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witcher-and-his-bard · 3 years ago

Text

Seashells and Seaweed

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): non-human anatomy, interspecies sex, oviposition, eggpreg, a/b/o, intersex omegas Rating: explicit

Fic Summary: Geralt and Eskel have been working for months trying to find a mate for a troublesome Siren, to no avail.

Also based on [this post]

@thedreamsmith asked for mermaid and belly bulge for the Monsterfuckertober prompts. I saw this post and things got a little out of hand. It’s 12k so you may prefer to read over on ao3

Geralt remembers as a child hearing the older Witchers talk about working themselves out of a job, that all their hard work keeping the world safe from monsters would eventually leave them with nothing more to do. Others would say that there would never be a time without monsters, that so long as they were reproducing, Witchers would have a job and a place in the world. As a child, Geralt worried about what he would do when the monsters were gone, but in truth, when the number of monsters did begin to dwindle, Geralt and his brothers adjusted remarkably well.

He's good with animals, good with monsters and he has the knowledge to rival any modern zoologist, marine biologist, and veterinarian combined - so he starts up a rehabilitation centre with the remainder of his brothers. Lambert hadn't been crazy about the idea, but his other option was to go off and make his own way, so he stuck around.

Currently, they have an enormous lab and sanctuary as well as various creatures they monitor in the wild that are still well enough to live on their own. Geralt is familiar with nearly all of them personally, and some are more difficult cases than others, but his biggest concern is Jaskier.

Jaskier is a sub-species of siren on the edge of extinction and he's part of a personal project of Geralt's and Eskel's to stabilize their numbers. They have been trying to find Jaskier a mate for months, but Jaskier has turned down every other siren they've brought him. And finding one isn't easy and with Jaskier's track record of ripping them to pieces when they're not good enough, so the project has been put on the back burner for the time being - for the good of the species. They're trying to bring the population up, not kill more of them in the process. Eskel has been doing research on their mating habits and while they've found they aren't dissimilar to human mating rites - secondary genders, mating bites, courting - there still isn't much to help with Jaskier. They use different terms, not Alpha or Omega, but their social structure is similar.

But despite his resistance to cooperating with any prospective mates, Jaskier has grown on Geralt. He's got a pretty face and striking blue eyes and he's a shameless flirt, something that seems to be directed at Geralt more than anyone else - a fact that Lambert loves to tease Geralt about. But Geralt doesn't mind it, if he's honest - the teasing or the flirting itself - and he finds more and more that he's happy when Jaskier pops up during their field days.

Like today. Geralt and Lambert are out on the boat, doing a check on one of the seal colonies that were spotted outside their usual territory. One of the cows is pregnant and Geralt tends to worry when they act out of the norm. Once they're out on the water, everything seems fine and they're just starting to pack up when the boat wobbles.

Geralt turns around to find Jaskier with his arms crossed on the side of the boat, grinning his frustratingly adorable smile, teeth bright and sharp.

"Hi Geralt," he chirps and Lambert shoots him a look. "Hello, Lambert."

"Hey," Geralt says quietly, trying to stomp back the fondness that slips into his voice.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Checking in on the seals, there was an unusual ping on their radar."

"Everything good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Looks like. You haven't noticed anything unusual around?"

"Only Lambert."

"Hey-" comes a retort from behind but Geralt just grins at the delight in Jaskier's face.

"Ignore him," Geralt mumbles, "he's just mad he had to come out with me today because the vet is coming by the lab today and Lambert wants to stare at him and not speak to him."

Jaskier rolls his eyes, tapping dark, clawed fingers on his arms as he watches Geralt and Lambert work, peeking over Geralt's shoulder to watch as Lambert packs tracking equipment back into its case. He pushes himself up to see better and it's only after a moment that Geralt catches himself staring. He realizes he's paying more attention to Jaskier than he is to his work and he clears his throat and gets back to it.

While they finish up the packing, Jaskier watches intently, slipping from the boat to swim underneath and pop up on the other side when Geralt moves. The sun is beginning to set now and they'll be heading back in to shore soon, but Geralt feels bad leaving Jaskier all alone out here. There aren't any others of his species anywhere nearby and the closest family unit Geralt found was down past Nilfgaard. He'd toyed with the idea of introducing Jaskier there if he were amenable, but many siren families aren't open to outsiders beyond mating. And it's a long trip to make for almost certain rejection.

So for now, they'll just wait it out, hoping that if they do find a viable mate, Jaskier doesn't hate them like he has in the past. At first, it was just a way to rebuild the species, but now Geralt feels a personal drive to find someone for Jaskier, to keep him from spending every day alone. Geralt likes him, he doesn't want him to be lonely.

As if sensing Geralt's thoughts, Jaskier pops back up next to him, spraying him as he flops onto the side of the boat.

"Have you given up on trying to find me a mate then?" he asks and Geralt frowns.

"Until you stop killing every one we bring you," Lambert scoffs.

"Then bring me someone worthwhile," Jaskier spits in return. Geralt doesn't notice the way Jaskier glances at him as he says this because he's rolling his eyes at the pair of them.

"Can't risk it," Lambert says, "you do know we're trying to help you right? And killing the mates you don't like is-"

"Counterproductive," Jaskier sighs, rolling his eyes.

"Yes," Geralt says gently, "it would help if we knew what you want in a mate beforehand."

For a moment, Jaskier chews his bottom lip, wrinkling his nose as his gaze drops.

"Suppose I'll know when I see them."

"Not gonna happen," Lambert interrupts before Geralt can speak.

"Alright," Geralt says, closing the latch on the final tool case. "We've got to head out. We're still looking though, Jask, we haven't given up on you."

"Hear that fish? We're leaving. Time to go home."

Jaskier ducks back under the surface, bobbing back up quickly to spit a stream of water in Lambert's face. Geralt huffs a laugh and tosses a cloth to Lambert as he rises to his feet.

"I'm not a fish," Jaskier hisses.

"He just likes you better," Lambert mumbles, shooting a look at Geralt.

"He doesn't call me a fish."

"Alright, alright," Geralt interrupts, "we have to get back to the lab. See you, Jaskier."

Jaskier sighs wistfully and slumps so only his eyes and the tips of his fins are above the surface. He watches as Lambert starts the boat and Geralt lifts a hand in a silent wave as they speed away. Vaguely, Geralt thinks Jaskier looks sad as he turns back and dives beneath the water.

The next time they head out, it's to collect a tracker from a rare shark they've been studying. The GPS leads them to a spot just off the coast of one of the small, uninhabited islands, though it's evident when they arrive that someone has been tampering with the tracker. Or not tampering, per se, but when Eskel plucks it out of the water, he turns it over in his hand so Geralt can see the string of shells wound around it.

"Looks like your mer was here," Eskel smirks, untangling the shells and handing them to Geralt.

There's no sign of Jaskier anywhere but it does seem like something he would do. He's been known to sing to Geralt when he goes out alone and to bring small things up for him from the bottom. Lambert and Eskel know about it, but what they don't know is that Geralt has a little box of these gifts under his bed. Small rocks and shells, little knick-knacks that have sunk to the ocean floor and Jaskier has picked up.

He withholds a smile as he takes the shells from Eskel, already mentally debating whether they'd make a good wind chime or if he should just keep them to himself like the rest.

"Huh," is all he says, but he sees the way Eskel looks at him.

"He likes you. Maybe you could convince him to take a mate."

"I've tried," Geralt shrugs, "says he has to find someone perfect.

"Meaning?" Eskel asks.

"Meaning we're probably out of luck without risking the rest of the population."

"Fiesty little fuck."

"Can't really blame him," Geralt mumbles, "can't say I'd want some strangers bringing me a person and telling me to marry them and raise a family."

"Understandable. But we're not endangered in the same respect. Can't just fuck a pretty omega and get a new Witcher."

Geralt rolls his eyes. They've had this conversation before but Eskel is determined to find Jaskier a mate. Geralt understands the importance of saving the species, but more than that he understands not wanting to push something on someone if they don't want it. His upbringing was very different from the survival of a species, but he knows something about wanting a different life than what's expected of you.

"Hey," Eskel says, "I know you worry about him, we'll find someone eventually. For now, we have to get back and check out this footage - maybe even catch a glimpse of your gift-giver."

"Yeah," Geralt agrees, running his thumb over the shells, "maybe."

It's weeks before Geralt's out on the water again. A badly wounded Cecaelia is brought into the sanctuary and he spends the majority of his time trying to get her settled, make her comfortable in her new surroundings. The next time he's at the ocean, it's a forced day off, as required by Eskel.

Geralt doesn't have a family, doesn't have much besides the sanctuary, so he finds himself at a loss when he has too much time on his hands. At one point, he had Yen and Ciri, but they've both moved on and found their own place in this new world. So Geralt takes one of the boats from the centre and heads out to the deserted island. He brings a book and a blanket and lays out on the beach to relax.

But he finds his mind drifting back to his work, to Jaskier in particular, wondering how he's doing, what he does with himself when he's not sneaking up on Geralt and his brothers. Just as Geralt is chiding himself for thinking about Jaskier, he hears a splash from behind and rolls over to find the siren propped up in the shallows, peering at him.

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier asks and Geralt holds out his book by way of explanation. "And you didn't even come to see me?"

"Don't know where you live."

"Hm." Jaskier pulls himself up the beach, flopping down next to Geralt and rolling onto his side to look up at him. "Do you want to see?"

"Can't breathe underwater, not without help."

"I can help," Jaskier offers brightly.

"Not what I meant," Geralt says, "I have potions that help me breathe underwater, don't have any of that here though."

"Then let me," Jaskier says, "come, I'll show you."

He sits up, curling his tail underneath him and reaches out to take one of Geralt's hands in his own, tugging insistently. And Geralt is weak in the face of such unbridled excitement. He lets himself be tugged forward and rises up as Jaskier starts back toward the shore.

Geralt walks in up to his waist before Jaskier catches up to him, taking his hand again and leading him deeper. Geralt's never seen the way Jaskier swims, not really, but he moves with such an effortless grace that Geralt finds himself staring again, distracted until Jaskier suddenly pulls him beneath the surface.

Geralt reacts immediately, but Jaskier presses a webbed palm to his cheek, settling him. He inches closer, pressing his lips to Geralt's and Geralt doesn't have the chance to process it before Jaskier's breathing into his mouth. Jaskier smiles brightly at him as Geralt breathes without taking a breath. He continues to hold his breath, and Jaskier just beams at him, gesturing for him to follow.

It feels like Killer Whale, Geralt thinks as he pushes off the sandy bottom, swimming after Jaskier. Like holding your breath but without the urgent feeling of needing to breathe.

He doesn't have long to think about it as Jaskier swims back and grabs his hand again, tugging him forward and down. It's darker near the bottom and Geralt won't be able to properly see if they go much further, but he wants to follow Jaskier, to see where he lives, to see his world. He makes a mental note to bring Cat with him next time he comes, though he's torn about Killer Whale, still lingering on the sensation of Jaskier's lips against his own.

Which is ridiculous. Jaskier is a siren and Geralt is (mostly) human, he shouldn't be thinking about things like this. Jaskier was giving him his breath, not kissing him, even if that is what it felt like.

