But then through all that you was thankful you wasn't on the road, you definitely wouldn't have been able to manage it. And thank the gods you didn't have much to do here either, you mostly walked around the keep spending time with Jaskier and Vesemir while the others were out on contracts. The man enjoyed having new people to share his stories with and you was thankful for them, not only did you learn about various monsters and such it also helped calm you down, took your mind off of things when you became irritable. This time around you had succumb to nesting, fidgeting and tweaking the cribs positions,tidying up and cleaning sorting through everything you had all gathered together for the children, most of the clothes and toys came from Lambert and Eskel. Who both had money on the gender, Lambert was certain you were having girls ,Eskel boys which helped in a way because you had a dresser of clothes for each. Vesemir had quietly began writing his more... Age appropriate stories in a journal he found for you,Jaskier and Geralt to read to them as they grew. Much to the younger Witchers horror many of the stories included tales of them as boys and first encounters with monsters making you and Jaskier cry with tears of laughter at the messes they got into... More so Geralt and Eskel. Jaskier may or may not have composed a few songs from the stories to use as lullabies for the pups.

The three of you had decided that the arrangement would stay the same for the new additions, Jaskier would be their papa and Geralt their father which had been a big weight off your shoulders. You huffed rocking faster closing your eyes wincing as your back ached still. But the aches wasn't as bad as the pains not only of your stomach stretching to house the pups but they were strong. To strong. The kicks and punches were definitely something to do with Geralt's witcher blood, they had to be Rebbeka was never this strong, more often then not you had been made bed bound by the shear force of a kick to the ribs, or bladder the bruises seeping through to your stomach clear as day or they would wind you to the point of nearly passing out and in the worst cases you would end up spitting blood which worried everyone. They all agreed that the new pups have indeed inherited there fathers more peculiar genes and everyone had pushed you to take it easy, one wrong move and one of the children could really hurt you. it was one thing to be hit by a witchers strength from outside where your bones and muscles are some form of protection...But they were inside and there was nothing softening the blows.

You winced getting up as Rebbeka whined her large blues staring at you through the bars of her crib. slowly you waddled over to her grunting as you pulled her up making your way over to the changing table making quick work of her nappy then set her on the bed to wake Jaskier. She giggled scrambling up the cover sitting on his tummy

"pap..pap!" she bounced on him calling him making him groan as she jumped giggling squeezing the air out of him. quickly he moved holding on of her arms making sure she wouldn't fall and laughed at the bright child.

"Yes yes I'm up....I'm up" he huffed looking around the room spotting you

"You look like hell...no sleep again?" you pouted sitting on the bed by his feet shrugging Rebbeka giggled as Jaskier tickled her a little making her pull at his fingers making him chuckle.

"I'm used to it...can you help me down with her...I cant stay up here much longer" he smiled nodding rolling Rebbeka over onto the bed and covered her with the blanket as he rose making the pup giggle and try to wrestle her way out throwing his legs over the bed pulling on some clothes then quickly pulled the blanket from the squirming child

"boo!" she screamed then laughed as he made her jump then picked her up helping you down the steep stairs with Rebbeka on his hip making your way into the grand hall.

"AH! oof! oolf! ah ah ah pap oolf!!" Rebbeka squealed in delight as she noticed the three witchers had returned each holding there own cup full of what you presumed was herbal teas. You had to cover your mouth as you saw Geralt’s face as she called him...She was to small to call him Father and had somehow picked up the habit of calling him wolf....or oolf as she managed it, you watched as she all but kicked out at Jaskier making grabby hands to Geralt, after all he had been away for Three weeks.Jaskier put the squirming pup down before he dropped her and Geralt quickly found himself wrapped around Rebbeka as she clambered up at him. you smiled moving slowly down the length of the table settling down beside him giving a chaste kiss to his lips only to be growled at by your pup making you laugh

"I wonder where she got that from?" you said giving Geralt a look as Rebbeka continued holding his hair like reins and tucking her face into him, you moved back in your seat wincing again as your tummy tensed, it had been happening on and off all night that's why you couldn’t sleep. Eskel laughed as he watched the whole scene unfold, then saw your wince as you cupped your bump

"Whats wrong?" he asked seriously all mirth gone suddenly you had everyone's attention

"I...I think they are getting restless....I'm getting twinges is all wont be surprised if they aren’t here by the end of the week" Geralt looked at you across the table nodding bouncing Rebbeka taking a deep breath.

"If anything changes....let us know" you nodded pulling a cup from the table making your own tea adding honey. you missed the look the witcher's shared between them selves.

Over the next couple of days you noted that you were never alone one of them was always with you even when you bathed, tho if it was anyone other then Geralt of Jaskier they had to be outside of the door...Geralt had nearly ripped Lambert a new one and was only stopped by Vesemir knocking some sense into him. Currently you was sitting in the small library with Vesemir cured up leaning on him as he told you of a particularly tricky nymph contract he had Taken Geralt on as a young man, Rebbeka was having a the time of her life with the new toys from her uncles recent travels scattered about her on the rug.

"And then Geralt being the younger more rash man he was decided that he would try to out seduce The water nymph...You can imagine how I found him the next morning in the spring, he was lucky she was only after the pink pearls in his pack or-" mid way through his sentence he stopped and pulled back his yellow eyes roaming your body. You pulled back worried automatically cupping your tummy. "What is it?" he shifted moving you slightly then you felt it..Your dress was wet and so was the cushion below you. You gasped and swore face burning bright as you gathered your skirts making to stand thinking you had another accident courtesy of the pups lounging on your bladder but he stopped you keeping you seated.

"Its not...I can smell it and that isn't...They are coming its time" you opened your mouth to argue but stopped and looked down, they had been still, just like Rebbeka you hadn’t paid no mind thinking it a blessing as you managed for first uninterrupted night in weeks, you then gazed back to him frightened grabbing him tightly worried, his own concerned gaze did nothing to stem your on fears, the primal fear of birth suck in. He smoothed your hair hushing you.

"Don’t panic...It's going to be okay...I've got you" you gulped taking a deep breath. He moved quickly removing himself from your grasping hands calling over Rebbeka who crawled over to him letting him pick her up. Then made for the door opening it.

"GERALT! JASKIER ITS TIME!!" you took deep breaths as you tried to prepare yourself for whats to come in. Digging your fingers into the padded surface of the twoseater, in a matter of moments the room was full of witchers all trying to be useful, you would have laughed had you not been quivering in fear. Geralt looked to you then the others.

"Everyone ready?" they nodded quickly dashing from the room determination on their faces you didn't have time to question them as Rebbeka was placed in Jaskiers arms Vesemir quickly blowing a small puff of powder into her face making her cough a little then he moved casting a sign and telling the child to sleep, within moments she was sleeping peacefully in her papa's arms. As this happened you was quickly picked up by Geralt you whimpered at him as an almost pitiful tugging began on your stomach muscles.

"Geralt what? what did Vesemir? where are we going?" he hushed you and continued walking swiftly down into a basement type room it would have been dark had it not bee full of light candles you could see a small single bed that had been moved to rest atop of a table making it higher. You gasped when you saw a few tall shelves full of different vials by the side of it. Lambert was busy counting herbs and various potion names out to Eskel who was warming some water by a huge open fire place.

"G-Geralt what is this place?" he sighed and gave you a grim look. He didn't want to tell you that you was going to be giving birth here...In the very chamber he and the others had undergone their mutations, but it was the only place in kaer morhen that had the apothecary ,magical and medical necessities that they needed. they had all decided reluctantly that this was the best place, incase there was any problems no one knew what mutations or issues the pup's would have but this was the best equipped room they had.

"It's where we were made....it has everything we might need for them...If thing begin to....Its got medicine and Lambert can make any potion or elixirs we may need...I'm sorry you have to bring them into the world here but we didn't have many options." you gulped as he laid you on the bed you tried calming down as you looked up into the ceiling seeing many terrifying vials and instruments hanging you closed your eyes looking away holding Geralt’s hand tightly, he squeezed back. You looked at him frantically as yous tummy tensed this time bringing the first sharp pain, like someone twisting a blade in your gut. You gasped panting holding your stomach. He looked down placing a hand on yours Jaskier quickly placed Rebbeka on the array of pillows laid out for her and came up beside you, warely looking above to the instruments hanging around you.

"Geralt...Promise me that....If Its me or them choose them....Promise me" the others stopped and it was only then that you noticed Jaskier as he gasped then looked to the others severe looks. Geralt leaned down placing his forehead to yours looking hurt and lost.

"It...It wont come to that....That’s why we are here You will be fine all of you" you panted curling with another pain biting your lip grunting and hissing as this contraction upped the ante it lasted longer this time making you swear,once the pain passed you stayed there and gave him a kiss. whispering to him desperately.

"Promise me!" he swallowed and nodded unable to speak he looked to Jaskier who gripped your other hand.

"It will be okay, we will take care of them if..." he trailed off Geralt snapped at him but you stopped him,Jaskier understood your need for that reassurance. you squinted smiling tightly as another pain made your body tremble, you looked around frantic.

"Rebbeka?!" Vesemir appared at the bottom of the bed.

"She is here, I put her into a light sleep....well deep enough that she will not wake down here, we did not want her to see all this and be frightened" he said waving around to the torturous looking instruments.

"She is over there by the fire, see?" you tilted your head around and nodded then quickly slammed your head back as another contraction tore threw you and you screamed feeling one child shift lower, settling right at your cervix the pain didn't relent as they stayed there. you shook your head and tore at the blankets.

"I-Its not......Not stopping!!" you cried out confused as to why this pain didn't fade ass the others had. Vesemir wasted no time in holding you high off the bed letting your packmates tugged your skirts up. You moaned and screamed as the new position made your back spasm and cramp. Finally having enough of wrestling with the fabric Geralt handed Jaskier a knife cutting and ripping it away fro you and lifted your knees. Lambert came over with a tiny vial filled with a whitish grey liquid and dropper.

"Open, this is for the pain, it was used a few decades ago for birthing pains" you did open your mouth

"lift your tongue" you did as instructed and hear him count the drops once he reached five he moved away. you tensed again as another wave of pain crashed over you, you whole body trembled and tensed you screeched out.

"IT'S NOT WORKED LAMBERT!!" he sighed at you and waved of your anger as you laid back cursing him out then as quickly as you could catch your breath another pain came this time you felt the need to push. Wasting no time you moved up to your elbows and feeling Geralt and Jaskier's hovering hands around you, they knew you were working on instinct and was merely there for moral support, you grunted grinding your teeth and curved yourself around digging your heels in the bed and pushed. you panted and dropped your head to your chest taking deep breaths as you had a moment of relief. Geralt moved his hand around concentrating feeling the pup.

"They are low...Very low the next push or one after should do it..." he said you smiled quickly at him, thank fuck!

"That’s will be quick! most humans are in this part for hours!" you heard Eskels voice from somewhere in the room

"She's omega, this is what she was made for. Her births will always be fast her body will only start going into true labor when she is already...open and able to pass the child... She has been slowly moving them lower since breakfast its why I kept her with me in the library" you looked to Vesemir shocked and went to shake your head at him going to argue but was cut of by another scream pushing with all your might baring down physically feeling the pus shift lower and lower until. Your high pitched screech took on new heights as you felt yourself bare the pup. the witcher's couldn't help but cover their sensitive ears as you cried out. Suddenly Geralt was there below you, this time not freezing or faltering he moved swiftly taking the soft cord from Jaskier tying it around the umbilical cord and cutting the child's bond from you with the curved knife used on Rebbeka. you held you breath for a few seconds as a deafening silence echoed in the room for a few moments freighting everyone. Suddenly there was a small gasp and cry form the pup you tried sitting up wanting to see your child. Vesemir moved behind you supporting you, from here all you could see was a small pink skinned bundle in your alphas arms wriggling their tiny fists about definitely not happy to be out in the cold room. Eskel made his way over holding his breath as he dragged over the warm water and cleaning rags, a crib was already beside your bed. You swore as the next pup made their was south

"Geralt!" he quickly snapped his gaze from the pup handing them to Eskel who carefully moved them to the water cleaning them gently. You cried out as the whole process started again a pain tore through you, tho you was exhausted and wanted to sleep you were more then ready to get this over with, the only sounds echoing the room was that of your cries and the newborns wails after another four contractions you whined. Laying back you looked at Jaskier gulping, you was running out of steam fast, you closed your eyes shaking your head at him. You couldn't do this.

"I-I cant...I'm sorry I cant do this....You have to-to cut them out please...Don’t let my child die!" he patted your hand tears falling as he glanced at Geralt who was frantically looking you over not believing what he was hearing.

"You are stronger than this...Please don't-dont give up!" you panted smiling to Jaskier"I'm done Jaskier, I cant do this....not this time I'm to tired" you let your tears roll down your cheeks barely wincing as another contraction hit unable to even twitch at it feeling Geralt’s eyes snap to you as he seemed to take in your weakened state. Shaking his head as his blood began running cold, his chest clenching.

"No!-No you...Y/n please...You can do this omega I know you can-" you closed your eyes then gulped, you knew the pup wouldn't survive if it wasn't out soon, you didn't have time.

"What is it?" he stopped and looked at you then to Eskel who was now swaddling the small pup.

"What-What is it?" you heard your alpha ask as you moved back resting panting yet still trying to see your new pup.

"Boy....It's a boy, Y-you have a son Geralt!" Geralt stole a glance at the now clean pup freezing as he saw it. Then crowded you

"Y-you hear that..We have a boy...Small and tongs....Please you can-I know you can do this" you winced at him

"It's not-I don't think its getting lower...We don't have time please Geralt...Save it...I'm tired" you closed your eyes pressing your head back to the pillow trying to sink into the mattress wanting to try and gain a bit of your strength. Lambert looked over to his white haired brothers devastation, then the child. He steeled himself and looked around the chamber seeing the sectioned off corner where the failed witchers were placed before being buried, he looked down growling.No. This would not happen, this chamber has to many lives to its name it will not have any more. He moved to the side of the bed pulling the child from Eskel moving so you could see him.

"You can do this! Look the very first born witcher....Not a regular pup a witcher...Look at him...Your son...Yours.. And he Needs his mother....W-We all did, but him more so than us" you turned facing him coming eye level with two amber eyes looked back at you, with the initial rush of blood now settled he was pale.... like porcelain and his hair tho it was wet you saw how pale it was, he wouldn't have pure white like his father but it would be silver, a bright shining silver. You moved a hand out to him, his cat like pupils dilated honing in on you he whined trying to reach for you. He knew who you were. He was definitely his fathers son.

"You are the only woman to manage this....And any woman strong enough to carry a witcher is strong enough to birth them... don't give up...Don't give up on them" you took a deep breath nodding to him moving forward, now seeing exactly what you would be missing you crawled forward all thoughts of giving up washed away as you kneeled on the bed. You grasped both Geralt and Jaskier's hands closing your eyes as a wave of determination washed over you finally you felt it the second the pain began you pushed with all your might not even taking a moment to breath you continued bearing down willing your child to join their brother once the contraction stopped you didn't let up, the new position had helped and the pup was just there you curled down with a final breathless shout as you pushed with your stomach muscles then as quick at the pain came it stopped as the pup fell right into Vesemir's waiting hands quickly he tied and cut the cord but the pup did not cry, it did not move, you waited nearly a whole minute before the gravity of the situation finally hit you. You looked on in horror as you took in their appearance .Blue. Your child was a deathly shade of blue. Not breathing. You screamed your anguish as Vesemir all but ran across the small space to the table with Lambert close behind with the pup, he was holding it carfully as he walked rubbing their back and chest trying to get their heart pumping.

"NNOOO! NO IT THEY CAN’T BE!" you screamed trying to stagger off the bed to your pup but was held still by Geralt, you beat at him feebly as he held you close keeping your head in his chest motioning for Jaskier to help calm you, he was terrified but he knew his family would do everything they could, he trusted them and it was decided among themselves that he would steer clear if this happened, he would console his mate. He tilted his head down trying to hold himself together as you fell to pieces in his arms.

Meanwhile Vesemir and Lambert was making quick work rubbing the pup trying to get blood flow clearing their airwaves of an blockages. there was a tiny puff of air but both witcher's saw as the pup tried taking a breath, it wasn't ill it was weak. Tired to tired to breath on its own. They nodded to each other and worked harder doubling their efforts. Vesemir moved down breathing into the tiny body still frantically rubbing the child's chest and sides, again they struggled for air. It was promising.

"Lambert the White raffards decodation...Quickly!" Lambert moved pulling down the small vial popping the cork and placing some in a pipett then handed it to Vesemir, tilting the small pups neck opening its mouth quickly he moved letting a few drops loose then rubbed the pups throat making sure it swallowed. Lambert winced as your wails continued, he moved pressing his own mouth over the pups, if they could keep those tiny breaths going long enough for the potion to work then he would be fine...He another boy...He will not die in this chamber...Not while he was here. Finally after what had felt like hours but was just a few terrifying moments the child screamed out his first breaths joining his brothers own chorus. Vesemir moved resting both hands on the table where the pup laid crying and screaming his little lungs out. And the old witcher wouldn't have it any other way. he garsped him quickly making his way to the three of you, who were so lost in grief you did not hear him. Carefully he moved Geralt back placing the boy in your arms then motioned for Eskel to place the first born there to. You froze feeling your arms full with two children.

"Y-you...You saved it? how? oh my god!Thank you! thank you so much!" you cried tucking yourself over the two, healthy breathing pups. Geralt and Jaskier joined both smiling wide enough to make their cheeks hurt. The relief of holding the two pups was unlike anything you had felt. you looked as Vesemir patted Geralt on the back.

"Two boys Geralt, you have your work cut out for you...I can’t help but think this is karma for all the stuff you pulled as a young'en...Good luck your going to need it" you pulled back seeing that Vesemir was right you held two sons. you looked at them both, identical silver hair amber eyed pups.

"Please tell me you have names ready?" you looked up at Geralt then Jaskier. who both nodded Geralt ran a finger over the oldest face.

"Aleksy...." he said making you smile then jaskier moved a hand to the younger boy

"Casmir..." you smiled two strong names...Defender of man and keeper of peace. If they were anything like Geralt and Jaskier you knew they would live up to their namesakes... you moved to feed Aleksy as Geralt moved Casmir to the still warm bath ready to clean him off and wrap him in a blanket to keep him from the cold.

"Can we not have any more for a while? please I don't think I can go through that again" you said moving back to lay down as the other witchers cam around crowding you keeping the pups in their sights. Geralt huffed a laugh

"I will let you know in two weeks" you huffed then whined.

"Oh no you don't, knot or not we are not doing that again....you'd never stop at that rate" he laughed as he moved patting Casmir dry. you sunk into the bed relaxing.

"Would you like to wake Rebbeka now?" you thought about it and nodded.

"Yes but I'm going to sleep after I've fed these two I'm exhausted" Vesemir hummed stopping Eskel in his tracks.

"Well should wait until they are fed and we are out of here" he said motioning to the room. you smiled pulling the man down kissing his cheek.