Jaskier leads him down beneath the surface and Geralt's only regret is that he doesn't have more time to look around as they descend. He's always known there was a reef here, but he's never taken the time to dive for fun or to give it much thought outside his work. So now, submerged and surrounded by it, Geralt is in awe. There are corals and sea plants in every colour imaginable and fish dart in and out of the plants, skittering out of the way as Geralt and Jaskier swim past.

Jaskier takes him all the way down to a sandy bottom then veers off to the side toward the base of the island. Geralt sees the mouth of the cave before they reach it and wonders how far it goes, how long it will be before he needs to breathe again. But Jaskier swims forward unworried, checking back to make sure Geralt is following. He pauses outside the cave, to check in and when Geralt nods, Jaskier surges forward.

The opening to the cave is wide and expansive, but Jaskier makes for a tunnel near the back that turns off to one side. It's wide enough for them to swim side-by-side and through the dark, Geralt can see a pinprick of light at the end. Jaskier makes straight for it and the tunnel opens up into another, larger cave.

Here, there are cavities dug out of the walls where shells and other bits and pieces are stored almost like shelves. Geralt tries to take it in all at once, but he spots the source of the light and focuses on it. When he looks up, he can see the surface of the water and above it a shelf of rock, the ledge of which is layered with a glowing blue-green algae. He gives Jaskier a questioning look, nodding toward the shelf and Jaskier lets go of his hand, gesturing for him to swim up. So Geralt does.

The air above is breathable and he pulls himself out onto the rock, running his fingers through the algae.

"What is it?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"I don't know what you would call it, but it's seasun. What do you think?"

"Of the algae?"

"Of my cave," Jaskier scoffs, flicking his tail up to splash water at Geralt.

"I... it's nice. I've never been to a cave home before."

"You could stay," Jaskier offers hopefully.

"I… I can't Jask, it's lovely just… not for me."

Jaskier frowns, looking around the cave and Geralt realizes that there are strategically placed plants, that Jaskier has collected them on purpose like Eskel and his cactus collection.

"It's not-" Geralt starts, trying to explain himself, "I can't breathe underwater."

"Oh, I know. But the shells?" Jaskier asks, "they're okay?"

"They're lovely." Jaskier preens and Geralt looks around, realizing there's nowhere to sleep. "Where's your bed?"

"I uh-" Jaskier brings a hand to the back of his head, twisting in the short hair at the back of his neck. "I sleep on a rock. I was building a nest, but-" he shrugs and looks away, "I'll figure something out."

Geralt raises an eyebrow but Jaskier seems unconcerned with it, evidently pleased with himself about the shells. Then, abruptly, he gasps and dives down to the cave floor. Geralt watches as Jaskier rummages around through little chests and boxes lining one wall. They look as though they were recovered from shipwrecks and it's very likely they were considering all the other things Jaskier has laying around his cave. It feels homey, even for Geralt who has spent most of his life transient and isn't used to the idea of home.

He's thinking about what it must be like to live down here; it's beautiful, sure, and with the ability to breathe underwater, it would be a lovely place to stay, but it's so isolated. The whales and sharks that pass by wouldn't even know this place exists and there don't seem to be any other sentient beings nearby, there certainly aren't any other sirens. Which leads him to wonder who Jaskier was building a nest for, though he supposes it could just be a foresight. He wonders if it's rude to ask. But before he can consider it further, Jaskier's head pops up above the water and he thrusts a hand up at him, unfurling dark fingers to reveal a pearl.

It's… huge in comparison to any pearls Geralt has ever seen, though he suspects Jaskier can swim deeper and find better oysters than humans can.

"It's beautiful," Geralt says and Jaskier gives another little thrust of his hand.

"It's for you."

"For me?"

"I found it when I was hunting the other day," Jaskier explains, looking over the pearl, "it reminds me of you, of your hair."

Geralt chuckles softly and plucks the pearl from Jaskier's hand, rolling it in his palm. It is quite beautiful and if he asked, Eskel might be willing to make a little display stand for it. Not that he makes a point of telling Eskel about the gifts from Jaskier.

Jaskier grins as Geralt plays with it, flipping his tail excitedly and making a low trilling sound that reminds Geralt of a cat purring. Jaskier only does it when he seems to be particularly happy, so Geralt finds the comparison appropriate.

They linger together in the cave a while longer while Jaskier points out all the things he's recovered from shipwrecks and all the plants he's grown and Geralt's chest swells with an emotion he'd rather not acknowledge.

When Jaskier returns him to the surface, he seems almost sad to see Geralt go and Geralt promises he'll be back soon. And he intends to, even if work doesn't bring him here. He probably shouldn't, but even as he's heading back to the mainland, he finds himself wishing he could stay on the island, even for one night.

Geralt is disappointed when the next time he heads into Jaskier's territory is because of work. Eskel has been busy with the Cecaelia so Lambert needs to learn how to collect samples and check tags in the meantime. He's not as good with their sentient patients, so he'll be accompanying Geralt on the field trips for the next little while. Geralt loves his trips with Eskel, though he has to admit he's endlessly entertained by Lambert and Jaskier's bickering. Which starts up almost as soon as Jaskier spots them.

Jaskier swims under them, gently nudging the boat, then pokes his head up only to frown.

"Where's Geralt?" he asks and Lambert leans back, to show where Geralt is bent down beside him, trying to ready a tracker.

Jaskier pulls himself up, wobbling the boat as he drapes himself over the side of it.

"I was afraid you hadn't come back," he says, "I brought you something."

Lambert frowns, leaning over the edge of the boat as Jaskier disappears back into the water. Geralt elbows him and shoots him a look as he finishes up and moves to sit across from Lambert.

Geralt smiles up at him despite the smug grin spreading over Lambert's face. Geralt knows what he'll say as soon as they're back on land - or as soon as Jaskier is gone again - but he doesn't care.

"Yeah?" he asks, shifting to Jaskier's side of the boat. "What did you bring?"

Jaskier readjusts and reaches down, pulling up a bottle filled with… something. Lambert reaches out and Jaskier snatches his hand and the bottle back, ears flat as he hisses at Lambert. Geralt barely refrains from laughing, coughing into his elbow as Jaskier protects the bottle against his chest.

"Touchy," Lambert grouses, rolling his eyes.

"It's not for you," Jaskier reiterates, eyes narrowed as if Lambert might try to take it again. He doesn't, but a look crosses his face that Geralt doesn't like.

"Oh, I see. It's that kinda gift huh? What is it, something kinky?"

"Alright," Geralt interrupts, elbowing his way between the two of them. "Ignore him," he says to Jaskier, "can I see it?"

Jaskier nods, unfurling his arms and holding the bottle up to Geralt. It looks like a terrarium, for lack of a better word; soft looking moss grows along the bottom of the bottle, spreading up the sides and Geralt spots some of the same algae from Jaskier's cave. His stomach twists wondering if it is from his cave if Jaskier bottled it for him.

"It glows," Jaskier prompts, "you seemed interested in it and it's… to remind you of me. When you're not here."

Geralt's heart clenches. As if he could forget.

Behind him, Lambert chokes, though for once he doesn't sound like he's pretending to gag. Geralt turns around to find him not judgemental, but wide-eyed.

"Listen," Lambert says, "this has been sweet and all but we need to get back to Eskel. Now."

Geralt opens his mouth to argue, but Lambert isn't having it. He's already shifting into position to start the engine. Jaskier frowns and Geralt shrugs at him.

"Thank you," he says softly, "I love it. I guess we're heading back now, but I'll come back soon." This time Lambert does mock-gag at him and Geralt kicks his foot. "See you, Jask."

"Goodbye," Jaskier says simply, "stay safe."

"Yeah, you too."

Jaskier slips away from the boat, sinking down and reappearing a safe distance away to watch as Lambert steers them away back toward land. Geralt has no idea what prompted Lambert's sudden change of plans, but it doesn't take long to find out.

When they get back to the lab, Lambert rushes into the back, leaving Geralt to unload the boat and put everything away. It's typical behaviour for Lambert, but today it bothers Geralt more than usual. Maybe because he's eager to get back home and see if the algae glows like it did in the cave or maybe because he just… wanted to spend a little more time with Jaskier. But either way, he's going to find the worst jobs for Lambert to pick up tomorrow.

He's plotting his revenge when Lambert and Eskel burst into the room. Eskel is shaking his head and Geralt just looks up as they approach intimidatingly.

"So Lambert thinks he's found a mate for Jaskier," Eskel says without pre-empt.

"Oh?" Geralt tries to be enthusiastic, but his stomach drops. Lambert knows Jaskier well enough to know the kinds of things he likes and if he thinks he's found a mate for him…

"Yeah, idiot, I can't believe you haven't noticed."

"What are you talking about?" Geralt asks and Eskel sighs.

"The fawning? The gifts?``Eskel says, "It's blatant courting behaviour, Geralt."

"I- what?"

"Let me spell it out for you," Lambert sighs, "your siren won't fuck anyone we find him because he only wants you."

Geralt looks to Eskel for reassurance, but Eskel just shrugs at him.

"You said he took you to his cave. He was probably making sure it's suitable for you. And sirens kill their romantic competition, he could have seen the others as a threat."

"You're telling me he killed them because he was afraid I might want them as a mate?" It… can't be. Jaskier is friendly with him, but-

"Hell yeah," Lambert exclaims, "he doesn't even want me around, did you see the way he snatched that bottle from me?"

"What bottle?" Eskel asks and Geralt tentatively pulls it out from his bag to show him.

Eskel takes it, inspecting the moss and algae inside. In the lab where the light is dimmer, the glow is faintly noticeable and Geralt can see little glowing specks in the water.

"What is it? Eskel frowns.

"Glowing algae… from his cave."

The look on Lambert's face is somehow smug and exasperated at the same time and Eskel just looks at Geralt.

"Yeah, I think it's fair to say he's courting you. Which… could be good for us."

Lambert smirks and Geralt looks suspiciously at both of them.

"How?" he asks.

"We've been trying to find him a mate for months and it turns out it's you he wants. Geralt, you could be the key to saving the species."

Lambert's grin spreads and Geralt races through a mess of emotions in a matter of seconds. It's not as though he hasn't thought about it before. But at home in bed when porn isn't cutting it and he just needs something more. None of them are free from interspecies relationships, even monsters on occasion, but Geralt has never considered breeding with a non-human. His heart races at the prospect and he tries to bury the excitement with common sense.

"Listen it's not- it's not like that. And what makes you so sure a human could breed with a siren anyway?" The words feel foreign on his tongue and Geralt can't believe he's discussing fucking Jaskier in front of his brothers.

"Their biology is similar to a human's," Eskel explains, "the only thing stopping them from breeding with humans is the poisonous membrane around their eggs. It would kill a human before the eggs had time to incubate, but a Witcher…"

"Could withstand it," Geralt realizes.

"Not as though you've had any other offers," Lambert shrugs and Geralt doesn't have to elbow him because Eskel does it for him.

"Think about it," Eskel says, "might be worth looking into."

Geralt does nothing but think about it. He's so preoccupied thinking about fucking Jaskier and taking his eggs that he completely forgets about his promise to go and see him. The idea of it isn't distasteful. He likes Jaskier, has wanted him to kiss him properly that day when he offered his breath. He's fucked far less appealing creatures for a variety of reasons. But breeding with him? That's a whole other level. Siren's don't raise their children like humans do, so it would just be incubating the eggs and birthing them and then moving on with his life. But it's something that would connect him and Jaskier for the rest of their lives. And Geralt is surprised to find he's not opposed to that idea.