"Thank you..I mean that, I owe you and Lambert his life" he smiled patting your head."Anything for family"

Time skip five years

You huffed walking down the corridor Vesemir close behind you, you had been looking for the pups for over an hour, since you was informed they had snuck away from Vesemir as he was tying to teach them about some of the less scary monsters. Over the last five years the twins had demonstrated there abilities and it was decided they would be trained as witchers, not one to be left out Rebbeka was also beginning to train. She would never undergo a mutation or trial but if she could brew potions and decodations and have the knowledge to defeat monsters then she would definitely be able to follow in her fathers footsteps.....Somewhat. The boys on the other hand were a different story, both had magic and the strength and reflexes of a witcher, the only thing they struggled with was their toxicity, they could not withstand many potions. And although they were witcher's and had a strong immune systems they were not completely immune and could be effected by poison venom and toxins. You sighed already hearing the shouts from the children, you followed it out to the court yard finding your three children rough housing....Over a lute.

"Hey! Aleksy! you put that down right now!" you yelled out descending the steps as your eldest son lifted the lute to bash Casmir who was holding Rebbeka in a head lock, you hurried to the courtyard meeting them half way. Tho younger both boys were bigger then Rebbeka... Something she detested. Rebbeka was slim and fast...For a human her hair was always pulled back in some type of braid, she was like Jaskier always finding herself in trouble and out numbered, but she did have a silver tongue, if they ever needed to talk their way out of trouble as a group she was the one to do it. Your two boys were very much like their Father. Even as five year olds they were broader then the typical child, and taller they both wore their silver hair down each having two braids circling back around the tops of their ears held in place together at the back of their heads just like Geralt. Identical the only difference was Casmir had two fishtail braids and Aleksy had two dutch braids, that and Aleksy's hair was held back by a black cord and Casmir's a navy blue. Your two boys stopped fighting and let up their elder smaller sister who had been pinned down by the scrapping boys. She huffed snatching back her lute and wacked them with it turning tail making to run into the keep only to be stopped by Vesemir spinning her with one hand halting her tantrum effortlessly.

"Hey, Whats wrong?" she stomped and threw her brothers a mean look pointing at them.

"They pushed me down! and scratched it...And and then said my singing is bad! like a shrieker!!" she cried out stomping her foot. You looked at the boys with a raised eyebrow. Vesemir followed your gaze as the two boys looked down kicking the floor.

"Is this true? and how would you know what a shrieker sounds like? Have you ever heard one pup?" they shrugged

"Well...No" they both looked to each other then their Grandpa

"Would you like our next lesson to be on a strieker...We can practice your letters with it, you can write a ten word sentence about one fifty times" they jumped up shaking their heads.No. they hated there writing, instead they wanted to have story time. which was actually Vesemir's own way to drum different monster information into their heads. He was a cunning man making them learn without them even realizing it.

"Thats not fair! she started it she pushed us first" Casmir started pointing at his sister.

"Yeah! It was only cos we wanted a go on it and she wouldn't share, she pushed us down and we pushed her back...Didn't mean to scratch it." you looked from one to the other then Vesemir who nodded, he had heard the way Rebbeka panicked heart jumping at Casmir's words.

"Then its settled all three of you will practice your letters tomorrow morning with Grandpa..." they all groaned whining but you held up a hand

"And what has your father said about fighting? If you want to fight then you can do drills with grandpa....All three of you. I wont have this nonsense each time by back is turned you understand me?" you said pointing at each of them they looked down gasping at the mention of drills with Vesemir, they watched the grueling training that their Papa was put through, that was enough for them to want to avoid that training for as long as possible. They ran to you clutching your skirts.

"No!No Mama please!"

"Don't let grandpa do that please please we're sorry!" you chuckled at the panicked looks.

"Whats all this about?" you giggled as the two boys quickly bombarded their fathers pleading with them to save them from Grandpa's training. Geralt sent you a look

"Well for your mother to threaten you with such a punishment you must have been doing something naughty" you crossed your arms as Rebbeka quickly running to Jaskier making him hoist the girl up.

"Fighting! every chance they get, every time my back is turned! and lying" Geralt raised an eyebrow and placed the two boys down Jaskier doing the same with Rebbeka.

"What exactly have I told you three bout lying ?" they looked sheepish suddenly become interested in the floor

"I will have no more of that, you do and you’ll be in serious trouble!" you sighed as the children all looked upset close to tears, they never liked being scolded by any of you, but least of all their father, they looked up to him. But you saw a glint in Geralt’s eye as he gave them a lopsided grin.

"And what do I say about fighting?" he paused giving them a guilty look as they looked up at him nervously waiting his answer, he ducked down smirking 'whispering' to them.

"Never where your mother can see you, practice stealth"

"Geralt!?!" you cried out as the children laughed and he motioned for them to go play, forgetting the whole incident as they chased one another into the keep. you frowned at the alpha who didn't even feign a timid look. You sighed at him as he swooped in kissing you.

"Mate?" you wrapped your arms around him.

"Do you have to encourage them? they run me ragged as it is....Already popping up in places they shouldn't be... Disappearing at a moments notice they are manageing to escape Vesemir already!" the old witcher laughed shaking his head at his student.

"They all have a few years on you Geralt, you was what eight? nine? before you managed that?" the White wolf sighed and looked at you tilting his head and gave his argument.

"Then they are going to be brilliant at sneaking, a very useful trait" you deadpanned

"Yes Very good until they start sneaking into the lab...which has happened twice already" his brow furrowed and he nodded.

"Fine I will talk to them about that, but I have other things to do first" You glowed at him

"Dare I ask?" he smiled cheekily and scooped you up over his shoulder making you squeak

"YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!! GERALT! STOP!" you beat at his back making him laugh you watched as Jaskier tried hiding his giggles entering behind you both as Geralt turned towards the stairs. the kids moved beside him looking at you both funny.

"OOHH is father upset with Mama?" Rebbeka asked knowing the only time Geralt held her or her brothers like that was when they'd been really bad and was gonna get a hiding.

"Wonder what she did? Is he going to spank her you think?" hearing your youngest's question you sputtered and went bright red.

"No of course your father isn't going to-OUCH GERALT!" Geralt made it worse by laughing out loud as he popped you on the ass once whilst he continued up the stairs going out of sight, you heard your children's squeals and chatter as they was ushered away for lunch.

Timeskip 13 years

You stood on the bridge to kaer morhen, today was the day you dreaded. you were finally letting them go...Out into the world... you looked down trying hard not to cry, the only small mercy was they were going to be together as a group. They promised to stay with one another for the year...A whole year with out them they would be back in the winter,Lambert and Eskel were going to stick close to them, not to close but enough to help if they needed it. you Geralt and Jaskier would leave kaer morhen in three weeks and avoid them. They needed this to fly the nest but it was so hard no matter how big they got they were still your babies. you trembled as Aleksy moved saddling his horse. he and his brother were tall and strong boys Men they were men now...Alphas...Witchers wide and powerful their magic had grown their signs were potent. you kept looking over them. Aleksy still preferred black and dark grey's, Casmir navy blues and dark forest greens. Casmir had cut his hair on the sides shaved one large braid pulling the rest of his hair back. Aleksy had long hair...Longer than his fathers and a style like his fathers the top pulled back but held in a braid not a ponytail. both of them were the spitting image of Geralt. Then there was Rebbeka she was a stunning woman, she could pass as a nymph with her dainty form Puberty had done her well and she had surprised everyone by presenting as an alpha...Thank god... she was always in dark reds and purples and had her hair up in its twisted bun hiding no lest then four steel sharpened hair sticks, she was less brash then her brothers, more one for sneaking around stealth was her game and with her charm an wit she managed to navigate humans with ease running rings around them until wheedling out the truth she always looked for the finer details and was very rarely wrong. You watched as they all packed up their horses, you noted none of them looked at you of their papa. You didn't blame them you andJjaskier couldn't hide your emotions well. Geralt could you knew he was worried, the fact he had tole Lambert and Eskel to tail them was a testament to that. you shook your head, you knew they could handle themselves, they had been proving it ever since your pack had been traveling for a few months at a time since they were fourteen or so. Getting first hand experience on the field alongside their father and grandpa. you smiled hugging Jaskier who wasn't holding it together at all fiddling with his lute trying to busy his hands and not wipe at his eyes. finally the time came and they turned to you all, you took a deep breath and hugs each of your children.

"Remember, not to much ale or women....That means you two Rebbeka I know you'll all want your fun away from us but please no pups yet! and don't you forget to wash and bath regularly..oh and please always have at least two fights worth of swallow and-and" you were hushed by them laughing and blushing at certain points of your worried mumbling.

"We know mother...We will be careful in and out of the sheets...You don't have to worry its just one year and we will be back before winter settles in" you gripped Casmir's arm giving them each one last kiss then stepping back reluctantly nodding as they gave their fathers heart felt goodbyes. Geralt imparting some more words of advice making them all roll their eyes. For such a hard man he loved his children to death you pity the fools who ever harm his children. he did shock them all by also gifting them their very own wolf medallion's, tho it was different from his, instead of having one wolf head there was four, one large at the top .Geralt. And three smaller heads...Pups. They swallowed back their tears as he place one over each of their heads. It was decided that these pendants would suffice as their own witcher medallion's instead of the traditional ones, as they were not your everyday witchers. they hugged their father tight then pulled back. Finally Jaskier hugged Rebbeka and then did the unthinkable thrusting his precious lute into her hands.

"I know you've always loved this thing...And it has seen its fair share of adventures... Collecting songs on the way....And I think it could do with some more..." she gasped trying to hand it back but Jaskier shook his head at her.

"Nope its yours now...A good luck charm and also a reason for you to make it back home..I can't wait to hear of your tales of vallor...all of you but please..please stay safe." you teared up as he didn't this hugging each of the boys on last time and moving back to stand with you and Geralt. You took deep breaths watching as they made their way down the path away from you holding it together until you were sure the boys wouldn't hear you, then broke into tears. holding onto your mate and Jaskier who both were shedding their own tears, both of sadness and joy. Sad for their departure yet all three of you were ecstatic in the knowledge that you had done it. Your pack had a legacy. The three of you created raised and taught three perfectly rounded people. Three witcher's all capably of protecting all who needed protecting weather it be man or monster. The last witcher's to ever train and leave kaer morhen.

"They will be okay...They will be fine, they are trained and smart and strong..." you looked to Geralt nodding agreeing with him as he sighed ushering you both into the keep walking past the other witchers. you took one final look over your shoulder and shook your head sighing. you smiled squeezing Geralt and Jaskiers waist. They will be fine. you knew they would and you couldn't wait to hear the songs of their victories and you would count down the days until they returned home.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #witcher fanfiction #witcher fic #witcher imagine

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jaskiersvalley · 5 years ago

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Tumblr sucks and keeps unfollowing you, but, gods, everything you write is just *chef’s kiss*. Have very much done the dramatic hand-to-heart while reading everything you’ve written. Love the werewolf Witchers so very much, and need so much more of it. Very much enthusiastically offering, fuck me up!😊

I know this is a relatively recent ask but sometimes inspiration strikes for something and it has to be written before all else. Because I might not quite be done with the wolf au though it might not fuck you up in quite the way you were hoping for. This newest addition was all written thanks to one single idea: Lambert + the dreaded cone of shame.

Part 1 and Part 2

After the concert where the wolves revealed their human forms, there was no rest for them. They quickly found that as humans, they were hounded and it was difficult to slip away, people got between them and Jaskier. So they mostly stuck to their wolf forms which was a bit of an issue for Lambert. His injury was still giving him issues and he’d started gnawing at his injured leg when left to his own devices. No amount of telling him off could get him to stop for long.

Which was how they ended up backstage for an interview in front of a live audience. Jaskier had been invited to a chat show with his four companions. Nobody quite knew whether to call them his wolves or his bodyguards or what. There were hopes that the interview would clear things up, especially as the invitation was for the whole pack, not just Jaskier.

Before Jaskier agreed to anything, he had laid down a couple of ground rules he got assurance for. Most important was that his wolves were not pressured to change or perform for the camera. Jaskier was the showman in their pack, not them. And nobody was to mention their scars. It was already difficult enough to convince Eskel to join them without making him worry about having imperfections pointed out. After a few discussions, Eskel agreed to the interview as long as he could stay in his wolf form and slink off if things got too much. It was also good because, thanks to his injury, Lambert was still in his wolf form.

The day of the interview, they were all backstage, Jaskier fussing with their looks while Lambert whined pitifully. Nobody paid him much attention. It was time to make a grand entrance and Jaskier all but skipped into the studio, Vesemir following him on four legs while the other three tried to look less threatening in their wolf forms. Well, Eskel did, Geralt was just looking forward to sprawling on the floor and falling asleep again while Lambert hung to the back, a clear cone around his neck which had the audience cooing and expressing worry for him. With a loud, heaving sigh, Lambert threw himself down at Jaskier’s feet, whining softly in self-pity. His injury itched, he wanted to fidget with it to relieve some of his anxiety about the interview but it just wasn’t possible.

Jaskier and Vesemir sat down. Eskel hopped up onto the sofa on Jaskier’s other side and sat sideways so his scars were hidden as much as possible.

“This is quite the entrance, thank you all for gracing us with your company,” the host began.

For the most part, the interview was going smoothly. Until Geralt let out a snore and rolled onto his back, tail thumping against Jaskier’s leg as he dreamed. It drew all attention back to the wolves.

“I guess I must ask the question that everybody has been dying to ask. What are you? Shifters? Werewolves? Cursed?”

The whole audience fell silent, anticipation thick in the air. Jaskier nodded at Vesemir who took a deep breath.

“We’re witchers. Our purpose is long since gone and a sorcerer offered to help us melt into modern times. His idea of help was to give us the ability to change into the namesake of our school.”

Talk turned to witchers and their purpose. Disbelief rang through the audience as Vesemir talked about how old they were. It was all going well until Lambert raised his head, nose scrunched and teeth out. The sneeze knocked his cone into the floor with a loud clatter that had Geralt jumping up with a growl. When it was obvious that there was no danger, Geralt sat down, blinking slowly and yawning wide. However, all eyes were on Lambert who was trying to paw at his nose, obviously trying to get to an itch.

“You okay there?” The interviewer asked him and went ignored. Instead, Lambert turned and looked up at Eskel with a small whine, pushing his nose closer to him. At first it looked like Eskel was going to ignore him. But after a rather sad half howl, he hopped off the sofa, his spot was immediately stolen by Geralt who shifted into human form and stared, sleep rumpled at Jaskier who reached for him fondly.

On the floor, Lambert was still battling his itch and Eskel wasn’t much use until, with a frustrated growl, he was sat in human form and grumbling at Lambert,

“You could have done this too you know.” Despite his words, he was giving Lambert’s snout a good scratch which was obviously nice but not what Lambert needed. Pulling away with a snort, Lambert was in human form, cone still around his neck. He ripped it off with a growl.

“I fucking hate that thing.” Rubbing along the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “Fuck that feels good.”

“If you just left your arm alone, you wouldn’t have to wear it,” Eskel groused.

Satisfied that he was itch free, Lambert shifted back, as did Eskel and they settled comfortably in a pile, sides pressed together, Eskel’s head resting over the injured leg, stopping any chewing attempts with a flick of his ear.

“Well,” the interviewer laughed awkwardly, “I’m glad that’s sorted.”

The glare Eskel sent him spoke more than any words could have. It had the interviewer clearing his throat and moving the conversation on, valiantly ignoring how Geralt was falling asleep once again, comfortably sprawled on the sofa, leaning into Jaskier. At least Vesemir could behave. So could Jaskier. It didn’t help that for the next few weeks all articles about them were about the unruly pups who were more wolf than human, even when in a human body. It let to some very interesting questions about other habits and physiology which were left unanswered but caused great mirth behind closed door. It also led to Lambert plotting ways in which to cause the greatest stir without anything indecent. Just enough to keep people guessing and keep himself entertained. Nobody knew that his partner in crime behind closed doors was Vesemir, helping him come up with the best ideas.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #shifter au #tldr: lambert's in a cone of shame at an interview

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 4 years ago

Text

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XIV

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A brand new chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

_____________________

For as long as Geralt could remember, spending four days in bed had always sounded unthinkable.

Even in Kaer Morhen, during the long winters of the Blue Mountains, he could never even consider staying in bed for that long, only getting out to take a bath and change the sheets.

It had always seemed like an unnecessary luxury, a waste of time that could’ve been better spent.

But, like quite a few times before, he finds himself proven wrong by Jaskier.

They stay in bed for half a week, talking, sleeping and doing just about anything they can think of to each other.

Jaskier ends up with countless marks of different colour and size all over his neck, chest and thighs, and Geralt has his back scratched raw, and it’s more than perfect.

They take longs baths together, unable to break away from each other for as much as a few minutes, and though Jaskier tries to keep Geralt’s hands away from the mark on his back, the witcher inevitably finds his way to it, making Jaskier gasp and arch his back at every touch.

He’s desperate to find out just how far he could take it before it gets too much but he waits patiently for the right moment.

Whenever Arthur or one of the housekeepers knocks on the door to bring them breakfast or dinner - or yet another pot of the neverending sweet tea - Jaskier makes them both hide under the covers, only eyes and noses left above them, and giggles when Geralt reaches out to get a grip on his bare thigh when no-one can see. In Jaskier’s words, he’s protecting their modesty but they both know that he’s just having fun.

That’s not to say that Geralt isn’t having his own kind of fun, of course.

Over the four days that they spend in bed together, neither of them gets dressed once, and the witcher uses that to his full advantage, mapping out Jaskier’s body with his hands and lips at every opportunity that he gets.

And when they do finally decide that it’s time to get out, he’s even more hopelessly in love than before.

“You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you, Witcher?” Jaskier murmurs, looking at him through the mirror as he does up the laces on his shirt and Geralt leaves his place on the bed to come closer and wrap his arms around him from the back.

He smells of dried herbs, vanilla and pomegranate. He also smells of pleasure, sex and Geralt.

It’s an intoxicating combination.

“You can always tell me to stop,” Geralt grins, nosing at the bard’s neck and pressing a kiss to one of the fresh marks.

He’s still completely naked while Jaskier is almost fully dressed, and the soft silk of his shirt feels nice against Geralt’s skin. Not as good as Jaskier’s warmth but he’s not complaining.

Jaskier responds with a soft pleased rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, and throws his head back, resting it on the witcher’s shoulder.

“We look good together,” he says after Geralt steals a kiss from his lips. “Especially like this.”

And Geralt can’t deny that they do.

He loves the contrast between them, loves the way Jaskier’s slender frame looks against his own, the way his perfect skin compares to the witcher’s scars. Loves the way Jaskier’s chestnut hair stands out against Geralt’s silver.

Jaskier turns around in his arms, running a gentle hand down Geralt’s cheek, and his eyes look so soft that it makes the witcher’s heart ache in his chest.

“You know,” he says, adjusting the lacing on Jaskier’s shirt. “The winter had only just begun but I could stay with you through all of it. If you’ll have me.”

He can feel Jaskier’s heart skip a beat.

“You don’t want to go home?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

Geralt hums and leaves the lacing alone, tipping Jaskier’s chin up to look at him.

“I want to be with you,” he says. “I miss my family but this winter, I want to be with you. And next year, we can go to Kaer Morhen together, hm?”

Jaskier averts his eyes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Geralt--”

“I’ll get you out of here by next winter,” the witcher says, cutting him off before Jaskier can remind him of the curse, and brushing a lock of hair out of his face. “I promise, Jask. we’ll find a way to break the curse, and we’ll be free to go anywhere we want.”

“Anywhere?” Jaskier echoes quietly, still hiding his eyes.

Geralt pulls him closer and leans in, leaving a warm, chaste kiss on the bard’s forehead.