He thinks about it all night and in the morning goes to Eskel, telling him he's willing if Jaskier is. Eskel's smile is bright and wide and Geralt's stomach twists uncomfortably.

The pair of them go back to the island alone, leaving Lambert in the lab because Geralt doesn't want him butting in or agitating Jaskier. He's already so anxious about all of this that he feels sick and he knows Jaskier wouldn't hurt him, but he keeps thinking of that second siren, ripped limb from limb after proving not to be good enough for Jaskier. And if a member of his own species wasn't good enough, how could Geralt be?

Geralt is anxious as they motor over to the island to bring their suggestion to Jaskier. It's just Geralt and Eskel making the trip, but that doesn't make it any easier and Geralt worries about it and doubts himself the whole way over. Surely, Eskel was just mistaken or reading too much into it. Jaskier is… he's a friend and friends give each other gifts on occasion. That's all it is. Or at least that's what Geralt thinks until they come up on the island and Eskel turns the engine down as they drift into the shallows. On the beach, fumbling with bits of seaweed and palm leaves, is Jaskier. And it doesn't take a genius to know he's building a nest.

"I don't think we'll have to worry about his enthusiasm," Eskel whispers, "pretty sure he'll be on board."

Geralt nods blankly, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as his heart hammers in his chest. He's faintly aware that Eskel can hear, but they're well past denial at this point. When Jaskier sees them, he spares a glance at the nest before pulling himself down to the waterline and swimming up to the boat.

"You weren't supposed to be here yet," Jaskier mumbles, fingertips clinging to the edge of the boat. "It's not done."

"It's, not-" Geralt fumbles, unable to find the words.

"You're building a nest," Eskel says and Jaskier nods a confirmation.

"You said you couldn't stay underwater so the one I grew is out of the question," Jaskier starts, "I won't have my mate uncomfortable, so I found a tidal pool in the rock where I can stay with you- if you like it."

Geralt would cry if he wasn't so preoccupied feeling things. He can't keep his eyes off the nest, a little bed of dried kelp and seaweed speckled with sea glass and shells for decoration. He might cry anyway.

"We actually had to come and ask something of you," Eskel says, "why don't we get out and we can chat."

Jaskier quickly darts out of the way, continuously looking between Geralt and the nest, his eyes wide and begging for approval. Geralt is too overwhelmed to even know what to say and he just stays silent. The nest is all he needs to see to know Eskel is right, but he wants to hear it before they go any farther. He's expecting Eskel to be the one to broach the subject - it was his idea, after all, but as soon as Geralt is out of the boat, Eskel starts up the engine again.

"I'll leave you to it," he says, "be back in a bit."

He flashes a grin as he pulls the boat back and turns out into the open water. Geralt is left floundering, fingers moving restlessly at his sides.

"What did you want to ask about?" Jaskier asks.

"I um-" Geralt starts, "Eskel is uh- he thinks you might be interested in, well- um. I know you haven't liked any of the previous mates we brought you but I thought maybe- Eskel thought- would you be-" he huffs in frustration and looks at the sand between them. "Would you want… me?"

Immediately, his back hits the sand and there's a weight on his chest he only belatedly realizes is Jaskier. There are hands on his face, smooth and slightly sharp and then he's being kissed again and again.

"Finally," Jaskier mumbles between kisses, "what was it that finally convinced you?" Geralt doesn't get a chance to respond before Jaskier's kissing him again. "Was it the shells?" he asks, barely pulling away from Geralt's lips. "Was it the yelling at Lambert?"

Geralt chuckles softly but even that sound is muffled as Jaskier dips down to kiss him again. Geralt winds his arms around Jaskier's neck, letting him relax into the feeling of his heavy body against his own. He settles, letting Jaskier push him into the sand as he hums against his lips.

"Was it the seaweed?" he asks and this time when he goes back in for another kiss, Geralt holds him back.

"The nest was… good," he breathes, "but it was just you."

Jaskier lets out a little whine and kisses him again before pulling away and burying his face in Geralt's neck. He rubs up against his scent glands and a little shiver runs down Geralt's spine. His skin prickles and he's overwhelmed by the sudden scent of Alpha. He's never smelt it on Jaskier before, but it's strong now, overpowering and Geralt has to push him back again.

"Not this time," he whispers, breathless. "Next time I'll come and stay."

"My season isn't for a few weeks," Jaskier complains, "come again soon." And Geralt can't really argue with that. All the want he's been holding back threatens to burst forward now and he bundles Jaskier into his arms, rolling him over into the sand.

"I'll come back soon," he promises and dips down to kiss him again.

After his positive reception last time, Geralt is eager to get back to the island. This time he's going alone, so he packs a bag with some food and supplies and with an anxious flutter in his chest, heads down to the harbour. The trip out to the island isn't long, but it seems like an eternity tonight and Geralt spends the entire time nervous about spending the night on the island. But this is Jaskier. Jaskier who he's known for months, Jaskier who spits water at Lambert, Jaskier who has turned down every mate they've suggested and wants Geralt. The thoughts lift his spirits a little and Geralt powers forward.

He brings the boat up on the southern side of the island, keeping it out of the way of their little area, and ties it up to one of the trees so it can't drift off with the tide. He's still a little anxious as he rounds on Jaskier's beach, but the sight of the nest drains all worry from his mind.

Jaskier has not only improved the nest but he's built a little shade overtop with palm leaves and driftwood. It's reminiscent of the forts Geralt and Eskel used to make in the forests around Kaer Morhen and Geralt's heart clenches at the sight of it. Around the nest in the sand and in the shallows are little patches of glowing algae and moss, placed delicately as if on purpose and when Jaskier pops up from underwater with his hands full of the stuff Geralt realizes it was. He smiles absently at Jaskier, still looking around at their surroundings, taking in the decoration in the dim evening light. As Jaskier swims closer, Geralt realizes that he is glowing, too, little markings on his face and skin that Geralt never noticed before. He wonders vaguely if it's part of some unknown mating ritual - although this is just supposed to be a test run.

Jaskier smiles as he slips up into the shallows and Geralt drops to sit cross-legged in the sand. The waves lap gently at his toes and Jaskier pulls himself up until he's right in front of Geralt.

"Hi," Jaskier grins, "swim with me?" and Geralt nods, ready to stand up and take his trousers off. But Jaskier stops him. "Let me?" he asks and Geralt's breath catches in his chest.

He's under no illusions as to what he's here for, but when Jaskier rises up to sit on his tail, hands pressing against Geralt's stomach, Geralt shudders. Jaskier hums softly under his breath, a little tune that helps to ease Geralt's nerves and Geralt finds himself settling quite quickly under his touch. He shuts his eyes and rolls his head back and he realizes Jaskier is in no rush to get him out of his clothes.

Jaskier toys with the buttons on his shirt, slips his fingers between them, and brushes against the bare skin beneath. He's not doing much, but Geralt can feel the tension in Jaskier and he can smell his rising arousal. It's a heady feeling knowing he's the reason for Jaskier's excitement and he's so caught up in it that he doesn't realize when Jaskier's fingers curl in his shirt, tugging it out of his trousers, not until cool palms press against his stomach.

Jaskier smooths up his stomach, pushing the shirt as he goes before getting frustrated with it and tugging it up over Geralt's head. And as soon as Geralt's chest is bare, Jaskier leans in, pressing his nose to Geralt's skin and nosing in his chest hair.

"You're perfect," Jaskier mumbles, sliding his hands down to Geralt's hips.

Jaskier quickly unbuttons Geralt's trousers and has them pushed to his knees in no time before finally allowing Geralt to get to his feet and step out of them. Evidently pleased with Geralt's state of undress, Jaskier slips back into the water, gesturing for Geralt to follow him. And Geralt doesn't need to be told twice.

His cocklet is already swelling between his legs and he longs for Jaskier's touch again, to wrap around him and hold him in his arms. So when Jasikier rolls onto his back and swims out deeper, Geralt wastes no time in following him. And when Geralt is submerged up to his waist, Jasikier swims in a circle around him, wrapping his tail around Geralt's legs and pressing up against his chest so they're nearly face-to-face.

"Do you like it?" Jaskier asks, brushing his knuckles over Geralt's cheek.

The markings on his skin seem to shimmer as Jaskier's eyes meet Geralt's and Geralt tips forward, pressing his lips to Jaskiers, mumbling a soft yeah. He's relieved when Jaskier only deepens the kiss, letting sharp teeth graze over Geralt's bottom lip and then there are hands under his thighs, lifting him off his feet and Geralt instinctively wraps his legs around Jaskier's waist.

He huffs a little sound of surprise, but Jaskier just hums happily against him, sliding one hand back up to cup the back of Geralt's head as he kisses him again. And Geralt is surprised at how normal it feels wrapped around Jaskier, how perfectly… perfect it feels, like he was meant to do this.

Jaskier sinks back in the water, nearly submerging them both so only their heads are above the water and Geralt lets himself sink into his touch. His hips shift a little on their own and Jaskier groans encouragingly, claws digging into the meat of Geralt's thigh, holding him closer against him. He's breathing heavily now and Geralt can't think clearly through the fog of lust. Jaskier reeks of it now and the way he squirms against him isn't helping Geralt's own arousal. But before he can suggest heading back to the nest, Jaskier shifts them so Geralt is on his back and propels them into the shallows.

Once they get onto the sand, Geralt rises to his feet, and Jaskier hauls himself up the beach alongside him, making for the nest. When he gets inside, Geralt sits down and makes himself comfortable as Jaskier sidles up next to him, only a few scant inches between them. Jaskier's eyes are dark but soft as he reaches out, running a hand down Geralt's side. He lets his fingers catch on the hem of Geralt's boxer-briefs, pushing them down a little with every pass until Geralt groans with impatience and Jaskier laughs brightly.

Jaskier leans in, kissing Geralt again as he pushes his underwear down all the way. His lips brush against Geralt's jaw, his neck and down to his chest again. He's careful and tentative, nuzzling against him and mouthing at his skin. When Jaskier reaches his nipples, Geralt's cocklet twitches between them, jerking so hard it bumps against Jaskier's tail. But all it does is encourage Jaskier, who reaches down, wrapping one smooth, cool hand around the length of him.

Geralt lets out a needy whine as Jaskier strokes him and without moving away, he shuffles all the way out of his underwear so he can spread his legs a little, letting Jaskier play with him.

"Good?" Jaskier asks, lips still close enough that they brush against Geralt's skin.

"Yeah," Geralt breathes, arching off the ground to press into the touch.

Jaskier hums against him and tips his head to wrap his lips around Geralt's nipple, suckling softly at it. And Geralt's cunt aches in response, clenching down around nothing and he groans softly.

He reaches up, sliding his hands down Jaskier's back and over the swell of his tail, guiding him closer and Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he shifts against him. Jaskier slips a hand down between them, playing with Geralt's cocklet as he suckles at his nipple, humming against him as Geralt squirms.

"Jask," Geralt whispers, "wanna touch you."

"Mm okay," Jaskier hums, but he doesn't move.

He nips at Geralt's skin and licks over his nipple, but doesn't make any attempt to get off of him. So Geralt wraps his arms around him and rolls Jaskier onto his back, pushing himself up to look down at him.

And Jaskier smiles, reaching up to brush his knuckles over Geralt's cheek. Geralt ducks his head to keep Jaskier from seeing the flush that creeps into his face and he presses a hand to Jaskier's chest, sliding down toward his tail. He teases the skin where it meets with scales, fascinated by the smoothness of the join. When he pushes further, his fingers catch on a slit in the perfect scales and Jaskier shudders as Geralt's fingers brush against it.

The response intrigues Geralt and he brings his fingers back up to press against the slit. It's not until Jaskier sighs that Geralt realizes what he's doing. Immediately, he's embarrassed both for touching him like that and for not knowing that he was. Because he should and he does, he knows Jaskier's anatomy better than most creatures after all the research he and Eskel have done, but it feels different when he's here and touching for himself.

"'S okay," Jskier breathes, "keep going."

Geralt does. He presses lightly against the slit, holding his breath as the scales part beneath his fingers and he sinks in. Jaskier is wet inside, slick like a cunt except Geralt can't sink his fingers in any deeper without pressing against the tip of his cock. He barely holds back a moan when he realizes, letting his fingertips slide over the tip of Jaskier's cock, slipping down to the crown and the ridges beneath.

Jaskier swells under his touch, firming up and pressing into Geralt's palm eagerly. It's a heady feeling and Geralt presses a little firmer, strokes him a little more quickly until the tip of Jaskier's cock breaches the slit. Geralt draws his hand away and his cunt flutters the sight of Jaskier's cock slipping free. Jaskier groans and rocks up and Geralt desperately wants to get his mouth on him. He's worried it's too much, that blowjobs aren't part of getting him knocked up, but he wants it too badly to not try.

As soon as his lips press to Jaskier's cock, Jaskier is arching off the ground beneath him and one hand presses against the back of his head, a gentle reassurance. So Geralt slides his mouth to the base of Jaskier's cock, slipping his fingers around him, pressing into the slit and stroking the part of his cock that's still sheathed. Jaskier shudders and squirms at the touch, his tail flopping against the ground.

"Oh," Jaskier groans, "oh, fuck-"

Jaskier hums shakily and Geralt slips his fingers around him. Just above the base of Jaskier's cock he finds three circular ridges, one above the other and when he presses against them experimentally, Jaskier cries out.

"Geralt," Jaskier pants, "do that again." Geralt does and Jaskier whimpers, pressing his palms to Geralt's cheeks and tugging him up into a rough kiss.

Jaskier kisses him deep and hard, tugging Geralt up on top of him and Geralt shifts onto his knees without breaking the kiss. He rocks forward gently, sliding his cocklet along the side of Jaskier's cock, pressing hard and eager and whining at the not-enough pressure. But Jaskier hums against him, sliding a hand down Geralt's chest and down between his legs. Jaskier shifts and tugs Geralt up to be able to run his knuckles between the folds of Geralt's cunt, pressing in as deep as he can without jabbing him and Geralt rocks onto him, pushing himself down onto Jaskirr's fingers. Jaskier groans into his mouth, pulling away just far enough to nibble at Geralt's lower lip.

"Careful," Jaskier whispers, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Want you," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier pulls away, nuzzling at Geralt's neck.

He flattens his palm against Geralt's cunt, pressing the heel of his hand just below his cocklet where it's most sensitive. Geralt immediately rocks down against him, shifting his hips to rut against his palm. And Jaskier meets him in the middle, pressing up against him as he mouths at Geralt's throat.

"You smell amazing," he hums and Geralt just huffs at him. "You want something more, don't you?" Jaskier asks.

Geralt nods, whispering a faint please, and Jaskier rolls him onto his back, pressing his palm more firmly against Geralt's cunt and Geralt just ruts up against him.

"That's it," Jaskier coos, "just like that love, take what you want. Why don't you show me how you like it, hm?"

Geralt's eyes flick up to him and Jaskier smiles, curling his fingers in such a way that his knuckles slip between the folds of Gealt's cunt again. He pulls his hand away and Geralt aches at the loss, sliding a hand down his stomach to push his own fingers inside of him, almost unthinkingly. But the sound Jaskier makes when he does it dispels all worry and Geralt pushes deeper, seeking out the sensitive spot inside him.

Jaskier watches intently and Geralt feels a little self-conscious at first, but it's hard not to relax into it when Jaskier reeks of lust. Jaskier leans in, rubbing his face against Geralt's neck or dipping down to kiss his chest, lick his nipples and suck them into his mouth. And it only makes Geralt needier, shoving three fingers deep into his cunt and fucking himself quickly on them.

"Fuck," Jaskier mumbles and when Geralt looks over, Jaskier's got a hand wrapped around himself, jerking himself slowly, eyes focused on Geralt's fingers where they sink into himself.

Jaskier is fully erect now, his cock hard and stained a deep purple with arousal. Geralt stares at it, watching as Jaskier's fingers slide over the ridges, imagining what it will feel like inside him, how each little bump would press and rub inside him. He shoves his fingers deeper, not realizing the way he seeks out that spot, imagining it's the tip of Jaskier's prick instead. Jaskier is thick all the way down, but his cock tapers down from the base and Geralt wants to sink down on him, feel the gradual stretch until he reaches that thick base, stretching him wide and-

Geralt whines as his fingers make contact with that spot again and his hips jerk hard as he spills over his hip, coming hard and suddenly. He's caught off guard by his orgasm and it leaves him breathless and panting, wide-eyed as he searches Jaskier's face for emotion.

And Jaskier's eyes are full of it, dark with arousal and bright. Jaskier dips forward immediately, catching Geralt's lips in a sloppy kiss that is sharp and uncoordinated, but Geralt sinks into it immediately. He rocks up against Jaskier's body, groaning as his cocklet bumps against Jaskier's cock and he pulls one arm up to wrap around Jaskier's shoulders, careful not to get slick in his hair. But Jaskier is unconcerned about the mess, reaching down to press his palm against Geralt's soaking cunt again, grinding against him and encouraging the gush of slick that has Geralt's thighs wet with it.

Jaskier rocks forward and Geralt can feel the swell of a knot at the base of his cock, not yet fully blown but big enough to make him ache. His cunt flutters at the thought of it, but he doesn't have to wait long as Jaskier readjusts, sliding his length between the folds of Geralt's cunt. Jaskier doesn't push in, just slides against him maddeningly, but the tip of his cock nudges beneath Geralt's cocklet and makes him squirm. Geralt loves the feeling of someone rutting up against him, too eager to even press in and it's enough to make up for the emptiness.

When Jaskier does push inside him, it feels like an accident, if Jaskier's abrupt moan and the way he presses his face into Geralt's neck are any indication. But if it is, he doesn't correct it. Jaskier just pushes deeper, groaning with every little shift until he's buried up to his knot, still nosing under Geralt's jaw.

"You feel incredible," he whispers, "so slick and tight for me. I didn't think you'd want it but you do, don't you?"

"Yeah," Geralt whispers, "wanted it for a while."

"I'll take care of you," Jaskier promises, grazing sharp teeth against the column of Geralt's throat. "Pretty mate, so precious."

Jaskier rolls his hips in slow forward motions at first, letting Geralt adjust to the stretch, but Geralt's already so worked up that Jaskier could probably knot him right now and he'd just relax into it. He loves the feeling of being split open, of knowing that's Jaskier's cock inside him, fucking into him. And when Jaskier shifts, he perfectly reaches that most sensitive spot, grinding up against it near constantly.

Geralt's eyes flutter shut and he slides a hand through Jaskier's hand to steady himself. He moves with every one of Jaskier's trusts, trying to get him as deep as possible, rocking onto his knot before Jaskier will even let him have it. Geralt is mindless with it arching off the sand as Jaskier nips at his skin and sends little shivers through his whole body.

He wraps his legs around Jaskier's tail, clenching tight around his cock, his tail, his shoulders. Geralt holds him tightly, whimpering with every thrust as Jaskier whispers soft words of praise into his skin. When Geralt ducks his head, he can nuzzle against Jaskier's neck, press up against his scent glands and it feels intimate in a way that makes him shake, to think that Jaskier could let him do this, could want this from him.

Geralt teases the skin there with his teeth, a mimicry of the way Jaskier nips at him and Jaskier shivers, reaching to brush a thumb over Geralt's nipple in response. There's a heat in his gut that threatens to spill over and Geralt has to try hard not to come at the simplest touch. But as Jaskier buries himself deep, rutting into him in time with the ministrations to his nipple, Geralt can't hold on any longer.

"Gonna-" he whispers, a frantic plea before he spills between them, clenching hard around Jaskier's cock.

"Fuck," Jaskier groans, "come on, love."

He reaches between them, curling a hand around Geralt's cocklet and stroking him through it, pressing the pad of his thumb into the base as he slows the roll of his hips. Geralt gasps against Jaskier's skin as he's quickly encouraged through a second orgasm in quick succession.

His entire body feels like jelly, like he couldn't keep himself up if he tried and he buries his face in Jaskier's neck. After two orgasms, Geralt's head is foggy, a feeling he usually only gets while fucking on his heat and he loves it, loves the way Jaskier can get him into the space with the consciousness to appreciate it for once. He feels like he's floating, so overwhelmed with pleasure and adoration that all he can do is mumble into Jaskier's skin, kissing him and sucking at his throat. He's absently aware that there will be a mark there and he's only a little disappointed that there are no other sirens around to see it.

He wants to claim Jaskier for his own so that everyone knows this is his mate, no other's. He doesn't realize he's bitten him until Jaskier jerks hard against him. His knot pushes into Geralt's cunt in one quick motion and Jaskier lets out a shuddering gasp as he's forced deeper.

"Ah," Jaskier chokes, "fuck, darling-"

He pushes one hand down under Geralt's head, cradling it gently as he pulls back to look at him and Geralt draws back, catching Jaskier's gaze and holding it. Neither of them speaks, but Geralt can feel the change between them as Jaskier grinds his knot into him. Geralt's eyes flutter shut as hard as he tries to keep them open, too overwhelmed by the sudden stretch to fight against it any longer. He has all of Jaskier now, locking on his knot and still shifting his hips as Jaskier shudders above him.

All he hears is a little gasp and then Jaskier's breath comes quicker, panicky and he pushes himself up, shifting back. His knot catches and he groans in frustration.

"Geralt," he breathes, "fuck, I hope you were serious about the whole breeding thing-"

Geralt's eyes go wide as he realizes what Jaskier is implying.

"I thought you couldn't lay out of season-"

"Not with a regular partner," Jaskier huffs, moaning softly as he lowers himself onto Geralt's chest. He tips his head, baring his throat and the red bite mark over his scent glands. "Sometimes with a mate-" he doesn't finish the sentence, but the silence speaks for itself. Geralt has claimed him, marked him, mated him and it's triggered some biological switch in Jaskier's body.

Geralt opens his mouth to apologize, but Jaskier cuts him off with a kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair and humming softly against him. He rocks forward, shuddering at the pressure of Geralt's cunt around him and then he settles buried deep.

"Might be a little uncomfortable," he mumbles, "I'm sorry."