“Anywhere,” he nods. “What about Toussaint, hm? How do you like wine and pretentious banquets?”

Jaskier laughs, though Geralt can still feel that familiar undertone of sadness in his scent, and catches the witcher’s lips in a quick kiss.

“Wine and pretentious banquets,” he smiles, leaning into Geralt’s touch with his entire body. “Sounds wonderful.”

***

It takes Geralt a little while to write a letter home.

He spends a few days thinking it over, looking for the right words, and when he finally sits down to put them on paper, he writes and then burns two letters before finally finding himself happy with what he’d written.

In the letter, he says that he won’t be coming home this year and that they shouldn’t be worried about him because he’s in a safe place. He says that Jaskier had forgiven him for leaving, and that if they want to know more about it, they should ask Eskel because he’s not going to spend the entire winter composing letters to Lambert just to satisfy his curiosity.

That part of the letter is easy.

But then he writes about the curse, asking for help with breaking it, and that is when it gets much harder. He tries to give as many details as he can while also trying to keep out the ones that he feels Jaskier wouldn’t want anyone else to know. It would’ve been easier to ask him but Geralt doesn’t want to bring the subject up when he can avoid it.

He’d seen enough of his tears.

After the first letter is folded and sealed, Geralt stays behind the desk, fidgeting with his medallion until he finally takes another piece of parchment and writes a second one, addressed only to Vesemir.

In that letter, he does go into more details, including the way Jaskier’s magic feels, and mentions, though briefly, that it’s so strong that it might not be as dependent on the curse as Jaskier thinks. It’s only a theory, of course, and maybe he’s just seeing what he wants to see, but it’s better if Veserim knows as much as Geralt can tell him. And there’s one more thing that he’s missing.

He sneaks a look at Jaskier who’s too busy with a new poem to notice, and his chest gets tight with just how much it makes him feel - seeing the bard so comfortable around him.

Geralt signs and folds the letter, putting it to the side to send out in the morning, and gets up from his place, crossing the room over to Jaskier where he’s half-lying on the settee, an open notebook in his lap.

“Can I ask you something?” Geralt says, sitting down on the floor next to him.

Jaskier looks up from his notes, and the witcher sighs affectionately at the smear of ink on his lower lip. As he reaches out to wipe it off, Jaskier dips his head, leaving a smudged kiss on the back of his hand, eyes shining with something that Geralt can only hope is a reflection of his own feelings.

“What is it, darling?”

Geralt chews on his lower lip for a moment, thinking about the best way to ask the question he’d been thinking about for the last five months.

And, well, there aren’t too many options.

“There’s a town a few hours away from here,” he finally says. “I stop there for the night whenever I’m making my way from the south. And when I was there back in summer, the innkeeper told me something that I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”

Jaskier cocks a brow at him, intrigued. Geralt takes a deep breath.

“The innkeeper told me that-- you’re a prince.”

The bard’s blue eyes widen in surprise and he parts his lips to say something but then decides against it, breaking into laughter.

The heat on Geralt’s chest quickly makes its way up to his face, and he averts his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the blush on his cheeks.

“And do you believe everything that innkeepers tell you?” Jaskier finally manages, reaching out to brush a silver lock out of Geralt’s face. “And what am I a prince of, if I may ask?”

“Redania,” Geralt mutters, still hiding his eyes even as Jaskier leans down to touch his lips to his cheekbone. “And it’s not just the innkeeper. The entire town thinks so. But clearly, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Jaskier tilts his head to one side, biting on his lower lip and runs his gaze over Geralt’s frame like he’s testing his limits.

“Did I say that they don’t?”

And that… gods, that just confuses Geralt even more.

He’d spent the last five months assured that Jaskier really is a prince of Redania, and even after learning that the mansion and everything inside is created by magic, that he’s trapped here because he’s cursed and not because he needs to be kept out of the public focus, it was the way Jaskier acted, dressed, talked that still made Geralt believe that he’s of royal blood.

“You won’t give a definitive answer, will you?” Geralt sighs, finally looking up at the bard.

Jaskier shakes his head with a conspiratory smile.

“I’m afraid I cannot, my love,” he murmurs, and the endearment makes Geralt’s heart skip a beat. “Stability of the kingdom might be at stake.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and, before Jaskier can protest, pulls him down from his settee and onto the floor, pinning him under his body. The bard gasps but his eyes snap up to meet Geralt’s immediately, holding his gaze.

“And what if I am what they say I am?” he grins, wrapping both arms around Geralt’s neck to keep him close. “Would it change anything - knowing that you’re sleeping with a prince?”

Geralt doesn’t tell him that that’s exactly what he thinks this relationship is, simply because Jaskier is already self-assured enough and he doesn’t want to give him that pleasure. Instead, he dips his head down to nip at the bard’s lower lip and then breaks away before Jaskier can pull him into a proper kiss.

“You’re not asking the right question,” he says, mirroring the bard’s grin. “Haven’t you been warned what witchers can do to fragile little princes?”

Jaskier’s eyes light up with mischievous interest.

“My memory must be failing me,” he says, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair and hooking a leg over the small of his back in a move that he’d had more than enough time to practice over the last week. “But I'm dying to know.”

Without allowing Jaskier to pull him into a kiss, Geralt finds his way to his neck, leaving an open-mouthed, possessive kiss right under the sharp of the bard’s jaw, and he barely even notices as he undoes the laces on the front of his shirt.

“Well,” he murmurs, a soft rumble to his voice as he intercepts both Jaskier’s wrists and pins them above his head. “Then let me show you.”

***

It’s much, much later that they get to their bed and finally settle in for the night.

Sated and content, Jaskier makes himself comfortable on Geralt’s chest, tracing slow circles onto it, and it’s just about everything that the witcher needs to feel like he’s where he’s supposed to be.

He leans down, touching a soft kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, and smiles at the pleased little sound he gets in return.

The dogs are long asleep on the far end of the bed, and the room is pleasantly quiet, the silence disturbed only by the soft crackling of the wood in the fireplace and the wind outside. Winter in this part of Redania takes its hold fast, and behind the windows, everything is covered in a blanket of fresh snow.

It’s peaceful, even more so than in Kaer Morhen.

The keep always has something happening within it, be it endless repairs or even more endless trainings, there are chores and duties to wake up to every morning, and it can sometimes get obnoxiously loud; but here, in the mansion, Geralt can just… rest.

He can wake up every morning with Jaskier’s familiar warmth close to him, and then spend the entire day just stealing kisses from him on every occasion he gets only to then fall asleep at night with the bard’s weight against his chest.

It’s a little selfish, of course, and Geralt had never thought that he’d be happy like this, that this kind of life was ever meant for a witcher but gods, he loved him so much.

It almost hurt, just how hopelessly gone he was.

“You know,” Jaskier murmurs, brushing his thumb over a thin scar on Geralt’s chest and then lifting his medallion with his magic, making it hum violently. “There are times when I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Geralt takes the medallion away from him and instead laces their fingers together, the soft tingle of magic sending a shiver down his back.

“Maybe you have,” he hums, bringing their linked hands up to his lips to touch a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles and let him go. “Do you believe in past lives?”

Jaskier turns to rest his chin upon Geralt's chest, looking up at him from under his lashes. They’re both completely naked, and his warm skin feels perfect against the witcher’s as he settles right on top.

“I suppose,” he says after a pause. “Do you?”

Geralt isn’t sure if he believes in past lives. He’d never really thought about it but then again, he’d never thought he’d be in love with a man who - and now he’s even more sure of it - is a prince of Redania.

“Maybe,” he says finally, shrugging with one shoulder. “And if they are real, then maybe we knew each other in a life before this one.”

Jaskier smiles, seemingly pleased with the thought, and his magic gets stronger, snaking around his fingers in shifting colours of blue and purple, slithering up Geralt’s skin like painless flames, making him shiver.

“I like the sound of that,” Jaskier murmurs, tilting his head to the side as his magic gets to Geralt’s hair, runs through it, making the witcher’s breath stutter. “A different life, but still with you.”

It feels almost the same way that it does when Jaskier runs his fingers through his hair but the magic gets right under his skin, brushes over his every nerve, and there’s nothing Geralt can do to suppress another shiver.

“A different life, but still with me,” he echoes, catching and holding Jaskier’s gaze. “Would you want that?”

Jaskier smiles.

“A different life?”

“A life with me.”

Geralt can feel his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. It’s just four words but they just might’ve required more courage from him than any hunt he’d ever been on.

Jaskier shifts, moving closer, and cups Geralt’s cheek with one hand, looking into his eyes before leaning in even more and kissing him, slowly and softly.

“I would,” he smiles as he breaks away, resting his forehead against Geralt’s, his hand still resting on the sharp of his jaw. “I would, darling.”

Geralt’s heart starts beating even faster, almost painfully, as he thinks over the words that he’d been meaning to say for weeks now. It’s absolutely horrifying, the thought alone, but if he’s being brave with his words, he might as well go all the way.

“Jask?--” he calls softly, keeping his eyes closed and catching the bard’s lips in one more kiss before finally letting go. “I love you.”

Jaskier’s breath catches, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he pulls back, looking Geralt in the eye for an endlessly long moment, searching for something, until finally his lips curl up into a smile and he surges forward, pulling Geralt into a heated, messy kiss.

“Gods, Geralt--” he whispers, their lips still touching, and kisses him again. “The things you do to me--”

Geralt can barely breathe as the bard finds his hand and brings it up to his chest, pressing it over his heart, breathing like a bird in a cage.

“Oh, my darling,” Jaskier runs his hands over Geralt’s face, catching his lips with his own again. “I love you more.”

A weight falls off Geralt’s chest, and the lightness that takes its place makes him feel lightheaded for a moment or two.

“Not possible,” he grins, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s back and pulling him so close that he knows there are going to be bruises in the morning.

Jaskier gasps at the pressure on his ribs but then just laughs, finding Geralt’s lips without looking and rolling over to flip them both around, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck, the smile never leaving his lips.

It’s a strange, new feeling for Geralt but he can’t deny how good it feels. How fast it makes his heart beat - knowing that Jaskier feels the same way.

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” he whispers in-between kisses, propping himself up on one elbow and running his free hand down Jaskier’s side. “I knew-- for a long time.”

Jaskier laughs, and the fire in the hearth flares up with his magic.

“For how long?” he asks.

Geralt breaks away from his lips and moves lower, to Jaskier’s collarbones, covered in his marks.

“Since that night you took me out into the gardens to see the stars,” he says. “But I only realised it after I talked to my brother in Novigrad. He was the first one to say it out loud, and once he did, everything just… fell into place.”

Rolling around on the bed, they wake up the dogs, and once they see the smile on Jaskier’s face, both Asra and Lucio take it as their cue to crawl closer and lick at his face, making the bard laugh and let go of Geralt, shielding himself with his arms.

Geralt doesn’t even think about helping him, just turns to fall onto his back beside Jaskier, and scrunches his nose when Asra picks him as her new target, getting drool all over him.

And this… makes him feel like he belongs.

Like for the first time in his life, he belongs somewhere other than Kaer Morhen.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

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tired-buttercup · 4 years ago

Text

Last Christmas

On AO3

Jaskier stopped the car, and stared at the hundreds of blinking fairy lights that decorated the house in front of him. This year’s cabin was incredibly pretty. Jaskier would be the first to admit that when the booking for the place to celebrate that year’s Christmas fell into Lambert’s hands, he was afraid they would end up in a creepy and deteriorated house, by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Yet, somehow Lambert managed to outdone every one of them. It was their annual tradition, their special time. A Christmas with their chosen family and their friends. It was a time that Jaskier kept close to his heart, and nothing would keep him away from it. Not even Geralt.

With a sigh, Jaskier left the car. He hung his bag on one shoulder and took the tray from the passenger seat. He was on pastries’ duty this year. Closing the door, he headed towards the cabin, but before he could even knock, the door jerked open.

“Fucking finally! You were just being late so you wouldn’t have to help!” Lambert grumbled, taking the tray from his hands. Jaskier knew he didn’t want to help, just to steal some sweets.

“Did it work? I can come later if there’s still something to do”

“Ha, ha,” Lambert said pointedly. “Eskel hasn’t arrived yet, so he beat you at that.”

“No? I thought he would be here already,” Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t look so disappointed, buttercup, he’s on his way. Got delayed at work,” Lambert said, watching his face carefully, searching something.

Jaskier hummed in acknowledgment, finally taking off his coat. For a moment he felt ridiculous of having thought that Eskel wouldn’t be here. He would have told him yesterday, when they talked.

“Jaskier!” Triss' voice called him from another room, guiding him where she was. Lambert disappeared with the tray of cookies, while Jaskier followed his friend’s voice to the living room. Triss was decorating the Christmas tree, wearing an ugly sweater that somehow she managed to pull off perfectly. Life was unfair.

“Hello dear, you look lovely as always,” he said as he kissed her cheek.

“You don’t look that bad yourself”

“You know that’s a lie, lass,” Vesemir teased, making his presence known. Jaskier just smiled, and went to hug him, kissing his cheek too. He had missed the old man so much this past year. “You know that you don’t have to wait till Christmas to see me, right?”

“Hey, I also saw you on birthdays too” Jaskier joked back, but more seriously he murmured, just for Vesemir to hear “It’s been a rough year”

“I know kiddo, I know”

Jaskier could feel the tears trying to embarrass him, so he hid his face on Vesemir's shoulder, in a valiant effort to control his emotions. This man was the paternal figure he had never had, and even though he met him well in his twenties, the feelings weren't less for it. Vesemir was always there for him: for the advice, for the scolding, and for the laughs. And he was eternally grateful for having been practically adopted by the man.

“Where’s Aiden?” asked Jaskier, clearing his throat and letting Vesemir go.

“Here I am. Wouldn’t mind a little help”

He was carrying more firewood than he should, and Jaskier rushed towards him, taking half of the load and heading towards the fireplace to replenish the stack of logs for when it gets too cold to get outside.

Aiden was one of the last additions to the family, besides Triss. Yet, somehow, Triss has always been there, in the background, till she was invited to celebrate with them a few years ago when she didn’t have where to spend Christmas. After that, it became a kind of tradition for her too.

Aiden, on the other hand, was introduced last year by Lambert, and he got on so well with them that it seemed as if he had always been one of the merry band of misfits. It was a surprise, really, and they couldn’t help to tease Lambert a little bit, how an asshole like him ended up a cool and charming guy like Aiden. Deep down, really deep down, Lambert was a sweetheart too, and Aiden was a lucky one as well.

Jaskier was making the pile of firewood neater, when a well-known gruff voice called his name. Even though he was resigned to meet him there, the pang of anxiety he felt was like fingers closing around his throat. He willed himself to breathe, schooled his face in a neutral smile and turned around to face Geralt. Of course, Yennefer was with him.

“Geralt! Yennefer! It’s good to see you two!” for his surprise, he only had to half fake his enthusiasm. He felt a little spark of happiness at seeing them. At seeing him. He didn’t reach for a hug, though.

“We didn’t know if you’d come,” Yennefer commented offhandedly. Of course they had noticed how much he had been avoiding them. It had been odd, to be honest. He was so used to being around Geralt, that it had been terribly hard at first to keep his distance. Geralt didn’t look for him either, and he came to realize that he was the one who always reached for the other. He didn’t blame him though, he knew it was hard for him to socialize, but it hurt a little bit nonetheless. He felt so stupid, on one hand he was desperate to avoid them, and on the other he wished Geralt had tried harder to reach for him. But he didn’t, and Jaskier had been a mess for many months.

Something broke between them last Christmas, and none of them had been willing to acknowledge it on those times they had no other choice than to meet. But it was hard to ignore it now. The hesitancy in Geralt’s demeanor, and Jaskier avoidance were clear enough. If Eskel hadn’t caught him on that fateful day, if he hadn’t been a solid figure in his life for this last year, Jaskier was sure he wouldn’t have been able to be there that night.

“I’d never miss Christmas”, he smiled.

Vesemir diverted their attention to some other topic Jaskier had no presence of mind to follow, yet he felt grateful for the help. He let his eyes roam on the decoration of the room, before inevitably landing again on the couple. He couldn’t help to remember.

Geralt had been in a bad mood, but what else was new? He had quarreled with Yennefer yet again. Jaskier didn’t even know why this time, but Geralt decided to drink every bottle he could find in the house. The rest were sleeping, and Jaskier self-appointed himself to be the one in charge of keeping Geralt from drowning in his own vomit.

He had been a fool. Geralt was on the way of being too drunk to even put two thoughts together, but still he tried to speak with him. Deep inside, Jaskier knew that it was just a matter of time before whatever was happening between Yennefer and Geralt turned into a heartbreak for him. He just knew, but he had to try. He had too. So he spoke about longing and about happiness. He invited him to get away, maybe to the coast, wishing with all his heart Geralt understood what he was trying to convey. Even though he had plucked up a lot of courage to talk to him, he still wasn’t brave enough to hand him his heart so overtly. He had hoped for the best, yet Geralt brushed it off, and started to snore in no time. It hurt, it really did, but somehow Jaskier was relieved that he wasn’t rejected directly or harshly, that their friendship was safe.

“Well, that could have been a lot worse,” he said to the air and took a moment to calm his heart. Counting his breath, in and out, he tried to put himself back together. When he felt as ready as he could be, he pushed Geralt lightly, waking him up. “Alright sleepy head, time to go to bed.”

“Jaskier?”

“No, it’s Santa. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt’s hand in an attempt to help him get up, but the man was dead weight. “I wouldn’t mind a little help here,” he encouraged, yet instead of sitting up, Geralt pulled him down so abruptly that Jaskier fell heavily on him.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Jaskier cried, trying to get up and assess the damage, but Geralt just held him tighter, without letting him move an inch. His breath caught in his lungs, and he could almost feel the shift in the ambiance. He put a little distance between them – the little distance he was allowed to –, searching into Geralt’s eyes.

Jaskier was so aware of the arm around his waist, of Geralt’s chest underneath his palms, and of the warmth of the body he was lying on, that he couldn’t really process what was happening, and before his brain could even catch up, Geralt was kissing him.

For a moment, it was all emptiness and confusion, and then his heart was soaring. Geralt had understood what he was trying to say, and he was kissing him. Jaskier felt as if he could laugh maniacally of happiness. He couldn’t really believe it, but it was happening. It was really happening.

They kissed, and kissed, and then a little more. Jaskier felt as if he was in a dream, and couldn’t help to giggle in between kisses. This was the best Christmas present he could have ever hoped for. He lost track of the time, and before he was aware of it, they drifted to sleep.

Jaskier woke up when somebody threw a pillow at his face.

“Come on, sleeping beauty. Get ready, we are going to get breakfast”

He blinked slowly, trying to chase the sleepiness and the confusion away. It took some effort to recognize where he was, and immediately he spotted what was missing.

“Where is Geralt?” He felt a little bit disappointed in waking up alone.

“Upstairs, I think. Hurry up!”

“Alright, alright”

Jaskier yawned his way upstairs, still half asleep but feeling giddy inside. The excitement from the previous night was still running through his veins, making his steps look like a little dance. He was so happy he could hardly believe it. Happy and greedy, because there was no way he’d miss a good morning kiss. With that idea in mind, he peeked into Geralt’s room ready to singsong a good morning, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Yennefer and Geralt were there. Kissing. Pressed against each other as if they wanted to fuse.