Geralt just shakes his head and presses a soft kiss to Jaskier's lips. He can feel the way Jaskier shifts inside him, the way his cock seems to swell even further, stretching him from the inside out. But Geralt is delirious with it and when he feels Jaskier tense against him, he braces himself for the discomfort.

But Jaskier just clenches his eyes shut and braces himself, slowing his breath and dropping his chin to his chest.

"Okay?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods.

"Just a little… ah-" Jaskier face scrunches up and Geralt reaches up to touch his cheek, brushing his fingers along the line of his jaw. He's still foggy, but he hates to see the hurt on Jaskier's face.

Geralt presses his hand down Jaskier's stomach, slipping down to press his fingers around the base of his cock. Jaskier is so deep, locked inside him, that Geralt can only barely brush the top of his cock. But he slips his fingers inside, sliding over the bumps there and as he does, Jaskier lets out a soft whine.

"Feels good," he whispers, "don't stop."

Geralt presses a little more firmly, running his fingertip over the uneven skin and Jaskier shudders, pressing his cock deeper as he leans into the touch. It's plain to see how sensitive these spots are and Geralt delights in watching the pleasure ripple on Jaskier's face until abruptly, he lurches forward. Geralt can feel the change as the first egg passes down.

"Oh," he breathes and Geralt pulls his hand back as Jaskier presses close, hips twitching. "Forgot how it feels," Jaskier mumbles.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, feels good. 'S never felt this good before." Jaskier leans down to kiss him, still breathing heavily against his lips and Geralt shuts his eyes, focusing on the stretch of Jaskier's cock as it expands.

He's surprised to be able to feel the egg as it's deposited, though once it's settled, the sensation passes. But now that they're coming, the process goes quickly and Geralt can feel his belly expand as he's filled with Jaskier's clutch. When he looks down, he can see the faint swell of it and he can't resist running a palm over his belly, much to Jaskier's approval. Jaskier makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat and presses his forehead to Geralt's, whispering softly to him.

"You're doing so well, love, still feeling okay?" Geralt nods and Jaskier dips to kiss the tip of his nose. "Do you want to come again?" As Geralt considers, he realizes he's grown hard again, his cocklet bouncing slightly above his hip and he flushes. "Don't be embarrassed," Jaskier whispers, "it's a natural reaction, let me help."

Jaskier slides a hand over him again, teasing the head of Geralt's cocklet with the pads of his fingers. Geralt's slick already, dripping onto his skin and Jaskier encourages it, slipping his fingers through the pre-come and sliding it down his length. He doesn't jerk him off so much as he does play with him, teasing and toying with him until Geralt is about to come again.

Another egg pushes into him and he feels big. His belly is swollen, but the pressure only serves to make him needier as Jaskier's fingers wrap around the head of his cocklet.

"That's the last one," Jaskier says as he shifts his hips again, rocking into Geralt's body as well as he can. "Will you touch me?" he asks and Geralt nods enthusiastically, sliding both palms up Jaskier's stomach. "I'm so close," he mumbles, "just… play with my nipples a little?"

Geralt is already moving before Jaskier has finished speaking, sliding up to brush his thumbs over Jaskier's nipples. The cry he gets in response is encouraging and he pinches the nubs between his thumbs and fingers, rolling them gently.

"Oh fuck-" Jaskier gasps, "don't stop love, just like that-"

Jaskier fucks him as well as he can, stretching Geralt on his knot as he pulls back and sinking into him again. Jaskier groans as he comes, dropping forward onto Geralt's chest and sliding a hand down to stroke Geralt off with him.

He buries himself deep, shuddering through his own orgasm as he brings Geralt off with a few quick strokes. Jaskier doesn't let him go, holding Geralt's softening cocklet as he nuzzles into his chest and slumps against him. For a moment, neither of them says anything, but then Jaskier shifts to move and Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, holding him against him.

"Just gonna roll over," Jaskier says softly, "don't want to crush you."

Geralt grumbles as Jaskier slides away, but as he turns onto his side, Jaskier lifts one of Geralt's legs over his own hip and squirms back between them, pressing against his chest. He kisses Geralt's collar bone, tracing the line of it all the way up to his neck and mouthing at the sensitive skin there. Geralt shudders as Jaskier's teeth graze against him but then Jaskier groans and as his hips jerk hard, he presses his head into Geralt's shoulder.

"Oh," he moans, "you feel so good, love. Are you still alright?"

"Yeah," Geralt breathes. He's tired and his cocklet aches from oversensitivity where it sits against his hip, but it's already swelling again, already aroused by Jaskier's groans and the way he jerks as he spills inside him again. "How long does it last?"

"A little while. Maybe half an hour? If you're tired, sleep, you've done so well today, my love."

Geralt hums thoughtfully. He has no desire to sleep; he wants to feel everything, to bask in the stretch of Jaskier's knot tying them together, but his exhaustion wins out and despite his best efforts, his eyes drop shut.

When Geralt wakes again a little while later, Jaskier is behind him, tucked up against his back with his tail draped over Geralt's legs. He's warm and Geralt can hear the sound of his breath, the thud of his heartbeat and it soothes him. He lets his eyes drop shut again, pressing back into Jaskier's chest. He doesn't even have time to settle before a hand slides over his side, slipping down to settle on his belly and it's the first time Geralt's really seen what he looks like. And he looks pregnant. His stomach is hard and swollen under Jaskier's hand, stretched by the clutch he's carrying. Geralt thought he would hate the sight of his belly all round and full, but he has rather the opposite reaction.

Behind him, there's a faint chuckle and Jaskier's hand slips down to press gently between his thighs, brushing against the sensitive skin there and Geralt can't hold back a moan. He shifts slightly, spreading his legs and turning onto his back to give Jaskier full access to his cunt. Access that Jaskier takes advantage of immediately.

He slides his knuckles through Geralt's slick folds, nudging against the base of his cocklet and Geralt whines out loud, hips bucking to try and force Jaskier's fingers deeper.

"Oooh, I know, love. It can be a little much but look at you. All swollen and full of my eggs," Jaskier makes a low humming sound as he leans up over him, kissing Geralt's belly. "So big and beautiful. Fuck. Maybe we should try again, hm? Make sure it takes? Fuck you nice and hard while you're full of my pups?"

"Please," Geralt whispers, and it doesn't take Jaskier longer than the time it takes to roll Geralt onto his side before he's lifting Geralt's thigh and guiding his cock into Geralt's cunt.

They groan together as Jaskier sinks into him, snapping his hips quick and hard. It only takes Geralt a couple of minutes before he's dripping, so hard he can't stand it, but Jaskier is more concerned with his belly. He runs his hands over it, spreading his fingers over the swell and slipping down to hold Geralt's belly as he fucks into him hard.

Geralt reaches down, wrapping a hand around his cocklet and he comes almost immediately as Jaskier's knot catches on his cunt. He strokes himself slowly, gripping hard around the head of his cocklet as he spills into the sand beneath him. It doesn't take long before Jaskier's knot pops and he buries himself in Geralt's body, coming hard and groaning against the back of his neck.

When they're lying together afterward, panting and still tied together, Geralt presses himself back into Jaskier's chest, earning him a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

"You… courted me," Geralt says quietly, his voice a little shaky with nerves. "Now you've bred me, but you said you wanted me to be your mate…" he doesn't know how to ask for what he wants, so he lets the sentence drop, but Jaskier nuzzles against his neck, letting his teeth graze Geralt's skin.

"What do you want?" Jaskier asks, "all you have to do is ask and it's yours. I do- I have another gift for you, but I was… distracted when you showed up here last night."

"I don't need gifts, I just- do you really want me to be your mate? Or did you just want to fuck me?"

Jaskier scoffs as though offended, but one of his hands comes up to rub Geralt's belly.

"I wanted you, darling. I told you, I have a gift, but I was distracted. A final gift. You're- you're supposed to wear it while we mate, but I'll give it to you today. But if it's not a gift you want, what is it?"

"I… will you bite me?"

"Oh. Do alphas bite, too?" Jaskier asks, shifting so he can rest his chin on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt twists a little to look up at him and nods.

"More common for just Alphas to bite," Geralt mumbles, "I got carried away."

"Mm, understandable. That was intense. I haven't felt that kind of draw to someone...ever. If you want me to bite you, I'd be happy to." Jaskier grazes his teeth along Geralt's throat, nipping carefully. "Here?" he asks, then slips toward the back of Geralt's neck, "or maybe here?"

He only teases for a moment before he shudders again and Geralt can feel as Jaskier spills inside him. It makes his cocklet ache and his cunt flutters around Jaskier's cock and then, as Jaskier's teeth sink into his skin, Geralt lets out a sob. Pleasure zips through him and he doesn't realize he's coming until Jaskier is whispering against the back of his neck, telling him how perfect he is.

"Thank you," Geralt whispers once he's relaxed again, "how long do we have? Until the pups are born."

"'Bout a month or so? I've never bred with a human before. Don't know of anyone else who has, either," Jaskier hums.

"Guess I'm just lucky," Geralt mumbles.

"Oh no, my love, I'm the lucky one."

For the first two nights, Jaskier knots him every night and every morning - just to make sure it takes. Geralt is nearly positive the first time was enough, but it's his job as a conservationist and now as Jaskier's mate, to ensure the pregnancy takes. Not that it's any kind of hardship for him to fuck Jaskier.

On the fourth day, Eskel is due to arrive and Geralt wakes up to Jaskier eating him out, prepping him so he can knot him one last time before their privacy is interrupted. And who is Geralt to deny his mate anything?

When Eskel arrives, Geralt is clean and dressed, though covered in love marks and little bites that he's overly fond of, but isn't totally sure he wants Eskel to see. So when Eskel does show up, smirking at Geralt and Jaskier, Geralt flushes bright red to the tips of his ears. He's so concerned about the marks, he doesn't even realize Eskel is focused on his belly until he mentions it.

"I'll assume everything went well?" he asks and Geralt gives a little nod, automatically reaching down to touch his belly. "How long?"

"Jask says a month or so," Geralt explains and Jaskier nods behind him to confirm.

"Are you planning on staying here until then?" Eskel asks.

Geralt hasn't thought about it. Until now, he's been preoccupied with Jaskeir and the bliss of a new union; he hasn't given much thought to the fact that Jaskier can't live on land and Geralt can't live in the ocean. Apparently, the concern is clear on his face because Eskel steps in to offer a solution.

"You could bring the boat out," he suggests, referring to the boat they use for overnight trips.

"What if you need it?"

"We'd bring the dinghy out and find you. Not like we don't know where you are."

"And you'd be okay with that? With me being away, what about the cecaelia-"

"Geralt," Eskel says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder, "you're incubating an entire clutch of eggs, we'll survive without you for a month, don't worry so much. You should be with Jaskier right now and apart from bringing him back to the lab, I think this is your best option."

"I don't mind going," Jaskier pipes up, "if you'd prefer to be at home."

Geralt turns to face him and Jaskier looks so eager, so ready to do whatever it takes to please him, that Geralt couldn't possibly let him make the sacrifice.

"I'm going to stay," Geralt says, "I appreciate it, but I think it's better for the pups if we both stay here."

Jaskier reaches up, pulling Geralt into a brief but firm kiss and Geralt flushes dark again as he straightens up. Eskel is wearing a soft smile when Geralt turns back to him and none of the judgement Geralt expects to see is there.