He could swear he felt his heart stop and break. He wished to feel confusion, he wished to feel betrayal, but the only thing he was feeling was resignation. He knew it was too good to be true, but he had wanted so hard to believe that Geralt would want him in that way. But reality punched him on the face.

The couple made a noise, and that cued Jaskier to escape before he was caught being his pathetic self. He turned to go, but before he could do so, he found Eskel, watching him. When their eyes met, Jaskier was sure Eskel knew exactly what he saw, what was happening just in front of him. The understanding he found in his expression made his eyes start to sting, and when steps echoed from the stairs he could only stare at him in panic, wishing that Eskel could make him disappear.

After that horrible day, Jaskier avoided Geralt and Yennefer whenever he could. Sometimes it was hard, since their lives and friends were completely intertwined. But Eskel’s constant company and help was a pillar for him. They had always been good friends, but after what they shared that day, they had become incredibly close.

At first, Eskel was there because of his heartbreak, the mountain of a man too soft for his own good, but as Jaskier became better at handling it they somehow stuck together, too used now to each other’s company. He would sometimes drop at Eskel’s house to help him to mow the lawn, or Eskel would pick him up after work to have dinner in that new place they wanted to try, or just sit on the sofa and watch some awful random movie while eating pizza. The worse the movie was, the better.

With time and Eskel’s constant presence, he got better. He was better. It still hurt a little to see them together, he had spent so many years loving Geralt that he somehow had to learn how to deal with this new reality. He was doing well. Even now, watching them being so domestic made him smile a little bit. He was fine, and he was going to get better.

After a while, when everyone started to play Gwent, he moved to sit by the window, staring outside feeling a little anxious. It had started to snow lightly, but the weather forecast predicted heavy snowfalls for the rest of the night. Soon, it wouldn’t be safe to drive anymore, and Eskel hadn’t arrived yet. He’d call him, but he didn’t want to add a distraction.

Another thing that changed along the year were his feelings for Eskel. His lovely and kind Eskel. At first, he thought it was just because he felt grateful, but as the months went by, he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t the case. He had fallen in love with Eskel. His kindness and thoughtfulness planted a seed in Jaskier’s heart, and as time went by, and he got to know him better, it started to bloom. He couldn’t stop it, and not because he didn’t tried. He tried so hard at first. What if he just was replacing Geralt? What if he just was using him? What if he just was like an odd duckling following the first person to show him that kind of care? But time proved that he was selling himself short. He wasn’t using Eskel, he wasn’t confused. He was falling in love with Eskel, just as he was falling out of love with Geralt. And he didn’t know what to do with it. He was enjoying having those soft feelings, and how his heart started to run wild every time he even grazed Eskel’s hand, but at the same time, he was afraid. Geralt’s shadow still too present in his mind, making him feel like a coward, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake. He was just his friend and Eskel didn’t want him.

“You look like a kicked puppy,” teased Lambert, materializing besides him. It always annoyed him that such big guys could move so silently.

“Oh, shut up”

“He’s on his way, stop behaving like a lovesick fool”

“I’m not lovesick!” Jaskier complained feeling his cheek heat up with an annoying telltale blush. Was he that evident that even Lambert could catch up with his feelings? Did everyone know? He was starting to panic inside when Lambert’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

When Jaskier's eyes met Lambert’s, he could find just warmth in them. Yet, as always, it was ruined when the little shit opened his mouth again.

“Sure not, buttercup. Don’t tell Geralt, but Eskel has always been my favorite too”

“Lambert! Shut up!” Jaskier murmured in between clenched teeth. He didn’t mind Lambert’s knowing, but that didn’t mean that he wanted the whole house to know.

“Ok, ok, I’ll shut up, buttercup. I just wanted to let you know that I’m happy you are here tonight, I missed you this year… we all did.” Lambert’s words were so sincere, that Jaskier felt touched by them. He was about to reply, when his friend talked again. “But more important, I’m happy that you are better and moving on after that fine ass”

Jaskier just threw a pillow at him.

***

Eskel wasn’t driving as fast as he’d have liked. The weather was getting worse and worse, and he didn’t want to take chances. And perhaps, he also might be delaying his arrival, feeling a little bit anxious and suffering a tinsy-bit of a cold feet situation. He had made a decision, but after things kept going wrong all day, he started to have second thoughts.

Everything seemed against him. At work, two people called sick, and he had to take over their duties. Of course, he had to redo all the work of one of his colleagues, since the file got corrupted. Then, his boss asked him to stay a few over hours to help him finish their job before they closed for the holidays. He couldn’t say no. His boss was a good man who wished he was with his family as much as Eskel did, so the two of them stayed behind to finish the job. Then, when his truck refused to start, he was ready to smash something into pieces, his frustration raging in his blood. Yet, he managed to calm himself. At the end, his boss – blessed the man– lent him his car. It was a little uncomfortable for somebody of his size, but he felt ridiculously grateful for it.

And here he finally was, on his way to the cabin, more than five hours later than he planned. He had wanted to be one of the first to arrive, being prepared always calmed his nerves when he felt anxious. Not that he normally was, but with what he had planned for the day, feeling all that anxiousness was nothing. Last year’s Eskel would be amazed if he knew how things would end up being after that day.

“Shit,” Eskel murmured when Jaskier’s watery eyes filled with the panic of being discovered. Without even thinking, he took a few big strides, and pulled Jaskier behind him just in time for Lambert to appear.

“Let’s go, losers!” He called. Geralt and Yennefer left the room, hand in hand, and Eskel could feel Jaskier’s grip on his clothes get tighter.

“You just go, we’ll catch up later”

“You sure?” Asked Lambert, searching into Eskel’s eyes, aware that something was amiss.

“Yes” Eskel knew he would ask later, but for now, Lambert let them escape with that. Geralt and Yennefer seemed to be too invested in their world to notice anything outside their bubble.

The three went downstairs, but only when he was sure everyone was outside and the door closed behind them, Eskel turned around.

“Jaskier…,” he called, putting his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, trying hard think in a way to soothe him. He knew how Jaskier felt about Geralt, everyone knew it. Everyone except Geralt, it seemed… that, or if he knew his friend as well as he did, he knew but he chose not to do a thing about it. Not letting Jaskier know he was interested too, nor the other way around, whatever he chose to do. Somehow he felt it was a little bit unfair for Jaskier, but he was no one to dictate how Geralt should behave.

Being honest with himself, he pitied Jaskier a bit. He was so in love with Geralt that sometimes it hurt to see their interactions. And when Yennefer appeared, he knew she’d be bad news for Jaskier. He wished he had been wrong, but here they were.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said, without trying to explain himself to Eskel, he clearly knew what it was all about. “I’m fine”.

“No, you are not,” Eskel said softly. He could see the tears unshed, he could feel him trembling slightly under his hands, and he wouldn’t let him lie to him; not when he always pushed his feelings aside just for Geralt’s sake.

Just with that, just with Eskel’s concern, Jaskier broke. Big heavy tears started to flow, and Jaskier started to cry, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. Eskel just hugged him, not knowing what to say to make it better, not needing any explanation to know what was wrong. He knew, somehow he had always known everything would end up like this. He never thought he’d be the one to catch Jaskier when it happened, but he was glad he was there. Even though he couldn’t find anything to say, even though he felt his own heart ache with each raw sob, he was glad he was there for his friend.

Eskel hugged him tighter, rubbing small soothing circles in Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier just clung to him, crying his heartbreak out.

After that day, they became inseparable. They had always been good friends, but now it seemed they were joined by an invisible thread.

Eskel had tried not to leave him alone. Jaskier was a social butterfly, but in reality he didn’t have many close friends. He spent most of his time with Geralt, and when he started to avoid him, he was bound to get lonely. Jaskier’s family was out of the picture too, so he was alone most of the time. And being honest with himself, after what happened with Geralt, he was worried about him, so he tried to be there.

It had taken Geralt a few months to even notice the change in Jaskier behavior, and Eskel knew who was the one who put all the effort in making that friendship last that long. Jaskier had been avoiding Geralt, and Geralt didn’t seem to notice that absence in his life. The longer he spent with Jaskier, the more incredulous about it he felt.

Days became exciting for Eskel. Even though he tried to be the one helping the other, Jaskier’s constant presence improved his life in ways he couldn’t have ever fathom. Just having a laugh over silly things, shopping together, or even cooking dinner became a pleasant task instead of a duty. He started to enjoy the day to day in ways he thought it wasn’t possible in his usually boring –but still pleasant– life.

Those first months he couldn’t say that he had been in love with Jaskier, not really. Sure, he loved his friend, but he wasn’t in love with him. That changed rather suddenly. One minute they were both washing the dishes, chatting about nothing, and when Eskel looked up and saw Jaskier’s small smile he had his proverbial ‘Oh’ moment. Yet he couldn’t do anything about it, it wouldn’t have been right. He was trying to help Jaskier put his broken heart back together, not to take advantage of his vulnerable situation. So he waited and pined from afar.

As weeks went by and Jaskier was back to being his old self, Eskel started to long for him more than ever. Could he take a leap of faith? Sometimes he felt that Jaskier was interested in him too, but he didn’t want to be presumptuous in assuming it. After pondering about his course of action, he finally decided he’d take a chance. Jaskier was worth it. So he planned to do it that Christmas, he thought it’d be a romantic gesture, to soothe a bad memory with a – hopefully– good one.

However, nothing that day was going according to plans, and Eskel was having second thoughts. He was a fool, he couldn’t do that to Jaskier on the anniversary of a painful day for him. He wanted Jaskier in his life, as more than a friend, he couldn’t make him feel bad.

It was so difficult. He didn’t know how to confess his feelings without making Jaskier feel bad for rejecting him, or worse, making Jaskier feel that he had to say yes to him in order not to hurt his feelings.

He sighed. He was so sure in the morning, and now he was so full of doubts… maybe he’ll just stop thinking about it, and start wishing for the best or for a Christmas miracle. Maybe he had to just act normally and see where the night went.

Eskel parked in front of the cabin, and seeing Jaskier with his face pressed in the window, waving and smiling at him made him relax little by little.

Eskel was putting things away in his room when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in”

It was Geralt. He seemed a little tense, fidgeting uncomfortably without saying anything. On any other night, Eskel would patiently wait for his friend to say what he wanted to say, but that night he wasn’t feeling particularly patient, especially towards Geralt.

“Geralt, what do you need to tell me?”

“Last year… I’m aware that… that you know what happened… I know you were with him throughout the year… I should say thank you, I guess,” Geralt sounded so unsure that Eskel felt a bit sorry for him. He loved his friend, but if they were going to finally talk about it, ha had to be sincere.

“You don’t really have to. I didn’t do it for you”

“I know. I regret what happened… I was a mess… I wasn’t sure… Yennefer was…is so volatile, and Jaskier ‘s … Jaskier”

“I know,” he truly did, he was not blind. He saw how Geralt used to watch Jaskier sometimes, till he met Yennefer. But that didn’t seem to mean anything for him. Somehow Jaskier was never enough for Geralt, and Yennefer was always too much. It wasn’t fair for Jaskier to be discarded every time she was around. “But you shouldn’t have given him hope, though” it felt good to finally say that, his voice betraying the anger and disappointment he felt. He loved his friend, but he was a fucking idiot sometimes.

“I shouldn’t have. But I made a choice”

“You did. And I made mine. I hope that doesn’t change things between us,” Eskel said. They knew each other well enough that he was confident that Geralt would understand. He waited, staring seriously at him.

“It won’t. Go for it”

“Where’s Eskel?” Jaskier asked. They had already had dinner, and everyone were in small groups, chatting so noisily that nobody hearing them would have guessed they were so few in the room.

“I think he said he was going to the car,” Aiden said.

“Is he still there?”

“It seems so”

Jaskier frowned, confused, it had been a few long minutes since Eskel went outside. He should have been back by then.

Making a quick decision, he went to grab a coat to chase after his friend. Normally, he’d have stolen it from Lambert, his leather jacket was amazing, but when he saw Eskel’s coat he couldn’t help himself and put it on, enjoying being surrounded by Eskel’s pleasant smell. Jaskier wasn’t a small man, but his stomach did a weird flip when the sleeves engulfed his hands, and he noticed that the shoulders of the coat were too big for him. He was sure he looked ridiculous, but he loved it.

He opened the door and the slap of the cold air almost made him regret the idea, but he kept going. He really wanted to spend Christmas with Eskel. Jaskier walked a few steps, and even though the first freezing impression, it wasn’t that bad outside. There was no wind, and the snow was falling so ethereally it seemed as if it was dancing its way down to the ground. And in the middle of the peaceful white scene, Eskel was resting against the car, staring into the night.

“If you are looking for Santa, I’m afraid to tell you that you missed him, he already left the gifts underneath the Christmas tree”

“Maybe not all the gifts I want fit underneath the tree”

“I knew you were a greedy bastard!”

Eskel smiled softly, but his eyes were oddly intense when they fixed on him.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asked when he was finally standing in front of Eskel. He was curious, but he was also trying to distract himself from the way Eskel’s was looking at him. It made him feel a little bit nervous and giddy at the same time.

“I needed a moment to think.”

“Am I bothering you? I can go inside…”

“No, you’d never bother me,” his voice, soft and lower than normally, made Jaskier weak.

“You scared me for a moment. I thought you wouldn’t be able to come. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you,” Jaskier confessed, feeling the need to make Eskel aware of how important he was for him.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. For me, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you too”

For a moment Jaskier didn’t know what to say, so he cleared his throat and blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“Aren’t you cold? I’m sure your hands are freezing,” he said, taking one of Eskel’s hands into his, in an attempt to warm them, but before he could fully start rambling, Eskel interrupted him.

“Are you wearing my coat?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, it was the first one I found,” Jaskier lied, feeling sheepish.

“It suits you. You should use more of my clothes,” he said, with a smug smile.

Jaskier froze on the spot, and his heart started to beat wildly, nervous and hopeful at the same time. What was Eskel trying to say?

“I’d like that,” he said, breathlessly.

Instead of replying, Eskel pulled him from the coat. Jaskier went with the movement, his legs shaky and clumsy, till he was almost pressed against Eskel’s chest.

“Eskel?”

“Jaskier, I really hope I’m not reading this wrong… if I am, please, tell me now before I–“

Jaskier interrupted his struggle with a quick kiss, only managing to get a hint of the softness of his lips. He couldn’t help it. Eskel was nervous, and he was too sweet, and Jaskier’s heart was beating hard in his chest. Could it be? It had to be, right? He couldn’t have interpreted things wrong. Suddenly he didn’t feel so sure, and panic started to constrict his lungs.

“You aren’t? Am I reading it wrong? If I did, I’m so so–”

This time it was Eskel’s turn to interrupt him. His lips, soft but sure, muffled Jaskier’s squeak of surprise, and his arms hugged him tightly against him. Jaskier’s hands came to rest on his chest, as Eskel licked his lower lip, asking for permission to deepen it. Jaskier just moaned and willingly opened his mouth, caressing Eskel’s tongue with his. That was enough permission for Eskel to kiss him as thoroughly as he needed to.

The surrounding cold seemed to disappear, and even the falling snow didn’t seem to be able to touch them. Their world was reduced to each other’s arms, to each other’s lips, and the sensations that threatened to drown them. They kissed softly and deeply, savoring the moment they had desired for what it felt like ages, and none of them thought it would be really possible. But it was, and it was everything they could have hoped for and more.

Eskel broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, and taking a moment to bask in the sensations that flooded his heart. He’d never thought he could achieve this kind of happiness, yet, here he was.

“You didn’t read it wrong. I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and low, and his eyes fixed on the face of his love. Jaskier beamed at him, taking his breath away with his next words.

“I love you too.”

*************

I hope you liked. It’s been years since the last time I wrote anything, but I really wanted to write this silly thing down. I know it’s clumsy, but it made me really happy to write it.

Happy Holidays everyone!

#jaskel #jaskier/eskel #jeskel #my writing

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afterhoursfic · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw your lactation prompt with Yen, and it reminded me of this prompt I sent to another blog. It wasn't their cup of tea and I was wondering if you might like it? Eskel/Vesemir/Geralt/Lambert daddy!kink, breeding!kink, lactation. wolf school used to use a potion to make their witchers lactate for when they recieved a baby child of surprise. The wolves don't believe it, so Vesemir makes a batch and Eskel volunteers to try it. It works, but it also makes him horny AF. He begs to be bred and his papa Vesemir and his brothers are more than willing to help. It's all about those hoe Eskel rights!

Okay I really loved this prompt and not just for the hoe Eskel part, but I hope you enjoy reading it!

He doesn’t know how the conversation started, just that it was late and they were all deep in their cups on Lambert’s shitty moonshine, even Vesemir for once.

It wasn’t as if they cared for the old witcher practices, if they weren’t useful now, and most weren’t, there was no point in knowing it because it only served to open wounds and secrets that should really remain unknown.

Yet when the conversation predictably goes to Geralt’s child of surprise, a topic Lambert enjoys bringing up every chance he gets (he’s just thankful they don’t bring up Diedre), Vesemir buts in with his own stories of the problem of too many babies earned through the law of surprise and no safe way to bring them to Kaer Morhen. Basically, they couldn’t produce milk to sustain them, a fair point, but the school was desperate for recruits and so they made a potion, and each witcher out on the path would take the recipe so if the time ever came, they could lactate to support their new charge.

The story is just a bit too outlandish for him, and given Lambert’s scowl and Geralt’s somewhat mortified glare, no doubt imagining himself lactating to feed Ciri from one side of the continent to the other, he knows they don’t believe it either.

But then Vesemir lists off the ingredients with far too much ease and then the method to make it, adding in that he almost did it for Geralt, but he was just old enough not to need it when Vesemir found him, which frankly earned a snort from him and a ribbing from Lambert who would no doubt use it to his advantage in the future.

Hearing all of it though Eskel can’t help but feel curious. He craves knowledge, always eager to delve into the unknown, at least bookwise, he wasn’t going to gamble his life on a contract, and hearing this he wanted to know the truth, if such a thing could really work.

As Geralt and Lambert scuffled on the other side of the table Eskel turned to Vesemir, a hint of humor in the older witchers eye when he turned to face him and he whispered, almost impossible to hear even to himself.

“Can you make the potion?”

Vesemir just scoffed as he drained his cup slurring out “Of course I could make it, if you listened a minute ago you would know how to make it as well”

Then there was silence as Vesemir refilled his mug, Geralt and Lambert now staring between them and Eskel could swear his face turned bright red in embarrassment as they pieced together the conversation.

All eyes were on him then and Eskel hated it, feeling like he was examined down to the bone and he was just about to stand up and say his goodnight’s, hoping the next morning the others were all too drunk to remember it when Geralt spoke up.

“You want to try the potion” Sure, he did, but having it said so bluntly didn’t exactly help matters and he just nodded once in answer and the room turned silent again as they all thought on it, on what would happen. He looked up when Geralt hummed and he could smell the startings of arousal? Coming off of Geralt as he turned to him again “Can I be there?”

Eskel nodded again before saying “It’s just curiosity, nothing else”

Again, he felt all of their eyes boring into him, before suddenly Lambert leaned back and smacked his hand on the table “Well guess I’ve got to see it too now, plus it’ll be fun to watch you squirm”

He felt himself let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and almost didn’t even hear Vesemir interject “That settles it, we’ll all be there. Tomorrow good?”

He could only nod as he tried to come to terms with what he agreed to, he was going to down some potion that hasn’t been used in decades to make himself lactate for all his brothers to see. With a sigh he straightened his back before finishing his drink, turning his eyes away as he bid them farewell and escaped back to his room to properly work out what the fuck just happened.