"I have to do a few tests while I'm here, make sure everything looks okay - for you and the pups - why don't you make me a list of everything you'll need and I'll text Lambert to get it all together for you."

Jaskier slides up next to Geralt, leaning against his shin and frowning up at Eskel.

"What do you have to do?" he asks.

"Just a couple of scans, a few questions to see how Geralt is feeling. It's not that I don't trust your instincts, but no one's ever recorded a Witcher raising siren pups, just want to be careful."

This seems to satisfy Jaskier and he settles as Eskel takes Geralt to the boat where his equipment is waiting.

Things are easier once Eskel and Lambert bring the boat out and Geralt has a soft bed to sleep in, but the convenience doesn't last long. Within two weeks, Geralt's belly has swollen to twice the size it was when Jaskier deposited his eggs. He's achy and tired and getting up into the boat is getting harder and harder with all that weight on his stomach. More and more often, Jaskier will climb up and curl up on the bow of the boat with him, fawning over him and pawing gently at his belly.

They'll lie awake for hours when Geralt is too sore to sleep, looking up at the sky. Geralt will point out constellations and Jaskier does his best to remember them, trying to recite them all without help. And Geralt finds it horribly endearing.

In the anticipated final week of his pregnancy, Geralt is constantly sore. His stomach is huge, big enough that he can only barely wrap his arms around it, and so heavy. Most days, he spends in the water now, floating in the shallows because the water eases some of the strain of his belly.

One morning, he's leaning against a piece of driftwood, floating just inches above the sand and Jaskier slips up beside him, pressing an ear to Geralt's belly.

"It won't be long," he says softly.

Geralt is torn; he doesn't hate being pregnant, and Jaskier is so devoted to him like this, bringing him food and rubbing his belly and fucking him every time Geralt is the tiniest bit horny. But he's sick of being useless, sick of being too big and too sore to do anything on his own, as much as he appreciates Jaskier's help. But despite the positives of his pregnancy coming to an end, Geralt is nervous.

He hasn't mentioned it to Jaskier yet for fear of making him worry needlessly too, but he'll deliver live pups, siren pups who need to be in the water. And Geralt doesn't know how to make that work. He's well aware that many human omegas give birth in specialized pools, but this is the ocean and there's no one but Jaskier to guide him through it.

"Have you done this before?" Geralt asks and Jaskier looks up at him from where he's still resting gently against his belly.

"Once," he admits, "but I was young and the omega is long gone and she-"

"I don't mind," Geralt says quickly, "I just… don't know what to do."

"Oh, love," Jaskier hums, sitting up and coming up against Geralt's side to wrap his arms around him, pulling Geralt up against his chest. "You have nothing to worry about. When it happens, you'll come down to the water and lie just like this. I'll be with you the whole time, but your body will tell you what to do. Every birth I've seen has been quick and painless and then they'll just swim off and I'll have you all to myself again."

"Hmm."

"Don't worry about it my darling, I won't let anything happen to you."

Geralt goes into labour in the middle of the night, though labour doesn't feel like the right word for it. He's been getting cramps since the second week, but these are so much worse, almost debilitating until Jaskier gets him into the water. For a little while, Geralt walks around at waist-level while Jaskier swims circles around him, constantly checking in and stopping Geralt to feel his belly.

"Are you alright?" Jaskier frets, "do you need anything? How can I help?"

"No," Geralt groans, "just want to get it over with."

Jaskier lets out a pained whine and presses his forehead to Geralt's belly. Geralt can feel his distress and he wants to be able to help, but just then a strong cramp blindsides him and Geralt drops to his knees. He has to shuffle forward so the water doesn't cover his chest. But there's another cramp and he drops forward onto his hands. Jaskier quickly swims up in front of him, holding him up and letting Geralt bury his face in Jaskier's neck.

"I've got you, love," Jaskier whispers, "is it time?"

Geralt just grunts an affirmative and groans against Jaskier's neck as one of the pups slips low, spreading him uncomfortably wide. Jaskier speaks softly, trying to calm him, but Gerallt can't even comprehend the words with the way he's cramping. It's a relief when the first pup squirms free but the reprieve only lasts a moment before another takes its place. Geralt thinks back to the laying and he balks at the memory of how many eggs there were.

He feels big enough to have six pups and the way they've been wriggling around, he's not optimistic. But Jaskier slips up behind him, spreading his legs wider and running his fingers along the rim of his cunt. The sensation districts from the pain for a moment but then another pup is squirming free.

There are five in total and Geralt is exhausted by the time they're all free. He crawls up to the shore and flops onto his side, groaning softly at the ache in his entire lower half. Jaskier comes up next to him, resting his head on Geralt's shoulder and gently rubbing his still-swollen belly.

Geralt drops his eyes shut and lets himself drift off to the feeling of Jaskier's palm against his skin.

"They'll be okay?" he mumbles softly and Jaskier hums.

"I told you, love, they'll be fine. They'll swim off and do their own thing. Eskel and Lambert are going to tag them and monitor them - you told me that yourself, darling."

Geralt knows this, it's his job to know how sirens reproduce and how they live after, but it feels so much different when it's his own pups swimming off on their own.

"Mmkay."

"We can talk more about it in the morning, you should sleep."

"But-"

"Sleep my love, I'll watch over you." Jaskier curls against him, letting his tail slip between Geralt's legs.

Despite his exhaustion, it takes a long time for Geralt to fall asleep and when he does, he tucks his face into Jaskier's neck, inhaling his scent. He wakes in much the same position, but face-to-face with Jaskier and it takes him a moment to realize they're back in the nest.

"Good morning, my love," Jaskier whispers, "how are you feeling, darling?"

"Sore," Geralt mumbles, "still tired."

"You will be for a little bit, but it'll get better."

"Hope so. Don't want to be out for days every time." Jaskier's breath catches and Geralt can't help the little smirk that crosses his face despite himself.

"Every time?" Jaskier asks quietly.

"You're endangered," Geralt hums, turning to face him, "and now you've got a mate. I don't see any reasons not to do it again."

"But you'd want to? Not just for your job?"

"No," Geralt whispers, "not just for my job. I… liked it, liked knowing I was growing your pips inside me, knowing every time I looked down and saw my belly it was because of you."

Jaskier rumbles low in the back of his throat and tips forward, catching Geralt's lips in a heated kiss. Geralt lets himself be rolled over so he's on his knees above Jaskier. He smiles down at him even as Jaskier leans back up to kiss him again. Geralt huffs a laugh and drops to his elbows, nuzzling against Jaskier's throat.

"I think," Jaskier hums, "that we should get you back into bed where you can sleep. Then we can talk some more about next time."

#geraskier #siren!jaskier #rex writes #the witcher

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Grunge-Metal Geralt

Hi, im fucking trash for the idea of Geralt being the front man for a Five Finger Death Punch type band and my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. This music genre is my bread and butter and I think Geralt’s repressed but highly emotional ass would fit right in. Yes im using another Hozier song, no i dont wanna hear anything about it. I’m a basic bitch and ive made my peace with it

Warnings: i honestly have no idea, its a little horny, little emotional, but theres no actual character interaction?, its at a concert venue? idk yall.

_________________________

Jaskier was… out of his comfort zone.

It’s not that he didn’t like the grunge-metal music, he just hadn’t listened to much and he was not used to the energy. People were yelling and screaming and the opener hadn’t even come on yet. He didn’t feel unsafe, far from it. Several people had checked to see if he was okay, seeing as he was the only person in the entire arena wearing a sweater that wasn't ripped or faded to hell. It was just a far cry from the shows he was used to.

He played folky-blues. This was nothing like his shows.

When the lights went down the crowd was deafening, all moving as one to rush the front of the floor, not giving a single fuck about tickets.

The openers were exciting, and Jaskier was surprised by some of the concepts and messages behind the music. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all and he found himself searching them up on Spotify to listen later.

Then came The Witchers.

Eskel and Lambert made their energetic entrance, followed by Aiden calmly walking to his drums and sitting as if he were walking into a college class. But Geralt was nowhere in sight. The one person Jaskier had actually come to see.

He’d seen a video clip from a previous concert where they covered one of his songs, and he was praying they’d do it again. It was lovely in a haunting-almost-threatening way, and the expression in Geralt’s posture alone was enthralling. He had to see it live.

But Geralt was still absent as the band started to build a song. First Aiden with the beat, then Eskel’s bass, then Lambert with a melody on his electric guitar. It built and built and built to a fever pitch, taking the crowd with it. People were already jumping and screeching. Jaskier had to stand on his seat to see the stage clearly.

Geralt’s voice echoed through the venue, low and closer to a growl than singing, but he was still nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier thought he’d been prepared, but his whole body was covered in goosebumps. He briefly wondered if this was what his friends were feeling when they listened to ASMR.

Geralt remained hidden for the whole first verse, getting the crowd even more excited than Jaskier thought possible, only for the band to go completely silent for a whole measure. When the crowd's screams reached their absolute loudest, Geralt dropped from on top of one of the jumbotrons, landing on one of the horse-sized speakers before launching into the chorus.

Oh fuck, he was even more beautiful in person.

He was… well he was a beast of a man. Jaskier really didn’t have another word for the way his muscles bulged and how lithe and powerful he looked springing from the speaker to join his bandmates on the main stage. His thighs filled out his black, tattered jeans and there were clear faded spots where his muscles strained the fabric too often. The thin black tank he wore did nothing but pretend the man was semi-modest. It was so tight, the only thing left up to the imagination was tan lines and the color of his nipple piercings.

Jaskier was most entranced by his long, white, wavy hair falling past his shoulders. As the show continued and he started to sweat, a lot, it got curlier and curlier at the root. Jaskier wanted to give him a mask and some curl cream, but only after a, uhm, rough night of getting to know each other. He’d heard rumors about Geralt from hitting arenas not long after they’d left. He was quite sure they’d have a great time.

As he focused on the lyrics more and more, he was more inclined to want to wrap Geralt up in a hug and worship every part of him until he felt whole again.

Either he’d been shown the shitty side of the genre, or The Witchers were exceptions to the rule of content. Jaskier was almost moved to tears a few different times.

Finally, about an hour into Jaskier mindlessly feasting his eyes on the front man, Geralt leapt onto another speaker and sat down, breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear.

“You still with us?”

The unholy screech from the crowd left no doubt they were just as excited, if not more so, than when they’d arrived.

“Good! Good..” he trailed off, chuckling as he lowered the mic to take a breath, “We’re gonna slow it down for a minute,” he leaned forward and held the mic away as Eskel shouted something up at him to which he laughed and flipped him off.

“As I was saying, we’re gonna yearn for a minute or two and do a cover. Song by Jaskier called ‘Talk’.”

The crowd lost their shit again, various pride flags popping up throughout the stands.

Geralt chuckled and raised his combat boot, showing off the bi flag colored treads, earning another round of screams. If this is what the grunge-metal scene was like, Jaskier had been missing out his entire life. Sure his fans were sweet and supportive and loving when he’d come out. But this was electric and feral and completely addictive.

Lambert struck the opening chord to Jaskier’s song and the crowd settled to a gentle hum, setting the tone immediately, as if they all knew exactly what was coming.