When he woke up the next morning, he half hoped it was all some drunken fever dream. In fact, he’d fully talked himself into believing it until he got downstairs to see a grinning Lambert, never a good sign.

He was only proven right as Lambert stepped closer to grab his pec as if it were a women’s tit before quickly stepping away from hitting distance as he said “So how do you feel about growing your own pair of tits? Will be the first you’ve touched in how long?”

He’s somewhat proud of how he manages to catch Lambert unawares and knock him to the floor in retaliation before he quickly escapes back to the kitchen for food, but not before Lambert tells him Vesemir’s already preparing his potion and that it’ll be ready by noon. Great, now he had a deadline, and he won’t be able to focus on anything else until this whole business is over with.

Although the more he thinks about it he finds himself almost excited about it, about how it would feel as his tits filled out, would they even fill out and what it would be like to leak milk, could he convince one of them to suck at his tit so he could feel that too?

He cussed Lambert for putting thoughts in his head and got himself some bread and meats before heading back to his room, and no he didn’t stomp his way there or slam his door in a horny strop, no matter what Lambert says.

It’s gone midday when he ventures out of his room, it’s not like he can stay there forever and it’s better than having one of them come knocking on his door to tell him to drink his lactating potion. Gods he was so fucked.

It didn’t make going down to the great hall to see all three of them sitting there, waiting for him, and feigning polite conversation as if they weren’t just about to watch their brother, brother, lactate.

Thankfully, he wasn’t made to ask for the potion, Vesemir just held it out to him and he quickly snatched it up, ignoring their eyes boring into him as he unstoppered it to get a smell. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t the sweet smell wafting up to him, almost like a mix of honey and milk he’d seen mothers make their kids at night, and he was quick to shove that thought to the side as he quickly downed the potion in one.

He was surprised when the effects weren’t instantaneous like their other potions and for a long while he thought it hadn’t worked and that Vesemir’s memory wasn’t as good as he seemed to think. He was just about to gruffly tell them that the show’s over and head back to meditate, no not strop Lambert, in his room.

At least that’s until he feels an itch? A pain? On the right side of his chest and for a moment he thinks that somehow, he’s having a heart attack, it’s a feeling so unfamiliar to him that he can’t help but lift a hand to work at the ache steadily growing and he’s only faintly aware when he hears Geralt’s breath hitch.

When he looks to the other witcher he sees his eyes are blown wide and fixed to wear he’s working his chest, which just so turns out to be his pec, his pec that’s supposed to be producing milk and Eskel lets out his own breath. He can’t get his shirt off fast enough and when he does, he’s looking down as he strokes and squeezes at his tits, barely able to keep back his moan when he notices that they're bigger, easily a full handful now and he can’t stop himself from playing with them.

He wants to see himself, to force the first bead of milk out but no matter how much he works his tits nothing seems to work. There is a pressure there that he’s desperate to release but he can’t help but get frustrated when all he does do is work himself up the more he pinches and tugs at his nipples until Lambert speaks up.

“Looks like you’ve got a bigger problem than a couple of sore tits, your cock’s trying to say hello” He ignores Lambert’s snicker as he gets hit over the head to look down and sure enough the head of his cock is peeking out of the top of his pants, hard and leaking over his stomach and clothes. Now that he’s seen it it’s all he can focus on, how his cock is so hard it almost hurts, so he moves a hand under his trousers to start jerking off whilst the other keeps pinching at his tits trying to get anything out at this point and he really can’t help his groan. “Fucking hell Vesemir, witchers took this around kids? That’s fucked up, and more fucked up than usual”

He barely registers Lambert getting hit again or Vesemir’s ‘The effects are different for everyone’ because he just aches too much, he feels too empty and too full, and whilst he can gradually feel something building it’s not enough, he needs more, to be filled up properly to drive him over because he thinks he’ll go insane with want before anything happens.

“Fuck me” It was said as a whisper, one Eskel didn’t realize he’d even said until he heard three gasps of air. He couldn’t wait though, desperate for anything to fill him up at this point, to take him over the edge and get him to spill, from where didn’t matter but he just needed it.

He repeated the command even as his eyes shut, head rolled back as he continued working his cock and nipple, growling when it did little to help the empty ache that begged him to be filled, in fact, he’d just moved his hand down past his taint to try and get his fingers into his hole, slick with nothing but pre.

A growl left him when a firm hand grabbed his wrist to stop him and he looked up to see Vesemir, a vial of something in his other hand as he coaxed Eskels hand out of his pants.

“If you want to get fucked then we’re going to do it properly before you hurt yourself” Eskel could only focus on the words ‘we’ and ‘fuck’ and the thought had his hole clenching, just waiting to feel one of them slide their cocks in and Eskel couldn’t help himself from taking his hand back to stroke his cock again before Vesemir batted it away “We can’t fuck you with your clothes on wolf”

That sentence he did register and was practically tearing his clothes off, shivering as the cool air of the room hit him and he didn’t even realize someone was helping him until he was naked and he briefly caught a flash of white hair before a mouth was on his nipple, sucking and biting it whilst Geralt’s hand fondled his other tit, now swollen and too big for a handful but it still didn’t stop Geralt.

Eskel hissed at the feeling of it, at the gentle pressure and the way Geralt was sucking at his tit like he was desperate for something, his milk he realized in the back of his mind, and Eskel felt his knees grow weak as Geralt doubled his efforts, and he would have fallen if it wasn’t for Vesemir’s strong grip on his hips.

He didn’t even recognize when Lambert came up behind him, just felt his head being pulled back and he found himself leaning back against a strong chest and pulled into a messy kiss purely because he didn’t have the brainpower for anything more finessed.

So focused on Lambert’s burning grip around his waist, on the way he licked into his mouth as Geralt moved his mouth to his other tit, a line of spit connecting him whilst he admired the red, swollen nipple he’d been working on until he rushed forward to latch desperately onto his other one. It was all too much and not enough, and he still felt too empty, was ready to whine about and try and work Lambert’s cock into his ass somehow, regardless of prep, until he clenched his hole and found that he was currently being finger fucked by Vesemir and gods how had he missed that.

“In me, please, need one of you in me now” He heard Lambert chuckle against his lips and Vesemir tut, mentioning something about manners, but then Lambert had a hand under his thigh and was lifting it up to make space for Vesemir to step between his legs. “Daddy” He felt Vesemir shudder, could hear Lambert swear in his ear and Geralt groan with a mouth still around his nipple, and the feeling was enough to have Eskel whine because he was so close to getting what he wanted, no needed “Daddy, daddy please breed me, wanna be filled with your pups”

Eskel whined when he felt Geralt pull away, but he didn’t mourn long before he felt Vesemir's hands under his thighs, holding him up and open which left Eskel clinging onto Vesemir’s shoulders as the older witcher quickly fucked his cock into him. He didn’t even get a chance to enjoy finally feeling full, to grind down and feel his cock settle even deeper into him, the perfect place to come and so deep inside of him he’ll have to catch, but all thoughts of that were gone as Vesemir immediately started fucking him, nothing but the sound of their fucking and Eskel’s unbidden moans on every other thrust could be heard.

“That’s it, daddy, just like that, just like-“ He broke off with a cry as Vesemir moved his hips and was now driving against his prostate “Fuck daddy right there, you gonna knock me up? Gods wanna be full of your pups, want you to fuck me till I’m dripping come, daddy, will you do that?”

“I won’t last long with that mouth on you, wolf”

Eskel couldn’t help but moan, trying to fuck himself back on Vesemir’s’ cock despite the tight grip on his thighs letting out chants of ‘yesyesyes’ and ‘harder daddy’ and ‘right there’, reminding Vesemir he has to fuck him deep if he wants him to catch. The comment is always accompanied by a swear from Vesemir before he shifts his legs to reach deeper in him to make his hole tighter around Vesemir’s’ cock until the witcher is panting and Eskel’s pretty sure he’s drooling over Vesemir’s shoulder as he whines at the witcher to come.

It’s when Vesemir leans forward to latch onto one of Eskel’s nipples, sucking at it that Eskel swears he leaks a bit of milk into Vesemir’s mouth, and that fact with Vesemir changing his angle so that his cock stretches even further into him has Eskel coming. His neglected cock twitching as he spills between them and he’s pretty sure he whines out for his daddy again because he feels Vesemir fuck into him once, twice, and on the third time he stays there, grinding deeper into him as the witcher comes with a snarl, fucking him full of come and the realization has Eskel clench around Vesemir’s cock trying to coax as much out as he can.

When he comes to a little bit, he realizes he’s being passed off to Lambert, behind him but still being held up as Vesemir pulls out. Eskel whimpers and tries to cling onto Vesemir with a soft ‘daddy’ to get him to stay, that and the fact that Vesemir’s come is dripping out of him, he can hear it splatter on the stone beneath him, has Eskel feeling hollow and empty again.

Vesemir just offers him a quick kiss before pulling back to say “You wanna get bred don’t you wolf? You’ll have a better chance with three of us, have you swollen by the end of the night if that’s what you want” Eskel’s shudder and muttered swear is answer enough as Vesemir pulls away and his space is quickly filled with Geralt who again latches onto one of his tits.

He’s not left waiting as he feels Lambert slip his cock into him, the sound of their fucking wet and dirty as Lambert whispers a whole manner of dirty things to him, all centered with him on someone’s cock, whilst Geralt worked at his tits, desperate to taste a drop of him as his brother humped his front. Occasionally their cocks bumped together, but Eskel wasn’t fully hard yet, was still recovering from the last one but even then it was the last thing on his mind, right now it was all about getting Lambert to add to the mess Vesemir had left in his hole.

It’s not long before Lamberts biting his neck whilst he grinds his cock deep into him as he comes, and it's then Geralt moans and snarls as he pulls away, pinching one of his nipples between his fingers and he looks down too to watch a bead of milk bead at the tip before Geralt again snarls as he latches on, humping him desperately as he sucks and Eskel lets out a shattered groan when the ache on his tit gives way to pure relief, ecstasy, as he’s finally letting out milk.

He can hear Lambert whine behind him before the witcher's hand comes to work on his other tit to help alleviate the ache whilst Geralt feeds, slapping their brother away with a snarl of mine when Geralt moves to latch onto that one. Eskel’s sure he can come from this, he can feel Lambert’s cock, still inside him, getting hard again and glancing over his prostate whilst Geralt feeds on him.

Only then Geralt chokes as he comes between them and suddenly Eskel is begging ‘In me, Geralt, get your cock in me now’ and he feels Lambert start to pull out, feels the stretch when Geralt tries to shove his cock in just as the head of Lambert’s cock is pulling out, can feel the stretch of both of them in his hole for just a moment before Lambert’s out and Geralt is grinding out the tail end of his orgasm and it’s that which has him shaking through a second orgasm.

The rest of the night is spent in much of the same way, in that even being filled by all three of them isn’t enough, that ache to be filled comes back and he begs to get two of them in his ass at once, but the promise of another time from Vesemir will have to do for now. Although the implied later, of doing this all again, is not lost on Eskel.

They spend hours on the floor by the fire, where he’s left to ride Geralt’s cock who watches with wide eyes and eager hands on his tits as they bounce with each movement, but it doesn’t last long before Lambert kneels beside him to latch onto his other nipple, groaning at the first taste of his milk. Before he can pull either of them into a kiss, where just the thought of tasting his own milk on their tongues has him shiver, Vesemir pulls his head, teasing his cock head at his mouth and fuck why hadn’t Eskel thought of this, letting out a moan when he feels Vesemir’s cock slide deep down his throat.

#afterhours cw lactation #afterhours cw breeding kink #afterhours cw daddy kink #afterhours fic week #any feedback is welcome

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pressedinthepages · 5 years ago

Text

Kalon (Part 2)

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Word Count: 3642

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: OMG, I just hit 100 followers!!! I am beyond words, thank you all so much for your kind words and support of this weird venture I’ve embarked on XD I was originally going to wait a little longer to release this chapter, but I thought it would be a nice way to celebrate the milestone :)

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox @havenoffandoms @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @magpie343 @queenxxxsupreme @belalugosisdead @hina-chans-stuff

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: SMUT, draw me like one of your french girls, codpiece, oral sex, penetrative sex, eskel is a pussy eating GOD and you cant change my mind

You find inspiration for your next drawing, and Eskel is happy to help. (Part 1)

“May I draw you again?”

Your words ring clear in the lull of the morning, Eskel being the only other person in the kitchen with you. You’ve gotten up early, intent on making breakfast for the Witchers. You’d not been up longer than five minutes before Eskel joined you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing a lingering kiss to your cheek before sitting at one of the benches at the table.

The pot of kasha steams and bubbles over the fire as you ladle two bowls full, bringing them over to the table as you speak. At your words, Eskel’s eyes shoot to yours, fingers clenching on nothing in particular. You set a bowl in front of him before sitting on the other side of the table, facing him as you sprinkle some dried fruits into your breakfast.

Eskel stares into his bowl, mixing some molasses into his kasha with a bit more ferocity than necessary. You let him ponder your question, gently blowing on the first spoonful of your meal as you tuck in.

“Did-” he clears his throat before starting again, “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

“Actually, yes, but only if it was alright with you,” you whisper, not wanting to wake the others up before you could actually make your request. Ever since that first kiss that you shared, you’ve been unable to keep this idea from your mind.

Eskel’s eyes are still glued to the bowl, absentmindedly running his thumb over a groove in the table as he mulls over your words. “How is it you want to draw me?” His voice is low and gravelly, but you can’t tell if it’s from having just woken up or nervousness.

“Well,” you start, pushing away your now-empty bowl, “I know how important your wolf medallion is, and I want to highlight that with you wearing it,”

Eskel’s brows furrow, his head tilting down to glance at the metal circle that hangs from his neck. “Okay...seems easy enough-”

“Wearing only the medallion.”

Eskel’s golden eyes dart back to yours, a deep flush settling across the high planes of his cheeks. His spoon stills, halfway between the bowl and his mouth before he drops it, landing back in the bowl with a loud clatter. At the noise, he blinks back to himself, his hand coming up to scratch at the scars on his face.

“Can-can I think about it?” he murmurs, not fully comfortable but intrigued nonetheless.

“Of course, darling, I’d never want to push you into something that you didn’t want to do,” your words reassure him as footsteps sound from across the keep. Eskel pushes away his now-abandoned breakfast, deep in thought as you rise to clean up.

When you return, all of the other wolves have gathered around the table, Lambert sliding up to sit next to Eskel with a bowl of his own. Geralt’s hair is wild with sleep, and Vesemir sips from a steaming mug as he works on waking to a reasonable state. Here, in the safety of the keep, the witchers can afford to fully rest and take their time in lounging as the sun rises.

You rest a hand on Eskel’s shoulder before coasting onto the bench beside him, nodding a greeting to Geralt as he reaches for the molasses. Eskel turns his head to you, meeting your eyes as he stares deep into them. He smiles, something fleeting between heartbeats, before leaning to whisper in your ear.

“I’ll do it.”

…

That evening, you’re setting up the different materials that you’ve collected throughout the day. Your journal and pencils rest on your bed as you work, draping several thick furs over the cold stone floor in front of the fire. There is no moon tonight, only the stars twinkling in the sky as they wait in anticipation.

As the last fur hits the ground you stand, hands on your hips as you consider if there’s anything else you’ll need. The room is silent, save for the occasional crackling of the fire, and you jump a bit when there is a sudden knock at the door.

You cross the room, your light skirt just barely drifting along the floor. You typically wear trousers around the keep, since they’re much warmer and easier to work in, but the skirt is less restrictive, fluttering and flowing around your legs. The door opens with a low creak, revealing Eskel standing behind it. His broad form takes up most of the doorway, but at least he has foregone the heavy armor and swords that are almost always strapped to his back.

You smile, stepping back into the room and gesture for Eskel to follow. He does, gently closing the door behind him and kicking his boots off by the table before joining you in front of the fire. His hands are cool in yours as you take them, running your fingers over his knuckles as you look into his eyes. He’s nervous, you can tell, but you can also see the budding excitement that lies contained just below the surface.

“You’re sure that you’re okay with this?” you ask, your voice soft and soothing.

“Mhm,” Eskel nods, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to your lips. You smile into it, squeezing his hands in your own as you pull back.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear,” you reach to his waist and untuck the light shirt from his trousers. The fabric is soft and well worn, comfortable to even the barest touch. You reach to undo the buttons at the neck, letting the edges fall away and reveal little glimpses of tanned skin. You fit your fingers under the hem and lift, raising the shirt over his head as he slides out of it. You carefully fold it up, taking your time as you place it on the edge of the bed.

You turn around, your eyes roving Eskel’s newly exposed chest as he watches you. You let yourself look, taking in the swell of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders, the dark dusting of hair over his skin, lingering only slightly on a particularly painful-looking scar that sits just below his sternum. You cross the room back to him, running your hands up his arms as you feel the muscles beneath twitch under your fingers. You admire the medallion, bright silver raised in the shape of a wolf’s head. You kiss the skin right next to it, Eskel’s chest pushing into your touch as he takes in a deep breath.

You straighten up, letting your fingers skirt along the band of his trousers. Your eyes flick up to his for permission, smiling to yourself as he nods for you to continue.

“Red is a good color on you,” you murmur, deftly undoing the bright ties on his codpiece. He huffs out a laugh, his smile easy and soft under your watch. You slip your hands down, pulling the now loosened trousers to the floor as you kneel. Eskel rests a hand on your shoulder as he steps out of them, letting you slide them out from underneath him.

You turn once more to the bed, folding the garments as you go and placing them with the same care that you had his shirt. When you face him once more, your eyes run up the long planes of his legs, the slight dip of his hip, and the impressive manhood that hid under the not-so-subtle codpiece. You blush a bit when you notice that he is already half-hard, swelling and flushing with the beginnings of his arousal.

As you approach him, you take a moment to thread your hands through his hair with a sweet reverence. Eskel sighs into your touch as you trace the lines and valleys of his face, feeling the slope of his nose and the slightly chapped lips under your fingers. You step back after a moment, fiddling with a loose thread on your blouse to keep your hands busy.

“This alright, love?” Eskel blushes at the pet name, lowering his gaze for a moment before smiling lightly at you.

“I’m fine, it’s a little odd though,” he says, quiet in the sanctuary of the room, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so...exposed…” His brow furrows as his voice trails off, his gaze vulnerable as you smile back at him.

“Do you want to continue? We’ll stop if you don’t want to-”

“Yes, I mean, yes I want to continue, it’s strange, but a good strange,” Eskel’s voice is strong now, reassuring both of you with his words.

“Well then,” you hum, “let’s get started.” There is a cushiony chair in the corner of the room and you move over to it, pulling it back to sit at an angle just off parallel to the fireplace. “Eskel, could you kneel, almost like you’re meditating? Mostly faced towards me, but angled a little bit away towards the fire please.” Your voice is no more than a whisper as you grab your materials, kicking off your shoes before sitting in the chair as he follows your direction.

Eskel’s eyes flick up to yours as he settles, knees pressing into the soft furs as he rests his hands atop them. The medallion around his neck glints with the light from the fire as he adjusts for a moment, getting comfortable. When he is satisfied, he looks over to you for what to do next.

“My Gods, you are simply gorgeous,” you smile, Eskel preening slightly at your words. “Now, I just want you to relax. This may take a little while, so please, just let me know if you need anything-oh wait, I almost forgot!”

You jump up, grabbing the cup of water that you had brought with you earlier in the evening. You set it at his side, leaving it within reach so that he can grab it with ease. Taking a thin strand of leather, you tie your hair back from your face, a few strands falling down nonetheless. You sit back down in the chair, tucking your feet under you as you flip to a fresh page.

“Eskel, you can close your eyes if it’s better for you, I just want you to be comfortable. Okay, here we go…” You take a deep breath before pressing the pencil to the page, gently marking the outline of his form. You hum lightly as you work, watching as Eskel sits still under your gaze. The fire warms you from the outside as you feel a different warmth bloom from deep within, settling in your core as you begin to add details.

You sit like this for a while, tracing the numerous scars and the lines of his muscles with your pencil. Eskel is relaxed, breathing slowly as you focus on the medallion. You take your time here, smudging and erasing the harsh lines to fade into a better representation of the decades of wear that it has seen. You move up and down his body on the page, shading and highlighting every inch of his skin with as much reverence as you would if you were actually touching him.

You watch as Eskel’s chest rises with a deep breath in through his nose, almost growling as he exhales. His cock throbs in his lap, now fully hard and leaking onto his hip. He murmurs your name and you hum in response, using the opportunity to focus on capturing the way his length bends upward slightly at the end.

“You smell delicious,” your gaze flicks up, catching him looking over at you. He is still in exactly the same position, but his eyes are open and boring into you, golden flames stoking the fire in your core.

“Patience, love,” you chide, smiling as you consider that you could really be speaking to either of you at this point. “I’m almost finished…”

Eskel smirks, his eyes falling closed as he takes another deep breath. You shake your head, now determined to complete this quickly. You stop and start back a few times, looking over the picture for mistakes and making small adjustments as you find them.

Finally satisfied, you rise from the chair and cross to the table by the door. You set down your journal and pencils, releasing your hair from its tie before turning back to Eskel. He is still kneeling on the floor, his eyes open once more and tracking your every move.

“Will you let me see it?” he asks, turning his head slightly towards you as you slink to his side. You stand over him, watching as he raises his eyes to look directly at you. They are clouded with lust, his hesitance and shame having been washed away by your worship of him.

“Hmm,” you ponder out loud, “I could, but Gods, I want to touch you so badly…” You lean down and fit the tip of one of your fingers under his chin, tracing the line of his jaw as you sink to meet him. You thread your fingers through the silk of his hair, bringing them down to rest at the back of his neck as you pull him to you.

Your lips meet in a sweet, soft caress before swelling into something bigger, more powerful as Eskel steals your breath. You move as a push and pull of the tides, each keeping the other steady as your hands become desperate. Eskel licks into your mouth, sweeping you into his embrace as you feel his hand start to undo the ties of your skirt. It floats to the ground, pooling around you as he lifts your chemise.

His hands are rough against the soft skin of your abdomen, but he moves with such grace that it’s insignificant. Your lips part only for the time it takes for the chemise to be lifted from your head before you surge back into Eskel’s grasp. His hands quickly find the ties to your underclothes, but he fumbles blindly with the knots. You laugh into his mouth when he growls in frustration, finally choosing to just rip them off of you. A fresh wave of arousal surges through you when you are finally, blissfully, bare before him, pressing as much skin into him as you can.

You fling your clothes off of the rugs, leaving them to be picked up in the morning. You have far better things to concern yourself with at the moment, pushing Eskel’s shoulders back to have him lay on the furs as you straddle his hips. His hands move all over you, touching everywhere he can reach, glancing up your thighs, over your hips, pressing across your breasts, grabbing you by the hands and pulling you down, capturing your lips once more.

He nips at the bottom lip before shifting his weight, bracing one of his feet on the floor before twisting, flipping the both of you so that you lie on the floor, caged in his arms. You laugh freely, the sound turning swiftly into a moan as Eskel brings his hand to cup your cunt.

“My Gods,” he sighs, “you’re dripping,”

“Mmm, only for you, darling,” you hum as his fingers move up and down the length of your slit, your legs falling open as he moves downward. Eskel takes his time, kissing and licking along your skin before laying on the floor with his head between your legs. Your nerves are singing under your skin, rising and falling in hums of pleasure that reverberate through your bones. He kisses along the inside of one of your thighs, climbing up, up, finally finding the peak of your core and suckling the little bundle of nerves. Your hands tangle in his hair as you moan, the sound low and deep and pressed through gritted teeth as he slowly sinks two of his fingers into you.

He hums against you, licking and thrusting and pushing and holding and taking, leaving you with barely a breath to tide you over. Your hips rock unbidden, chasing a pleasure that only they know the path to. You watch Eskel, his eyes glazed over, fucked out on the taste of you, his hips rutting against the ground in time with his fingers in your cunt.

“Oh gods, please, Eskel, please,” you babble, words turning incoherent as he brushes just the smallest glance of teeth against you. He groans, sending you soaring into an abyss of stars that burn too bright and noise that is deafening in its silence. Your thighs shake and your core clenches around Eskel’s fingers as he coaxes through your climax.

You sink down into the furs, finding his hand at your waist and threading your fingers together as you whisper, “Oh, Eskel,”

He falls apart, growling into you as his hips falter, his hand squeezing yours as his release takes over. He thrusts a few times more, spilling between his body and the furs as he holds you tight. Eskel gasps against your core, his lips shiny with the evidence of your arousal. His grip relaxes as he comes down, breathing deeply as he rises to his knees. He is still hard, his own spend dripping down his chest as he looms above you. You reach up, tracing a line through it, feeling him clench as you do. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck his spend from your fingers.

“Fuck,” Eskel says, leaning down to kiss you. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist as you taste your own arousal on his mouth. He is heavy atop you, the weight of him enveloping you as you thrust your hips gently towards his. You pull back, panting as you feel the tip of his cock against your folds.

“Please, Eskel, don’t make me beg,” you murmur into his lips. He hums in response, looking down as he takes his length in his hand to align himself. His mahogany hair tickles your forehead as he leans against you, slowly pressing into your core. Your fingers grasp for purchase on the thickest parts of his arms, your nails digging in as he stretches you wide. It’s almost too much, dancing the line between pain and pleasure.

But when he pulls back, only to thrust into you again just a little bit faster, you can’t help that your legs push against his back, forcing him deeper inside of you as your hips rise to meet him. Your breaths intermingle in the space between you, filled with praise and begging for more, more, his cock spearing, nudging the bundle of nerves nestled deep in your core with every snap of his hips.

“Oohh, yes, Eskel, right there, keep going, just like that,” your voice is husky in the night, stars drifting from their place in the sky to line your words. Eskel pushes himself up, gripping your hips with an insurmountable strength and holding you steady as he fucks into you. Your back arches with the new angle, feeling every move that he makes in a way that drowns out everything from existence. All you know in this moment is Eskel, the bright, shining moon that was missing from your sky.

“Fuck, I’m-I’m gonna…” Eskel groans as his thrusts turn sloppy, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room.

“Go on, take your pleasure in me, let me have it,” you grip his hand where it rests once more and he roars, spending deep inside of you, his cock throbbing against the most sensitive spot over and over and over, and all of that sends you spiraling in your own peak with him. Your bones sing, simultaneously feeling everything and nothing as you hurtle through an endless night. Eskel comes and comes, his climax taking over all of his senses, his spend dripping past the tight seal of his cock in your cunt and dripping down onto the furs.

As the stars return to their place in the sky you smile, pulling him down to kiss him, humming against his mouth. He pulls out of you, a small whine crawling out of your chest with the emptiness. Eskel kneels next to you, fitting his arms beneath your knees and your back as he swiftly rises, cradling you in his grasp as he carries you to the bed. He sets you down gently, laughing as you keep your hands locked around his neck and try to pull him in after you.

“Hang on a moment, love, I just want to grab something,” he pads away and you get comfortable, yanking the blanket up and nuzzling into it, accidentally kicking Eskel’s clothes off of the bed in your haste. When Eskel returns to your side, he climbs into the bed beneath the blanket, pulling you close as he fits his nose just beneath your ear. He inhales, moaning softly as he relaxes into your arms.

“You always smell so nice,” he whispers, light and sweet in your ear. He pulls back, letting you curl around his side as he holds you close. You rest your head on his chest, reaching for the journal that he has clasped in his free hand. Eskel opens it, flipping to the most recent page. You feel him tense up just a bit beneath you, his heartbeat quickening ever so slightly as he regards the drawing on the parchment.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I just...thank you,” his words rumble through his chest, thick with emotion that he still doesn’t really know what to do with. You tilt your head up, looking into his golden eyes that are shiny with unshed tears.

“You don’t have to say anything, I know,” you murmur, letting him hold you close as the stars twinkle and fade in the early morning light, content in their witness to worship.

................................................

a/n: So i just needed to tell you that I also briefly considered using this infamous photo as a reference for Eskel’s pose, but I couldn’t write it without laughing hysterically so I went with this instead XD

#eskel x reader #smut #smexy #draw me like one of your french girls #eskel's codpiece #is a sin #but one of those good sins #that's really fun

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incorrectly-quoted-queers · 5 years ago

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Maybe Loving Someone at Kaer Morhen

@nim-nim-1994 and @g-l-o-w-y-l-i-g-h-t-s asked for it soooooo

Expanding my Countess Break-Up chat into a mini-fic

It’s your faults

.....

“I don’t understand women sometimes. I mean, the Countess and I were having a great time. Why did she have to ruin it?”

Though Jaskier was comfortably laying in the grass, Yennefer preferred a couch under a tree. Initially Vesemir wasn’t too keen on a sofa being in the training area, but per usual, Yennefer won the argument.

He’d never been a huge fan of hers, but they had a sort of bond now, watching over Ciri and the Witchers at Kaer Morhen. They wouldn’t admit it, but it was the closest either of them got to a happy home life.

Perched on her proverbial queen’s throne, Yennefer rolled her eyes. “I think perhaps you sleeping with her husband ruined it, love.”

“I thought bringing equality and honesty to their marriage would’ve been good for them.” Flicking an insect off his pants, Jaskier wondered why he never got himself a sofa.

Granted, it would be harder to see the sun in the shade.

When Yennefer didn’t add anything, he continued his complaining. He wasn’t quite done yet, and her silence was not going to stop him now. “What will I even do with myself, without a lover to entertain myself with? Should I find a local noble? A wandering hero? A beautiful tavern flower? The options sound tantalizing, but they are so few and far between up here where no one but jaded Witchers hang their damn hats.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Of all things, Jaskier did not like her tone. He propped himself up on his elbows and knitted his brows. “I know you don’t care about romance right now, too busy being a mother hen, but it is an absolute staple of my personality, thank you.”

“No, you absolute-” Yennefer sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, like he said something profoundly stupid. He knew the look because she often looked at him this way, but this one seemed especially sour. “You know Geralt’s in love with you, right?”

The laughter that bubbled out of Jaskier wasn’t cute, to say the least. “Geralt? Give a rat’s ass about me? Hardly.”

“You idiot men are so clueless.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Well then get smarter.” Yennefer leaned into the arm of her sofa and rested her face on her hands. “He’s been mooning after you for years. But he’s a sad, tragic prick who will never say anything. I thought you chose not to notice.”

Jaskier sat up all the way and pressed a hand to his beating heart. “You have to be fucking with me. Of course I’d notice if my Witcher had any feelings for me.” And if he did, how dare you not tell me sooner.

“You can’t be serious-” After getting this laser-focus look in her eye, Yennefer gasped. “Oh my god, you are. I never bothered to look into your mind because I assumed it was full of drivel, but you sincerely think that blatant fool of a man doesn’t pine after you.” Then she frowned. “Wait, what was that song about my tits in there-”

Jolting up, Jaskier started to walk away as quickly as he could. He didn’t need to die by magical hands just as he got possibly the most important information of his life.

If Geralt really did feel that way-

Well, be still his damned beating heart, this changed everything.

So, it was time to test Yennefer’s assertion.

Jaskier mustered up all his courage and extravagant acting skills for this one, as he walked up the steps to Geralt’s room. He hadn’t gotten to say hello to him yet, since coming back from the Countess. The bard assumed that his stupid Witcher didn’t care.

Maybe he was wrong this whole time.

But if he was going to pull this little gambit off, he really had to sell it. Giving himself a few seconds to get the right proper tragic, dramatic face, he didn’t knock on Geralt’s wooden door. No, he just waltzed himself in, slamming it and making as much noise as possible.

And there he was, sitting on the edge of his bed, his cotton shirt half on, cleaning the blades of his swords. Those yellow eyes looked up at him and, now that the bard was paying attention, there was a flicker of something bright before a deep scowl took over his face.

“Jaskier-”

The bard wasn’t going to let his expressions push him away, with some growl or bark to try to bite away at the bard’s desire to be by his side. No, this time he had supposed insider information and Jaskier was going to run with it.

Flopping on Geralt’s bed, pouting up at the Witcher, Jaskier said, “That’s it. I’m never dating another woman again.”

He looked for any movement on Geralt’s face from the corner of his eye; he almost missed the twitch of a smile. “Countess dumped you?”

“Yes, but not the usual one. It seems my type is unavailable women who will never compromise or accept me as I am, not to my face, at least.” Well, that wasn’t quite what happened, but this fit his little game a bit better.

Ever the bizarre friend, Geralt patted his shoulder like he was a damned horse. “You’re a good bard.”

That wasn’t exactly what Jaskier was looking for, and it made him a little huffy. Maybe Yennefer was talking out of her ass, just trying to make a fool out of him.

“My ego needs no stroking, Geralt, I know I’m wonderful. I just think it’s high time I focus solely on men for awhile.”

As if by magic, those stressless shoulders stiffened. Now, if it was because he had interest or merely was uncomfortable with Jaskier talking about boning men while on his bed, that was the next step. After a beleaguered silence of creepily watching the Witcher’s every face-twitch, the man coughed and said, “Like who?”

Jaskier had to choke on a few breaths to resuscitate his damn heart. Holy hell, Yennefer might’ve been on to something.

Now was not the time to panic. Sure, he’d been somewhat interested in hearing Geralt say his name among strained groans for years at this point. But he couldn’t get too excited and scare the clam of a man. Otherwise he’d shut the fuck up, and fast.

He swallowed and tried to act casual, doing his normal egregious hand gestures. “Same type, honestly, just different sexy bits.”

If the bard didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn those stiff shoulders were now melting into the slightest blush peeking from the back of the Witcher’s neck.

He had to keep going.

Sitting up slowly, knowing he was positioning himself a little closer to Geralt than he normally would, Jaskier said, “Now just to find myself a good option.”

Geralt mumbled something.

Jaskier had to keep pushing. “What was that?”

Under his breath, the Witcher said, “Maybe one is closer than you think.”

Oh, so the man was going to play vague with him. That was... something. But he also knew Geralt a little too well, and vague never went anywhere. He had to keep sending him towards the brink of bubbling thoughts before the man would tip over and talk about his damn feelings.

So, he pulled the meanest card he could.

Smirking, Jaskier countered, “Do you mean Lambert? Because whilst he’s a delinquent, I have to admit, he’s got a decent face--”

“Absolutely not.” The response practically rumbled out of Geralt’s chest like fucking thunder.

Jaskier wasn’t sure if he should be a little scared or turned on.

Probably both, if he was going to be honest.

Before he could say anything about it, Geralt put his sword on the bed and bolted upright. “Never mind, you’re not dating anyone here, ever.”

And then he walked out of the damn room.

Funny, considering it was his room in the first place.

The second Geralt’s door slammed behind him, Jaskier let out an embarrassing snort of laughter. He’d hate telling Yennefer she was right, but this one might actually be worth it.

Running his hand across the hilt of Geralt’s blade, wondering how long the Witcher had been keeping romantic secrets from him, Jaskier said to himself, “Don’t act so sure about that, Geralt of Rivia.” And then he sputtered out some more unladylike laughter that’d he really have to deal with another day that wasn’t today. “Now the real fun begins.”

Just as he stopped talking, though, the door slammed back open and Geralt had this perturbed frown on his face. “This is my room.”

“Yes, and you just stomped out of it. It was quite adorable.”

The frown on the Witcher’s face deepened. “I was tending my blades. Out.”

“Alright, alright.” Even though he was exiting Geralt’s room for now, he was still going to leave the man with some torment. Jaskier smiled over his shoulder and asked, “But what if tonight, since we haven’t seen each other in awhile, we shared a bed like those poor early days of travel? How nostalgic that’d be, tucked up against you and-”

“Out.”

Face forward, Jaskier had to hide his overblown smiles to keep the ruse going. “See you later, Geralt.”

As the door shut behind him, he really couldn’t wait for the next time those yellow eyes met his. After all, he was going to make the stubborn man tell him what he felt, if it was the last thing he did.

...

(Maybe could do a part 2, dunno, depends on if y’all want it, tell me if you’re interested <3)

Edit: Part 2 and Part 3

#Witcher fanfic #Witcher fandom #geraskier #Geralt x Jaskier #Bard x Witcher #Yennefer the wingman #Kaer Morhen #Geralt's secret feelings #Jaskier tricking the witcher #romantic angst #Pranking Geralt #fantasy boyfriends #friends to lovers

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havenoffandoms · 4 years ago

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Precious Buttercup, Delicate Flower - Whumptober Prompt 3

Prompt: My Way or the Highway (manhandled/forced to their knees/held at gunpoint)

Summary: Geralt rode the elevator to the third floor, his gun securely nestled in the holster hanging at his hip and concealed by Geralt’s leather jacket. When he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed that the hallway was empty. Good. Geralt hated loose ends. They kept him awake at night and titillated the dark voices in his head urging him to track, to silence, to kill.

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Sociopathic Geralt, Hurt/No comfort, emotional manipulation, held at gunpoint

Geralt rode the elevator to the third floor, his gun securely nestled in the holster hanging at his hip and concealed by Geralt’s leather jacket. When he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed that the hallway was empty. Good. Geralt hated loose ends. They kept him awake at night and titillated the dark voices in his head urging him to track, to silence, to kill. Geralt walked down the familiar hallway heading for apartment 32, Jaskier’s apartment. His pulse quickened at the thought of what he was about to do. It’s the job, Vesemir had told him before handing him a picture of Jaskier that same morning, that cop’s on Lambert’s trail. We need to get him out of the picture before he gets to us. It was what the job required him to do, and Geralt was nothing if damn good at his job. He reached apartment 32 quickly and brought a fist to gently knock on the door. It did not take Jaskier long to appear in the doorway, a bright smile illuminating his face like he did not have a fucking bounty on his head.

“Hey babe,” Jaskier greeted him, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Geralt’s lips, “you’re early, as always. Come in, I just finished baking cookies.”

Jaskier loved baking. And singing. And cheesy rom-coms. These were all things Geralt had learned about the man over the past year they had been dating. They had met in a trendy London bar. Geralt had been on a mission to gather intel on his next victim, but Jaskier’s soft brown curls and blue eyes sparkling with mischief had proved too great a distraction. Geralt had taken Jaskier home that night, in the mood for a quick one-night-stand, but Jaskier was the most intoxicating drug Geralt had ever tasted and he had become obsessed with Jaskier’s entire existence. A one-night-stand turned into casual coffee dates in between Geralt’s bounties and Jaskier’s detective work, and before Geralt could stop himself he was taking Jaskier out the movies, to expensive restaurants, on trips around the world (first class, if you please). Vesemir hated it. Of course he did. It was dangerous for an assassin to date a detective. Not any detective, mind you, but one of the detectives who had been on Geralt and his brothers’ trails for months now. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer Vesemir, Geralt had told the man who had taken him in and raised him like his own son. Keeping your enemies closer does not mean you need to fuck them, Geralt, Vesemir had retorted. Geralt did not care. Their relationship was dangerous, but Geralt loved the thrill of it. He always got what he wanted, and right now, he wanted Jaskier more than anything in the world.