Geralt closed his eyes as he tapped his thigh with one finger, keeping time before his rumbling baritone hit Jaskier like a freight train.

“I’d be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found…”

Jaskier could have collapsed right there. He knew he was staring like a lovesick idiot, but hell, everyone around him was too. When the chorus hit and Eskel came in with a heavy bass line he nearly fell off his chair. Geralt’s intensity raised with the addition of the backup but he didn’t move. He stayed seated, swaying slightly, with his eyes closed as he crooned out the words Jaskier had sobbed as he wrote, broken hearted and miserable.

It was surreal.

Sure he’d seen other covers. Sure they’d been lovely. But he wanted to listen to this and only this as he fell asleep for the rest of his life. He’d never play it again if he could only hear it one more time.

After the last verse Lambert launched into a guitar solo while Geralt jumped off the speaker and meandered to the center of the stage to slot his mic back in it’s stand. He gripped it like a lifeline when Lambert held one last note for as long as his instrument would allow and only started singing the last chorus when it was almost silent.

“I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we could do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you”

His expression looked hopeless and utterly desperate as he crooned out the last two lines. He let his hair fall to cover his face and Jaskier could just barely hear his panting breath over the sound system as the crowd exploded. Geralt tipped his head back and took two deep breaths before straightening up and getting on with the show but Jaskier was stuck.

He was vaguely aware of someone taking a picture of him, but he really couldn’t care less. The fact that Geralt moved right on to a song called ‘Burn Motherfucker Burn’ didn’t matter either.

Jaskier jumped down from his arena seat, whipping out his phone and sending the band a tweet, because apparently that’s what musicians did now?

“Record it. Please. It’s either that or sing me to sleep every night. You choose.”

He stayed for the rest of the show and walked to his car in a haze. Before he backed out of his spot he checked his phone like always and his heart nearly stopped at the two top notifications.

One public reply: “Both? -G”

And one direct message: “If you’re still here and want to grab a drink, I’m just backstage.”

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mordoriscalling · 3 years ago

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Seeing Him For the First Time Again

In which Geralt, when waking up after tonsil removal surgery, suffers from temporary memory loss. The stunning stranger at his bedside claims that they're married. Geralt has trouble wrapping his head around it.

A little addition to the Singer and the Sailor series, but can be read as a stand-alone. Inspired by this video. Also available on AO3.

There’s a cacophony of sounds around him but he doesn’t fully process the noise. He only knows that he’s had tonsil removal surgery. His throat sure hurts like it. His head is heavy, his mind fuzzy, it’s all wrong. He wants it to stop.

His thoughts go directly to his mouth as he mumbles, “I need medicine.”

From the right, there comes a beautiful, mellifluous voice.

“They’re bringing you some,” it says.

Startled, Geralt looks to where the words came from and –

His breath hitches in his throat and his heart skips a beat; there, right at his bedside, sits a vision.

The man is not just a man. He must be an elf, or a fae, or some other inhuman being. His face is straight out of a fairytale, and his eyes are so wide and blue. He could be an angel, with those eyes, but his body – strong neck, broad shoulders, chest hair – invites Geralt to sin.

Why would someone like this be here, watching over him?

“Did the doctors send you?” he wonders. With mouth-to-brain filter absent, he adds, “You’re eye candy.”

The otherworldly creature laughs – which is such a gorgeous melody – but god, his smile. His smile is the Sun itself.

“Wow,” Geralt breathes out. “You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank goodness Yenna isn’t here,” the guy replies, grinning. “You’d say that to her instead if she were.”

“Yenna?” Geralt echoes. The name feels familiar on his tongue for some reason. “Yenna... Yenn... Yen...”

“Yes, Yen,” the stunning stranger chimes in. “She’s visiting you with Ciri later.”

He’s somehow sure that he knows Ciri too. The next moment, he realises that Ciri and Yen are important. He feels it down to his very bones. Why? That escapes him, even though -

This train of thought is cut off by a snicker. Geralt looks at his bedside angel once more. The surreal man is holding... something, in one of his hands. It’s a really beautiful hand, as if an artist carved it from marble. The whole of him is like an artwork. He must be widely admired, with such compelling facial features and those eyes.

“Are you a model?”

“No,” the stranger denies.

That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s so pretty. He’s pretty like a... like... somebody. He’s certainly someone. Geralt needs to get to know him.

“Who are you?” he asks. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Jaskier,” the man introduces himself. “I’m your husband.”

“You’re my husband?!” Geralt gasps in shock, not believing his ears.

“Yeah,” the model-but-not-a-model – Jaskier, yes, that name suits him – confirms.

“Holy fuck!” he exclaims, smiling, his chest fit to burst with joy.

Jaskier chuckles so beautifully again and Geralt closes his eyes, savouring the sound. Then, a wave of nausea hits him and he can’t really focus on anything. When it passes, Geralt turns his head back to the vision at his right. His husband. That’s so incredible. And serious. They could be parents, even.

“Do we have children?”

“Depending on how you look at it,” Jaskier explains, “We have between zero to two kids.”

Geralt frowns, dumbstruck. How do you have between zero to two children with someone? He’s quite sure that having children with someone doesn’t work like that. Having children starts with... kissing... and then... Wait.

“Have we kissed yet?” he asks.

Jaskier throws his head back, laughing with his whole body. Geralt’s breath is taken away again.

“We’ve kissed a lot, darling,” Jaskier answers.

“Is that what we call each other? Darling?”

“We call each other many names, dearest.”

Suddenly, there’re many thoughts at once running through his mind. Something about “Lead me, dearest”, sirens and sea. Yes, sea, he knows that too. He knows that he knows many things; he isn’t young. But since when has he got a husband?

“How long have we been married?”

“Three years,” Jaskier replies, smiling warmly.

“Fuck yeah, I hit the jackpot!” Geralt cries triumphantly.

Jaskier is his husband. He’s his. His to love, his to touch –

“Let me see your face,” Geralt says as he reaches out to cup Jaskier’s cheek. Turning his husband’s head to the side, he gushes, “Your profile is perfect!” Then, he loses the strength to touch Jaskier, but that’s all right. He has another idea. “Turn around.”

“No,” Jaskier objects with a delighted giggle.

Geralt pouts. He just wants to see if Jaskier’s ass is as perfect as the rest of him. Not that he doubts it. Wouldn’t hurt to check, is all. Checking up facts is good.

“We’re married!” he repeats with wonder and his husband nods. “Oh fuck.”

Jaskier only laughs again and tells him to settle down. Geralt, being a good husband to his surprise husband, listens. Still confused as to how he got so lucky but overjoyed at the fact nevertheless, he drifts off to sleep.

***

Later, as the anaesthesia starts wearing off, Geralt’s memory returns, dispersing his confusion. Slowly, all the pieces fall into place:

Jaskier is not a model, but a well-known singer, who Ciri was a fan of as a teenager.

Jaskier and Geralt got together after they pretended to be engaged and actually pulled it off. They have been together for six years now.

Geralt and Jaskier call each other a sailor and a siren. “Lead me, dearest, to the coast of tomorrow” is engraved on the inside of their wedding rings.

Technically, they don’t have children together. Geralt has Ciri with Yennefer. Jaskier is Dara’s guardian. Yet, Ciri and Dara are inseparable like siblings, and Jaskier and Geralt treat them as such.

Jaskier and Geralt also have a dog and a boat. Both are of the same name.

As a retired Royal Navy commander, Geralt finally has enough time to cherish his family. He often takes care of his nephew - Eskel and Essi’s son - Nao. He does that especially when Eskel is deployed, just like Eskel used to help him with Ciri. Lambert and Aiden help Essi too. So do Yennefer and Triss. And Jaskier and his sisters with their families. Plus Ciri and Dara. And Vesemir. Jaskier’s parents as well. Really, Nao, at two-and-a-half, might already be the most spoiled child in the world. Not that he minds. He loves the attention nearly as much as he loves Jaskier’s niece, Zofia. Zofia and Nao are so adorably taken with each other that no one can quite handle it.

All in all, Geralt’s life is just so good.

“I really did hit the jackpot,” he says after they return from the hospital.

“No, my heart,” Jaskier replies, “I did.”

Then, they kiss, and the anaesthesia incident is happily forgotten.

Or so it should have been.

The reality is this: at a family gathering a week later, it turns out that Jaskier recorded the whole thing. He shows the video to everyone. Geralt has never been simultaneously laughed at and called “precious” so much in his whole life. In fact, he never wants to hear the word “precious” spoken in his vicinity ever again.

More or less fleeing this predicament, Geralt takes Roach (the dog) and goes to hide on Roach (the boat) for solid three days. He wants to stay there longer, he tries to be mad, but then Jaskier appears with an apology song.

Geralt thinks to himself he’s a rather shitty sailor, unable to resist a siren’s call.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au

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elfydrell · 2 years ago

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Morpheus: "Do you remember this period of history? Call up your feelings…" Leya: "Screams, blood, death… Yes! The Vikings had invaded our land. The villagers had prayed for our help."

Morpheus: "Did you answer?" Leya: "Yes. Even the deities themselves! Lug Samildanach, the king of the gods, had answered the call. With his magic spear he fought the God Thor."

Leya: "But the invader had not come alone. His fearsome warrior, the just God Týr, faced our champion Ogme. A master of war magic, whose weapons are devastating."

Leya: "The fighting was ruthless. It was barbaric, savage. The Vikings were fighters renowned for their courage, bravery and ferocity, but above all for their violence. Nothing and no one could stop them, so much so that the ground shook under our feet."

Leya: "However, the people of the north did not know the Celts so well, for they were always ready for battle: they loved war above all else… The Vikings had the opportunity to experience the exceptionally warlike temperament of this people. You can't kill a Tuatha Dé Danann so easily…"

P.S.: For the record, I chose sims that I already had in my library. Lug => Cullen Rutherford; Ogme => Varric Tethras; Thor => Geralt de Riv; Týr => Eskel.

Thanks to @natalia-auditore for the poses/clothes as well as @lady-moriel for the fight poses <3

#sims4 #ts4 #mushroom #sims 4 fantasy #sims 4 magic #sims 4 history #sims 4 dream #sims 4 story #sims 4 vikings #sims 4 celtic #sims 4 gods #sims 4 thor #sims 4 lug #sims 4 tyr #sims 4 ogme #sims 4 war #sims 4 fight

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 3 years ago

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Heat Wave

Another fill for the @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo. You can read it below or on AO3!

Prompt: Hot Days/Hot Nights

Relationship: Coën/Eskel

Rating: E

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Summary: When Coën’s AC breaks during the middle of a record-breaking heat wave, his best friend, Eskel, offers to let him stay with him. It would be fine, if Coën weren’t stupidly in love with him.

When Coën moved from Kovir to Kaedwen, he was promised mild summers. The winters would be murder, everyone said, but the summers were pleasant. Having grown up in Kovir, Coën was well-acquainted with bitterly cold winters. Anyway, he would have braved the scorching summers of the Korath Desert or hurricane season in Skellige if it meant living near his college roommate, Eskel, again. Not that he would tell anyone, least of all Eskel, that.

But here Coën is, facing a record-breaking heatwave that’s turned all of central Kaedwen into a stinking cesspit, with an AC that’s just broken.

“Will be at least a week before I can get a tech out there to fix it,” his landlord says over the phone.