Needed Jaskier.

Craved him.

Vesemir could piss off.

“Chocolate chip cookies?” Geralt asked as he stepped into Jaskier’s apartment.

“Rainbow cookies,” Jaskier corrected him, giggling softly when Geralt frowned at him, “I added smarties instead of choc chips, but rainbow cookies sounds miles better than smarties cookies, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say, buttercup.”

Buttercup. His delicate little flower. His buttercup. Geralt bit back a dreamy sigh as he followed Jaskier into the kitchen. The counter was littered with open packaging, dirty bowls, various kitchen utensils, and was that rainbow cookie dough hanging from the ceiling? Geralt smirked, knowing just how chaotic his boyfriend could be in the kitchen. Jaskier was a man of many talents, a jack of all trades if you like, but for all his efforts he was a right mess in the kitchen. In fact, Geralt did not even think Jaskier’s creations tasted that good, but he would much rather lie to Jaskier than see his precious buttercup upset.

“I’ll be yours in just a flash, my dear, I need to call my boss. I think we had a breakthrough in that serial killer case we’re working on, isn’t that exciting?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched as he fought the urge to reach for his gun. Not yet. Not now. And if Geralt had a say in it, not ever. Geralt watched as Jaskier wiped his fingers on his apron before reaching for his phone which lay forgotten and covered in flour on the kitchen island. Geralt waited patiently, observing, listening. An unfamiliar feeling tugged at his heartstrings, but Geralt quickly repressed whatever it was distracting him from his goal. There was no space in his line of work for emotions to take over. Geralt needed to keep a cold head. He would mourn later. Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on him to lean against the kitchen island as he spoke to his boss.

“Hi Dijkstra, how’s it going? I’m fine yeah, why do you ask? … Just spit it out, man,” Jaskier urged his boss after a long pause during which Geralt guessed Dijkstra, the asshole who had been trailing Lambert for the past months, was fumbling nervously over his own words. “No, that… that can’t be right…”

Geralt reached for his gun but did not cock it yet. Jaskier’s back was still turned to him, but his shoulders were tense and the hand holding his phone was shaking.

“No, he’s not here. In fact, I haven’t heard from Geralt all day.” A blatant lie. “Yes Dijkstra, I promise. I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.” Jaskier hug up abruptly and Geralt did not need to be a medium to know that Dijkstra did not want the conversation to end so soon. Jaskier was protecting him. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower. Geralt did not deserve him. Geralt swallowed thickly and tightened his hold around the grip of his handgun before pointing the gun at Jaskier’s head and cocking it.

Jaskier tensed.

“You’re one of them. You’re one of the wolves.”

The Wolves. The name Vesemir had given to Geralt and his brothers, an alias, a code name. It was a statement rather than a question, and Jaskier spoke these words with such hurt, such betrayal that Geralt very nearly screamed with rage. He hated being the reason that Jaskier was upset.

It’s the job.

Geralt’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“I am.”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Jaskier asked, his tone resigned, and that hurt Geralt more than the thought of killing him. Geralt took a composing breath, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened even more. He did his best to hide the way his hands were shaking by taking a deep, composing breath and balling the hand at his side into a fist. Geralt had picked a handgun because it meant a quick death. By far his least favourite weapon, admittedly, but Jaskier did not deserve to suffer. A bullet through the head, and it would soon be over.

Geralt tried to convince himself that he was doing what had to be done to protect himself, to protect Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. They were family, right? Family came first, right? Only Geralt had come to see Jaskier as family too, and fuck why could Vesemir not see that Jaskier was already a member of the pack?

“Turn around,” Geralt gently instructed. Jaskier only briefly hesitated to do as he was told, and when their eyes met Jaskier was staring at Geralt calmly, not a hint of fear to be found in those blue pools. Not fear, no, but something that stung all the same. Betrayal, hurt, disappointment, but also… love. Pure and unyielding despite Geralt holding a gun to Jaskier’s fucking head. Geralt smiled softly. His brave buttercup. “I don’t want to kill, you Jaskier.”

It was not a lie. Geralt had spent all day thinking of a way to get out of the contract. He knew that refusing to kill Jaskier would only encourage Vesemir to give the contract on Jaskier’s head to someone else. Vesemir might send Eskel or worse, Lambert to finish the job. Lambert could be particularly cruel, but he was always efficient. Geralt blamed that asshole Aiden for teaching Lambert how to toy with his victims and torture them before finishing them off slowly. Eskel, on the other hand, was a straight to the point, no strings attached kind of employee. He did the job quickly, professionally and without getting attached. Geralt liked to add personal touches to his jobs. He liked leaving breadcrumbs leading to nowhere to throw the cops and MI6 off their scent. Geralt loved the thrill that came with nearly getting caught.

Geralt could not let anyone else deal with Jaskier’s bounty, but that did not mean that he could not find another way to keep Jaskier safe – from Vesemir, from his brothers, from the authorities who would arrest Jaskier for being romantically involved with an assassin. Geralt had a plan, but that would only work if Jaskier cooperated. Which he might not after finding out who Geralt was, what he was.

“Geralt, you don’t have to do this.” Bargaining. A classic. People always tried to bargain their way out of being killed. “We can protect you. MI6 can protect you if you collaborate with us.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Geralt asked gently as he stepped closer to Jaskier. To Geralt’s delight, the other man did not even flinch. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower, let Geralt come close, although the latter was pointing a cocked gun at him. Geralt felt oddly proud.

“Geralt, what you’re doing is wrong. You’re murdering people.”

“Guilty people,” Geralt clarified. He stopped only when his face and Jaskier’s were mere inches apart. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to Jaskier’s forehead before leaning closer to place a soft kiss on the other man’s lips. A kiss that was returned, if a little shyly. “Most of them are, at least. The innocent people I’ve killed over the years were, how to put it, collateral damage.”

“Geralt, this is not the way to go about things. Guilty people need to be charged, then imprisoned. There are laws to punish guilty people, Geralt. Murder is a crime, even if you target guilty people.”

“Those laws will get guilty people in prison, but for how long? The people I kill don’t deserve justice. They never abided by the rules in place, so why should they be judged by the same rules they so readily disregarded most of their lives?”

It was only when tears gathered in his eyes that Geralt realised he had not blinked in a while. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, his eyes fluttering shut as he took in the intoxicating smell of his boyfriend’s bergamot scented shampoo. Geralt’s favourite. Jaskier leaned into him, his hand travelling up Geralt’s chest to rest warmly over his heart, perhaps to reassure himself that Geralt still had one. They stayed like this for a while, Geralt still pressing his gun to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Geralt… please. You say you kill guilty people. Then spare me. We’ll work this out, together.”

“I have a plan,” Geralt whispered, his other hand coming to rest at the back of Jaskier’s neck as he peppered his boyfriend’s neck with what he hoped were reassuring kisses. “I don’t have to kill you, my precious buttercup. I don’t want to kill you. My orders were to get you out of the picture. I can do that, get you somewhere safe.”

“What? Geralt, I can’t just run away. They’ll look for me. They know who you are, they’ll hunt you down.”

“I won’t leave your side, buttercup. I’ll come with you, we can lay low for a while. We’ll go somewhere they can’t track us. A farm, how does that sound? You and me, a couple of chickens, horses, dogs,… and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me,” Geralt promised, but his words rather than soothe Jaskier seemed to rile him up even more. Jaskier suddenly pulled away, those blue eyes Geralt could happily lose himself in staring back at him uncomprehendingly like Jaskier did not recognise the man before him. Geralt was no stranger. He was still the same man as before, ready to do anything to protect and defend what was his.

“No! I don’t want that. Geralt, I want you to stop killing people, guilty or not, I want you to cooperate with MI6, I want you to be safe.”

“You don’t love me anymore?” Geralt asked, suddenly insecure, something dark and twisted stirring in him at the thought of Jaskier leaving. Jaskier could not leave. Geralt would not allow it. How would he keep his boyfriend safe if Jaskier left him? His eyes sought Jaskier’s, finding none of the warmth and adoration Geralt usually saw reflected in the blue pools. Instead he found confusion, anger and most upsetting of all, the first hints of fear.

“I don’t love that you kill people,” Jaskier said after a brief silence, his frown deepening when Geralt’s fingers reached out to gently traced the line of his jaw, “You’re asking me to uproot my entire life, quit the job I love, leave my family and my friends behind to follow you to some yet unknown place to live on a farm. Yet, you don’t seem willing to give up your… your job. You expect me to accept that you kill people for a living. I certainly don’t love that about you.”

“So if I left now, you wouldn’t even be sad?” Geralt asked, willing his racing heart to calm down as he pulled Jaskier closer to him. Geralt teasingly ran the tip of his tongue along the shell of Jaskier’s ear, but the shudder his actions triggered was a result of Jaskier’s fear, not lust. Geralt growled low in his chest.

“No. I wouldn’t be.”

Geralt straightened up so he could stare properly into Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier was lying. He could read his boyfriend like an open book, no matter how hard Jaskier tried to keep a straight face. It was Geralt’s job to find people’s weaknesses, and it was painfully clear that Jaskier’s weakness was Geralt. The way cornflour blue eyes avoided his honey-brown ones, the way Jaskier made no move to step away, the hopeful shimmer in his eyes, the twitching fingers itching to pull Geralt close… all these indicators pointed to it. Geralt smirked.

“Liar.”

Geralt stepped back and brought his gun to his chin, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. The way his boyfriend’s eyes widened in panic was a tell-tale sign that Geralt’s bluff was paying off. He even managed to look weepy, tears welling up in his eyes as he let out shaky breaths. Sometimes his job required Geralt to put up a show, either to manipulate or toy with his victims. Jaskier took the bait instantly.

“Geralt, no. You don’t want to do this.”

“You think I won’t kill myself?” Geralt asked, his voice hitching as he forced the tears to trail down his cheeks, “you’re mistaken, buttercup. I can’t do this anymore. I need to keep you safe.”

“Geralt, don’t do this, please don’t do this!” Jaskier all but begged, his own eyes filling with tears. His precious buttercup, his delicate flower. Geralt almost felt bad. “Geralt please, we’ll find a way to keep us both safe, I promise, just please… drop the gun. Please.”

“If you can’t come with me, I need to keep you safe some other way. Keep you safe from me. This is the only way.”

“GERALT, NO!”

Jaskier ran towards Geralt and reached for the gun, but Geralt was faster and moved away from his boyfriend before Jaskier had a chance to catch him. A loud, near hysterical, bark of laughter pushed past Geralt’s lips, his eyes which had been filled with tears before now full of mischief. In his haste, Jaskier had tripped and was now sprawled on his kitchen floor, looking up at Geralt in anxious anticipation. When Jaskier finally looked at him again, Geralt’s grin vanished and his features hardened into an unreadable expression.

“Don’t lie to me, buttercup,” Geralt said as he crouched next to the trembling man, his voice uncharacteristically cold considering he was talking to Jaskier of all people, “you care. You love me. And I love you. I want to keep you safe.”

“Geralt, you’re scaring me.”

“Hush, my sweet one,” Geralt put his gun down and cupped Jaskier’s face in his large hands, his thumbs gently wiping the rogue tears running down the pale cheeks, “none of that. I won’t hurt you. I won’t kill you. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe.”

Jaskier paused for a second, blue eyes losing themselves in honey-brown ones. Geralt smiled softly, whispering sweet nothings to Jaskier who had this tortured look on his face. Geralt vowed to make it all better, to be the best boyfriend Jaskier could ever dream of. He would never give up Jaskier, not for all the riches in the world. It might take some time for his lover to realise this, but with time Jaskier will see that all Geralt was trying to do is keep them safe and create a life for them. Eventually, Jaskier seemed to have calmed down and one hand came up to cover Geralt’s in a tender gesture. His eyes filled with tears again. Geralt hated seeing his buttercup so upset.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay Jaskier, I’m he-“

Geralt did not get a chance to finish his sentence that Jaskier had picked up the gun and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Geralt’s thigh and taking him by surprise long enough for Jaskier to scramble to his feet and race for the door. Geralt roared in pain, but he quickly regained his composure and tried to pull himself up using the kitchen aisle as leverage. Jaskier had taken the gun with him. When Geralt was on his feet, Jaskier was already gone. There was no use in trying to pursue him, not when he was injured, but Geralt was not overly worried.

He would find Jaskier one way or another.

His precious buttercup, who was obviously not such a delicate flower after all.

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #held at gunpoint #the witcher #fic #sociopathy #hurt no comfort #emotional manipulation #assassin Geralt #MI6 agent Jaskier #geralt z rivia #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #assassins au #alternate universe

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dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

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Chapter 5 - A Broken Princess

This one is angsty like... all over. That was not the plan. I regret nothing. Feel free to shout at me in the notes and in my askbox:)

Also, thanks to @persony-pepper for betaing this chapter!

Summary: Ciri does neither trust nor like Jaskier, so Geralt has to try and talk with his old friend.

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 7

He would lie if he said he wasn't relieved that Jaskier had agreed to him training Ciri. The week before had been nothing short of torture, and Geralt was slowly going mad without any task to set his mind upon. And it wasn't even like the winters in Kaer Morhen where there was always something to fix, always someone to train with, always some creature to hunt. The ancient ruin was a wild place with more than enough opportunities to keep a witcher occupied.

Lettenhove Hall was none of that. It was a well-kept castle with enough servants to see to every minor inconvenience. There were no monsters either and while the guards were friendly enough, they didn't seem to look forward to training with him.

He had found out that there were twenty of them in total, quite a lot for a castle as small as Lettenhove. Besides the occasional piercing glare, though, their interactions were non-existent. He could leave the castle, he had discovered, without so much as a blink from the garrison. 'At least I am no prisoner,' he remembered thinking relieved; but there wasn't really anywhere to go. He had ventured out a few times to explore Jaskier's lands but that had become boring quickly enough. Only once he had been reminded not to stray too far, as the viscount expected him for dinner in just an hour. Generally speaking, Geralt was fine with that. Only bored.

He was in the stables a lot, enjoying the quiet company of the horses and Wiktor. Sometimes the old equerry even asked him to take one of the noble horses for a ride, if the Pankratz siblings neglected them for too long.

Józefa still came by almost every day, trying to seduce him, but he could tell that she wasn't really trying anymore. He almost hoped she would. Instead their conversations had turned to playful banter from her part that he answered with silence, grunts and the occasional barbed remark. It might have been fun if it didn't emphasise the fetterless behaviour he and Jaskier had shared. Being treated quite similarly by his sister, who resembled the bard in everything but looks, made their estranged relationship all the more painful.

So, Geralt was glad that he could train Ciri now. He finally had something to do again, although that had not been his plan. He had hoped that Vesemir could instruct her, and that his brothers would help. That would have been nice. He also already feared the tongue-lashing that awaited him once Vesemir saw all the bad habits Ciri learned from him. It didn’t matter how many years passed since he had left Vesemir’s care and Kaer for good, his old teacher always found things to critique him for.

Now that he had a student for himself, he began to understand it. He had permission to chase her across the courtyard and snap at her for her sloppy poses and weak slashes for the entire morning, from breakfast until lunch — Jaskier had told him in no uncertain terms that he would have no repetition of that first day, though he didn't mention why. Geralt had suspicions, mainly having to do with the fact that Jaskier was very irritated when Geralt berated Ciri harshly. And that he was much more amenable when they didn't cross blades quite as often, reducing the noise to a minimum.

Geralt was fairly happy with standing at the sidelines, although he caught himself embarrassingly often mimicking Vesemir's poses. And his comments. And even his damned tone, Melitele's tits.

To avoid that, he had taken to tracing the buttercup carved into the pommel of his sword, wondering for how long Jaskier had gone by that ridiculous name. He didn’t know when he had started thinking of it as his sword. He also wasn't sure which of the two new habits was worse.

It was his third day of training Ciri. Shortly after lunch, from which Jaskier remained absent, Geralt was just changing into what had deemed his stable clothes when he heard some kind of noise next door.

Geralt sighed and quickly pulled the shirt over his head before knocking on Ciri's door.

"Fuck off," he heard her swear and he winced. The cuss words had been a bad idea; she was taking too much after him already.

"Ci- Fiona, it's me. You better be dressed, ‘cause I'm coming in." He turned the doorknob and cursed quietly when he found it locked. "Open up!" he demanded.

"I don't want to," she answered.

"You're supposed to go riding with Lord Julian."

"I don't want to!"

"He's even gifted you a new riding cloak-"

"I don't want it!" Ciri shouted. "I don't want any of it! Leave me alone."

Geralt sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the door. 'What the fuck was I thinking?' he asked himself not for the first — and surely not the last time. He had just seen what disaster the law of surprise brought, why the fuck had he claimed it? From the Lioness of Cintra's son-in-law no less. 'If there ever was going to be a bratty child,' he thought glumly, 'it was destined to be this one.'

He took a deep breath and told himself: 'Remember Kaer Morhen. At least it's not snot-nosed Lambert.' That made him feel a bit better.

After a few moments he tried again: "Do you want to... talk about it?" Gods, what was this child doing to him? 'I really love you, Ciri. You better fucking appreciate it.'

There was a quiet sniffle. "You don't do ‘talking’."

"Hmmm," he made. "Not if I can avoid it. Gotta take care of my pup, though. Cub." There was a beat of silence. "I can go get somebody else-" Before he could finish that sentence, the door opened and the air was punched out of his lungs as Ciri dove in for a hug. "There," he said, awkwardly patting her back, "that's better." He looked around for passing servants and when he heard footsteps, he simply picked her up and walked over to her bed after closing the door behind him.

Geralt gently cradled his child surprise in his arms and held her while she cried. She hadn't cried for quite some time now, not since their arrival in Lettenhove, but now the scent of salt-sadness and onion-grief was overwhelming.

He had never felt so helpless as when the concoction had first startled him awake, not three days after finding her. Ciri had just laid on her side, quietly crying into her bedroll and Geralt had had no idea what to do. His first instinct had been to go back to sleep and leave her her privacy but then — and he firmly believed it to be an accident — she had weakly croaked: "Help- Grandmother- Geralt-!" He had never been on his feet faster, scrambling to her side, afraid to get too close, afraid to startle her, afraid to hold her. "What can I do?" he had pleaded. "Tell me, what can I do?" And then, to his never-ending surprise, she had crawled into his arms — 'No, that's wrong, children hate witchers.' — and hugged him close, drenching his shirt with her tears.

Once, after, he had asked her if she was still scared of their pursuers. There had been only one answer: "I'm not scared anymore. You're scarier than all my nightmares." That had been the day Geralt had discovered that he was a coward. He never dared ask why she didn't reek of fear, then.

He had never gotten better at comforting the little cub since that first night. Somehow, she still relaxed faster every time. 'That's wrong,' his traitorous head snarled, 'she shouldn't. No child should feel safe with a witcher close.' Only, this one did. She had never smelt of fear, not after she first set eyes on him. 'Like Jaskier.' And like Jaskier she had wormed her way into his heart way too fast.

After a while the crying stopped. "Are you alright, little cub?" he whispered.

Ciri looked up at him, tears drying on her cheek. "Geralt... do we have to stay here?"

Something in his chest tightened. 'Oh no,' he thought. "We're safe here," he said slowly. "Lord Julian will protect us. Until the snow thaws."

"Hmm," she made. Another bad habit she got from him and he felt his knees grow weak. 'What am I supposed to do when she wants to leave? I can't- We can't- We won't make it.'

"You can trust him," he tried again. "He-" He wanted to say: 'He would give his life for ours.' But then he realised that he didn't know if that was true anymore. "He is a man of his word," he said instead.

"I think he doesn't like me," she confessed quietly.

"Now that's just untrue," Geralt frowned. "Lord Julian adores you. And he's done a lot of nice things for you."

She shook her head adamantly. "I think he doesn't like me because I came here with you. He doesn't like you."

'Oh.' His heart clenched painfully. She was smarter than it was any good for her. He should have known that he couldn't keep it from her. "That's true," he admitted. "At the moment. He'll come around. Eventually."

"Why?" she asked earnestly. "I thought you were friends."

"I-" he faltered. How could he even begin to describe what they were? What they had been? 'What we are now.' He hung his head in shame. "We were. I think. And I've done a bad thing. That I know."

"And he's angry?" Ciri's eyes were blown wide.

"Very," Geralt confessed quietly, "and rightfully so."

"What did you do?" There was no reproach in her voice, no accusation. Only... compassion. Somehow that made him feel even worse.

"It's complicated."

"Did you cheat at knucklebones?"

That almost made him laugh. "No. Worse."

"Did you cheat at Gwent?"

"No, Ciri-"

She gasped. "Did you cheat on him?"

"I'm not- we're not-" He sighed. "That's not it either."

"What could be worse than that?"

"I... I wasn't very nice to him. For a long time. I said mean things. And I yelled at him."

Ciri frowned. "I don't understand. My grandparents did that all the time!"

"Yeah, me too, but- it was different with... with us. I hurt him. I don't think I can explain."

"Can't you try?" she pleaded.

"I am trying, Ciri. I'm sorry." Geralt sighed quietly. "I'll talk to him. Alright?"

"Good." She smiled at him, all child-like and innocent and naive. 'She is all of that,' he reminded himself. "I can hold you when you cry, too, you know,” she said solemnly. “You can't sit in my lap but I can hug you. My arms can fit around your chest, look!” She embraced him to prove it. “If you want to, that is."

There was a thick lump in his throat he didn't know what to do with. "I- thanks. That's very nice." He swallowed, hoping it would make the lump go away. It didn't. "Why uh- why don't you go find Marta to tell her you won't go riding with Lord Julian?"

She ducked her head. "Can you do that? Please? I'd rather be alone for a while." He nodded. That was better. That, at least, he could understand.

"Yeah, sure." Somehow the lump got even worse. "I'll- I'll be in the stables if you need me. I'll see you… later." Reluctantly he got up and placed her on the bed. She took a book from her nightstand — where had she gotten that from? — and smiled at him encouragingly before he closed the door.

It was surprisingly hard to leave her behind to hunt down Marta. Thrice he turned around to go back to her, to make sure that she really was okay and thrice he reminded himself that she would tell him if there was something he could do.

It was in the well house that he stumbled upon Marta, the poor woman in evident distress. "Witcher!" she said and he noted that the smell of fear had gotten less than last time. "I am looking for his Lordship's cousin, have you seen her?"

"She won't be able to go ride with him," he told her. "She is- indisposed."

"Oh." She faltered. "Is she quite alright?"

"I believe so. She just isn't in the mood for company."

"Oh," the serving girl said again. "Then, uh-" The scent of fear flared up again. "I guess I'll better tell his lordship."

"Hm," Geralt made. He could do that just as well. Get the whole conversation over with. Then again, he should probably go and- sort out all about the sorry state he was in. A few hours with the horses should do the trick. He would go talk to Jaskier later.

He shouldered past Marta and quickly slipped into the stables, relieved that Jaskier was nowhere to be seen. He needed some time to himself, too.

The steady work of brushing down the horses granted him exactly that. It was easy for him to slip into an almost meditative state of mind, ignoring the busy stable hands walking about, going after their own tasks.

That was also why he didn't respond to the calls until a hand dug rather harshly into his shoulder. "Witcher," Janina Pankratz hissed, "I am talking to you."

He turned towards her slowly, immediately overwhelmed with the sour stench of fear and hatred like the smell of infected wounds. "My lady? I was caught up in my thoughts."

She snorted. "I could see that plainly."

He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he asked: "Why are you here, my lady?" He hadn't seen her in the stables yet, and if he was honest, he hadn't thought she would go inside. No matter how well they mucked out the boxes, the place always seemed a bit too dirty for a lady as she was.

"I wanted to talk to you."

'Gods above, anything but that.' He swallowed the sour grimace down. "About what?"

"My lady."

"Excuse me?"

She pursed her lips. "My brother might let your lack of manners slide, but I won't. You will address me correctly."

He ground his teeth. "Sure. About what, my lady?"

"Gods, can't you even form whole sentences?" she sighed.

"I could," he answered. "But I won't. My lady."

Janina Pankratz sneered and for a moment he thought she was about to raise her hand at him. But then, she took a deep breath and said with a surprisingly calm voice: "Our cousin you delivered to our gates. You get along well with her."

"Yes, I do. My lady."

"How?"

His eyebrows twitched upwards. 'You don't have time for a tale nearly as long, my lady,' he thought. 'Nor do you care enough for it.' But even he knew he couldn't say that. So instead he answered: "I am kind to her, my lady. I do not laugh, nor scowl, nor raise my voice at her. I tell her jokes and stories and smile when she is funny. I listen to her." 'I hold her when she cries.' He didn't dare to say that. "That is all, I think. My lady."

She wrinkled her nose and for a moment it was as if he was looking at Jaskier's mirror image. 'If she smiled,' he caught himself thinking, 'they could be mistaken for twins.' But then again, Jaskier didn't smile either, at the moment. "That is quite a lot," she replied.

'That is nothing,' he thought. "I reckoned you wanted a true answer, my lady."

"Now, I do not have nearly enough time for that," she answered. "I need you to get her to like me. Starting with that she won't swear at me any longer."

He couldn't keep from snorting. "And why would I do that? My lady."

"Because else, I will ensure that your miserable life will be even more miserable from now on."

"His Lordship won't like that."

"His Lordship won't know that."

'Are you sure about that?' he thought and raised an eyebrow. "What have I even done to you? You have despised me from the moment I stepped over the threshold of Ja- Lord Julian's castle."

He felt a tiny bit of satisfaction when he saw her face twist into an offended grimace at the mention of Jaskier's claim over the fortress. "Maybe so," she responded, "the crimes your kind has committed against me and mine are more heinous than any human could imagine." She gave him an once over. "Not too heinous for you, tough, I reckon."

'Ah. That old song again.' He ducked his head obediently. "If you say so, my lady."

"Oh, so you do know respect. You really should teach that girl you have brought with you some," she said coldly, "Before Lord Pankratz will beat it into her."

Geralt paled. "He wouldn't-"

"He would. He knows the effectiveness of that particular treatment quite well himself, after all." She turned on her heel and left the stables the same moment he felt the brush crack and splinter in his hand.

Geralt had quite enough, he decided, as he threw the useless brush away and rushed out of the stables and up to his rooms to get his sword. He needed to put its edge to... something.

Followed only by the curious looks of the guardsmen, Geralt strode out of the main gates, his scabbard slung loosely over his shoulder. He left the road quickly enough, just fleeing from that wretched castle with that wretched inhabitants and that wretched atmosphere.

Just out of earshot, he pulled the steel sword free and swung it against an innocent tree with such a force that the whole trunk quivered. He didn't even know what exactly had managed to work him into such a rage, but at that moment he didn't particularly care. He just was glad that he had found an opponent who would neither complain nor break while he hacked away at it.

He didn't know how long he had been doing that before he was interrupted: "Ho, witcher!" There was the sound of a horse coming to a halt. "Shouldn't you rather use an axe for that?"

Geralt grunted and twirled around, his steel sword pointed at the poor soul that had picked that unfortunate moment to come his way. The guard on the other end seemed unimpressed and simply pressed the blade away. "What is it? Do you regret talking me into letting you in already?"

He blinked stupidly, before lowering the weapon. Of course, he knew the man. It was the guard who had opened the gates to them. Geralt grunted: "Immensely."

"And here I thought you— what was it you said? — 'a friend of his lordship's son'? Has your 'friend' scorned you?"

"We're not- on good terms at the moment."

The guard laughed. "Yeah, we are aware. You're quite the talk of the castle. But you've already been that before arriving." He shrugged. "Never seen Master Julian quite like this before."

"Me neither."

"Apologies. I have forgotten that you've known him longer than I do. So." He clapped his hands. "What has the little brat done now?"

Geralt stared in surprise, taking in the man standing before him. He wouldn't have judged him much older than Jaskier himself but then again, he had never been good at judging the age of humans. "Wasn't him," he snapped.

"Ah." A wicked grin spread on his face. "Lady Janina."

Geralt hummed his assent, wondering how he'd known.

"Don't worry," the guard said gleefully, "we've all been there before. She's not half as bad once you get to know her."

He snorted. 'I doubt that anyone really 'knows' her.'

"There's nothing you can do about it for now. Just take it and suck it up."

Geralt nodded. He knew how to do that.

"I'm Marin by the way." He stuck his hand out and Geralt wracked his brain, trying to remember where he had heard that name before.

"Geralt." He took the offered hand.

"Let me know if you ever want to swing your sword at something livelier than a trunk. I'd love to have fought a witcher once in my life."

The snort was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I'd wipe the floor with you."

"Bold words for a man who could barely stand upright a week ago," he teased. "Come back to the castle with me and we'll see about that?"

Geralt looked back at the tree he had massacred. Fighting a human guard was no replacement for his brothers in Kaer Morhen but at least he would put up a fight. He shrugged and sheathed his sword, turning to walk back to the castle with him. To his surprise, Marin fell in step beside him instead of mounting his horse again.

"How did you even find me?" Geralt asked.

"Poacher in the area," he answered. "Lord Pankratz asked me to track him down."

He grunted.

"Don't worry, Geralt. There won't be any consequences, most likely. Well, besides a stern talking to and the lad being sent home with a bag full of food for his family." He shrugged. "His Lordship's got a soft heart. Softer than most."

"Too soft," Geralt growled before he could stop himself.

The guardsman shrugged. "Probably. You're good with horses, yeah?" he asked.

Geralt hummed. "Not half bad, I guess."

"You must be. Wiktor won't let anyone ride their majesties. Not even his second in command. I guess I'll have to ask his Lordship for a new one in spring. This beauty won't make it much longer."

"Old?" he asked, trying to mask his surprise. With the fear Marta seemed to possess of her lord, he hadn't expected Jaskier's guards to be nearly as comfortable asking for something as expensive as a horse. On the other hand, most of the people in Lettenhove seemed to regard Jaskier with polite respect — not the blind fear that reigned almost everywhere else.

"And weary," Marin added. "Got him almost twenty years ago, when I joined Lord Alfred's guard, may he rest in peace."

"You've always been here?"

"Pretty much," he shrugged. "I was born up in the Hall, son of a kitchen wench and Old Lord Julian, his Lordship’s grandfather that is, if the rumours are true. And the rumours are always true when it comes to the bedwarmers of the Lord." He laughed. "Well, mostly."

Geralt shot him a look. He wasn't actually interested, he told himself, just polite.

Thankfully, Marin didn’t need much encouragement: "We expected half the personnel to end up in Lord Julian's bed within a moon's turn of his arrival - he’s got quite a reputation, after all. But he leaves the girls and boys alone. Good lad.” There was a slight pause before he continued: “And, well..." He grinned sheepishly. "I think we all lost a fair share of money with your arrival. Borys, the idiot, said you'd fuck him right then and there-"

Geralt felt his ears grow hot and quickly snapped: "We're not like that!" He was definitely not comfortable discussing- any of this, really, with anyone. The thought that there were not-so-secret discussions about them-

"Really?" The look of surprise on Marin’s face was genuine. "Could've fooled me. Well, I've got my bet still running, I said-"

"Marin..." he growled menacingly.

"Right," the guard answered and the tiniest smell of fear wavered off him. "Taking the hint..." They stepped through the gates and he handed the reins of his horse to a stable boy.

"Welcome back, captain," one of the other guards greeted him. 'Ah,' Geralt thought. 'Fuck.' "Any luck with the poacher?"

"Not yet, Borys" Marin answered and turned to Geralt. "So, about that spar..."

He shook his head. "Gotta talk to Lord Julian before," he answered. "Any idea where to find him?"

The captain of the guard made a gesture that Geralt roughly interpreted as 'fuck if I know' and shrugged. "His study?"

His study was usually a good place to start looking for Jaskier. He was there, mostly — no matter what time of day it was. It was quite worrying, if he was honest, how late the viscount still worked at times. And work he had to, for Geralt was now certain that no one in Lettenhove Hall shared his bed.

That was one of the many things that had changed since Geralt's return. Jaskier's unmistakable smell — as well as his apparent new-found aversion to frequently changing bedfellows. As long as Geralt had known him, the bard had smelt of honey-sweet happiness and cinnamon arousal and not much else. He hadn't caught a single whiff of that yet at his home.

When he stepped out onto the courtyard again, it was Borys who called to him: "Witcher! His Lordship's on the rampart if you're looking for him. Doesn't want to be disturbed, though."

Geralt ignored that council — he had made Ciri a promise after all and climbed the walls, taking two steps at a time. No one tried to stop him.

It took him a while to walk around the battlements, but he found Jaskier eventually on the west side facing the setting sun. He sat between two merlons and the sight of him dangling one leg over the side made Geralt's heart skip a beat and his feet tingle, his body burning with the pressing need to pull him away from the edge. But then the air carried over Jaskier's scent and for a moment the overwhelming scent of honey was like a punch in the gut.

Geralt almost turned around to leave Jaskier to his moment of bliss — he knew that there were not nearly enough of those in the viscount's life at the moment. The thought alone hurt much worse than any wound he had ever been dealt. Jaskier, the ever-laughing bard, who knew more ways to make Geralt smile than anyone else combined, who had spent hours pestering him for just a little bit of relaxation (not happiness, that would be too much to ask), who never failed to make anyone laugh until their sides hurt, whose smile was like sunshine on a rainy day — his bard Jaskier, had forgotten how to be happy. Who was he to destroy that precious moment of contentment?

'I promised it,' he reminded himself again and moved forward. He made sure to make the heels of his new boots clack on the floor (they had just appeared in his room one morning, the perfect size and fit as he preferred it, without explanation, and Jaskier had been absent for the entire day) to announce his presence.

"My lord," he greeted him, "is there room for one more?"

The effect of his words — his presence — was instant. Jaskier didn't even have to look at him, in the blink of an eye all the honey was washed away, instead replaced by salt and bitterness. 'The taste of tears and willow bark.' Jaskier opened his eyes, and for a moment, he thought there were tears on his cheeks. 'Please, no, Melitele have mercy. I can't go through this again today.' But then, his not-friend made an inviting gesture and the glistening in his eyes grew lesser.

Geralt leaned against the merlon facing him, observing Jaskier’s placid expression. "I see you are enjoying the quiet, my lord," he said after a while. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not quite sure if I would call it enjoying, witcher." He closed his eyes again and shivered visibly when a gust of wind blew over the wall. 'He hasn't even brought a cloak,' Geralt noticed, vowing to bring a blanket the next time. "But I have to admit it has a certain crude charm. Just like the woods. I have grown fond of the wild it seems."

"And yet you have exchanged it for a cozy castle."

"I was under the impression the wild did not return my affection." The bitter taste of willow bark-pain grew stronger.

Geralt grunted to hide the anguish that flashed through his body. 'I never wanted to,' he thought, foolishly wishing for Jaskier to be able to read his thoughts again.

"Talk to me, witcher," Jaskier commanded. "I fear the quiet has lost its appeal."

"About what?"

Jaskier waved his hand dismissively. "Think of something. A story, perhaps. What did you do today?"

"Trained your cousin," he answered dutifully, "Been to the stables. Been threatened by your sister. Ciri as well. Your new horse is a bit slow, my lord."

“Oh, she will regret that…” he murmured. Then, after a while he said: "You have ridden Pegasus?" Jaskier cracked one eye open. "Wiktor won't let me go near him!" The indignation in his voice made Geralt sigh a breath of relief. He was always glad to see the remnants of the person he had known for so long under the stoic facade of the viscount.

"Well, you can ruin a new horse if you don't know what you're doing."

He opened his other eye, too. "Are you saying I am a bad rider?"

'I know you aren't.' Jaskier was a frequent face in the stables, either to sneak the horses too many treats while the stable boys stood uncomfortably to the side, unsure if they could reprimand their lord for missteps that would earn them a good beating from Wiktor, or to borrow one of the horses. He knew that Jaskier didn't have any real preferences besides always shunning his father's steed, Titan. He also knew that he liked to ride fast. And Geralt knew that his heart skipped a beat whenever he saw Jaskier leap into the saddle and speed out of the gates. He was, however, also fairly certain that Jaskier had no idea what to do with Pegasus while he was not broken to the bridle yet. "I am saying that you need to know how to train a yearling to ride a yearling."

"And you know how to do that?"

"Do you think horses just come trained not to fear most monsters and to follow a whistle already?"

Jaskier nodded. "Colour me impressed, witcher. Who would have thought a liar as atrocious as yourself could keep such a secret from the man who followed his every step for over half of his life?"

Geralt grunted, fully aware of the not-so-hidden reproach in his words.

"Use your words, witcher."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."

Jaskier sighed heavily and the scent of sadness grew so thick Geralt thought he must choke. "Neither am I..."

Once Geralt had collected himself, he asked casually: "How's your cousin, my lord?"

Jaskier very nearly pouted. "She doesn't like me."

He snorted. "Funny. She's saying the same about you."

"What am I doing wrong?" He frowned. "She's a very frightened child, yet you and Józefa get to talk to her."

Geralt smiled softly. "Do you want my honest advice?"

"In this case, I fear I am in desperate need of it."

"Just be yourself. She likes... nice things. I thought you might bond over that."

"I tried that. But whatever I do, she is not overly impressed."

"Hm," he made.

Jaskier didn't answer anything for a while. But what he said then, made Geralt very nearly lose his footing and make him tumble over the battlements: "She doesn't like me because she thinks I don't like you." The viscount turned his face towards him. "Isn't that right?"

"Hmm," Geralt made. 'That is pretty spot on,' he thought. "When did you become so good at reading people?"

"Long before I met you." Jaskier looked over his lands again. "You were the only person I was ever wrong about."

"How so, my lord?"

"From the moment I saw you, I thought you to be incapable of hurting anyone wilfully." A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Never have I regretted a misconception more in my entire life."

Geralt swallowed around the thick lump forming in his throat, unsure what to say or if Jaskier was even waiting for a response.

Evidently, he was, for he sighed a short moment after and got to his feet. "Good night, witcher," he whispered before vanishing down the stairs.

"Good night, my lord," he echoed into the lonely evening. What on earth was he supposed to do with that?

#My writing #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cirilla #geraskier fanfiction

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