“A week?” Coën says a bit more rudely than he would normally be. He woke up drenched in sweat and miserable, a shitty start to his day.

“Lots of people are having ACs installed this week,” the landlord says. “This is a record breaking heatwave.”

“I’ve noticed. That’s why I’d like AC.”

“Wouldn’t we all.” His landlord chuckles, like the fact that Coën is sweating his balls off is humorous.

Coën contemplates how likely he is to be evicted if he calls his landlord a jackass, decides not to risk it, and does his best to say a polite goodbye. His mood is instantly lifted when he sees a text from his college roommate and best friend, Eskel. It’s a picture of Eskel’s pet goat attempting to climb into the fridge.

Someone doesn’t like the heat. Either that, or she’s trying to steal my Nilfgaardian leftovers.

Probably both, Coën texts back. And I don’t blame her. AC’s broken and I’m dying. Asshole landlord says it won’t be fixed for a week.

Eskel’s reply comes immediately. Come stay with me. I don’t have central air, but I have window units.

Coën hesitates. It’s been fifteen years since he and Eskel met their freshman year at University of Lan Exeter, since Coën fell in love practically as soon as he saw Eskel’s pretty hazel eyes, crooked smile, and fantastic ass. Coën and Eskel lived together for three of their four years of college— Coën lived on his own his senior year because he was worried he was going to get carpal tunnel from all the wanking he did whenever Eskel walked around in his ridiculously tiny shorts— and his crush never faded. Eskel is his closest friend, his favorite person in the world, and the man he’s so crazy in love with that no one else stands a chance.

Coën has gotten used to quietly pining for his best friend. He did it all through college. He did it from across the Continent after college, when he and Eskel would meet up a couple of times a year. He did it through three failed relationships. He’s done it for the last year, ever since he moved to Ard Carraigh. He keeps expecting it to get easier, for his feelings to fade with age and time. But it’s only gotten harder as the years pass to keep his feelings contained. He’s starting to feel pathetic.

His phone rings. A photo of Lil Bleater chewing on Eskel’s hair pops up on his screen.

“Stop overthinking things,” Eskel says by way of greeting. “You won’t be an imposition. Come stay.”

Coën glances at his useless thermostat. “You sure? It’s supposed to be in the nineties until next week. You might be stuck with me for a while.”

“It’ll be like old times.”

“Fuck, I hope not. I’m not eighteen years old. Don’t know if my liver can handle that.”

Eskel’s chuckle rumbles over the phone. Coën adores that laugh. “Don’t worry, Bleats will stop us from going overboard.”

“I trust her.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Coën leans his forehead against the cool plaster wall. It’s not just the heat of the apartment warming his face. “So long as I won’t be in the way.”

“Come on, Co. You could never be in the way.”

Coën really hates it when Eskel says things like that. It almost gives him hope. “I’ll swing by after work. Should be there around six.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

***

Coën arrives on the doorstep of Eskel’s cabin at five past six with his duffel bag, a six pack of beer, and a mixture of nerves and anticipation in his gut.

“Door’s open!” Eskel calls when he knocks.

Coën is immediately greeted by Lil Bleater, who noses at his duffel bag with an inquisitive bleat. Eskel has a dozen dairy goats, but Lil Bleater is the only one who lives in the house with him, mostly because she rebelled every time he tried to make her stay in the barn as a kid. “There’s nothing in there for you to eat,” Coën tells the little terror.

Lil Bleater gives him a look that tells him that she respectfully disagrees and Coën regrets his decision to bring some of his favorite clothing with him. There’s nothing she won’t chew a hole in.

“Bleats, let him settle in before you start menacing him.” Eskel comes striding out of his kitchen and Coën can’t stop his traitorous heartbeat from picking up in his chest.

Eskel was an impressive boy who’s grown into an impressive man. Coën is far from a small man, but Eskel dwarfs him with his broad shoulders, barrel chest, and thick thighs. Said thighs are on full display in a pair of mesh athletic shorts that are probably illegal in several kingdoms. He’s grown his hair longer than it was in college and keeps it pulled back into a twist, but the warmth in his hazel eyes and the sweetness of his crooked smile is the same.

“Good to see you.” Eskel pulls Coën into a hug like it’s been months since they saw each other and they didn’t see each other at Ciri’s fifth birthday party the weekend before.

“You too, Esk.” Coën barely resists the urge to sniff his hair like some kind of creep. Eskel’s brother-in-law, Jaskier, is all about hair care and Eskel now uses some fancy shampoo that smells like pine trees.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Eskel says, giving Coën a squeeze and then letting him go. “Because I made enough chili to feed us for a week.”

Coën takes a deep breath and follows him into the kitchen.

This will be fine.

***

And for the most part, it is fine, because Eskel isn’t just the man Coën has been hopelessly in love with for fifteen years, he’s Coën’s best friend. Coën easily falls into the rhythms of helping Eskel around the farm, rewatching all the movies they loved in college, and gorging himself on Eskel’s fantastic cooking. He could get used to this, he thinks as he settles down to sleep in Eskel’s air conditioned guest room. He can picture Eskel on the other side of the wall, puttering around as he gets ready for bed. It fills him with a sense of peace.

What doesn’t fill him with a sense of peace is attempting not to visibly drool over his best friend.

He’s sure that Eskel has no idea what he does to Coën— puttering around the farm in shorts that barely cover his generous ass and tight t-shirts that show off his pecs and shoulders. Eskel would probably be bewildered to learn that anyone could find his getup sexy. Somehow, Coën’s friend has gotten the impression that the scars on his face— courtesy of a dog attack when he was a toddler— have rendered him beastly and unattractive. Given how popular his stand at the farmer’s market is with the housewives and how many pretty people he brought back to their dorm in college, he seems to be the only one who thinks so.

“Forgot what long showers you take,” Eskel gripes good-naturedly on Coën’s second morning staying with him, after Coën has finished guiltily getting himself off in the shower to the memory of Eskel bending over to load the dishwasher in those tiny shorts.

Coën lets out a noise that’s supposed to be a laugh, but doesn’t quite make it.

But the constant horniness is worth it when Coën returns to Eskel’s house from work and finds his friend waiting for him, usually cooking dinner or trying to pry something out of Lil Bleater’s mouth. It feels right coming home to Eskel, even though it’s been over a decade since they lived together. Coën can’t even get cranky when he gets yet another text from his landlord letting him know that he hasn’t found a tech yet that can come look at his AC.

“It’s good having you here,” Eskel tells him quietly on Coën’s third night at the farm as they sit on the back porch and drink beers. Now that the sun is down, the temperature is finally bearable, even though the air is still heavy with humidity. In the woods, cicadas scream and an owl hoots. It’s nothing like the city noises Coën is used to, having lived in Lan Exeter and then Ard Carraigh.

“It’s good being here.” Coën bends down to scratch Lil Bleater, who is napping at his feet, on the top of her head.

“Gotta admit, I was worried you were avoiding me for a while there.”

Coën’s hand pauses. “Why would you think that?”

“Didn’t see you much for the first few months after you moved east.” Eskel’s voice is as pleasant as always, but he wears a guarded expression.

“It was an adjustment being here.” Which is the truth. Coën moved out of Lan Exeter, where he’d lived since he was a kid, with his tail between his legs in the wake of a failed relationship and a dream job that had turned into a nightmare. When the perfect job opened up in Ard Carraigh, it seemed like things were finally going right for him, until he realized that his old feelings for Eskel were as strong as ever. So he was avoiding Eskel for his first few months in Ard Carraigh. He just never realized that Eskel noticed.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Coën lies. “Sorry, Esk. I was… just kind of a mess for a while.”

“S’alright. Just glad I didn’t fuck things up somehow without realizing it.”

“You could never fuck things up,” Coën says, the immediately wondes if he’s said too much.

Eskel’s lips quirk. “Glad to hear it.”

Coën needs to get a grip, focus on being a better friend to Eskel and putting this childish crush aside. He needs to remember what’s important: the man who’s been his best friend since he was eighteen.

Eskel stands up and stretches, revealing a tanned strip of belly and the jut of a hip bone. “Want another beer?”

“I’d love one,” Coën says, mouth dry.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, he’ll get a grip.

***

The next day is Saturday and it’s so unbearably hot that not even Eskel’s AC can keep the two of them comfortable. They spend the day at Geralt’s pool, which is roughly the size of Coën’s entire apartment. Geralt's husband, Jaskier, is the lead vocalist of a popular folk rock band and while Coën isn't sure what Yennefer, Geralt and Jaskier's wife, does, it seems to involve a lot of yelling at elected officials and making more money than the prime minister. The cool pool is a welcome reprieve from the heat. Coën floats on a raft and pretends to read his book and not watch Eskel horse around with his five year old niece.

“You’re really bad at this, Uncle Eskel,” Ciri tells her uncle soberly as they duel with pool noodles. She’s thoroughly thrashing him.

"What can I say?" Eskel, who could easily engulf her head with one hand, shrugs helplessly. "I have Lil Bleater to defend me. I never needed to learn how to fight."

Ciri whacks him in the face. "Lil Bleater's not here."

"Roach will protect me. Right, Roach?" Eskel looks over at Geralt's elderly chocolate lab, who is snoozing in the sun, one leg twitching.

"Think you might be out of luck." Coën turns the page of his book, even though he hasn't read the last page. "No one can save you now."

"Can I see that?" Eskel holds out his hand to Coën's book.

Coën hands the book over. "Just don't get your wet fingers all over the--"

Eskel sets the book down on the side of the pool and flips the raft over.

Coën emerges, spluttering, and lunges at his friend. He and Eskel wrestle for a moment, which ends with Coën pinned back against the side of the pool, Eskel's bulk pressed against him.

Coën shakes his sopping wet hair out of his eye and scowls at Eskel. "Couldn't beat the five year old, so you decided to try me instead?"

Eskel's hazel eyes are warm. "What can I say? She's a much more intimidating opponent."

As if on cue, Ciri comes flying at Eskel, pool noodle swinging. "I'll save you, Uncle Coën!"

Eskel howls as if he's been dealt a mortal wound and slowly sinks below the water, one hand outstretched beseechingly. A couple of sad air bubbles float to the surface.

Ciri looks at her uncle's prone form, then announces, "I'm going to go have a snack!" and paddles out of the pool. Roach rouses herself to follow.

Eskel emerges, blinking water out of his eyes. "Honestly, she doesn't even stay to gloat over her victory? Who raised her?"

"Don't know. She clearly doesn't take after her uncle." Coën can still feel the shape of Eskel pressed against him: the strength of his arms, the width of his thighs, the softness of his belly. He tries to think about anything else.

Eskel brushes Coën's hair behind his ear. "Sorry for dunking you," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Couldn't help myself. You looked hot."

And Coën has no idea whether he's talking about the temperature or is making an innuendo. It must be the former, right? But before he can think of a witty reply, he hears a deafening shriek of, "Uncle Lambert!" from inside the house.

The sliding glass door opens and Jaskier sticks his head outside. “Lambert and Aiden are here with lunch. You should get in here before Ciri eats all the mac n’ cheese or she decides Lambert is her new favorite uncle.”

Eskel scowls at him. “I raise goats. Lambert doesn’t stand a chance.”

Jaskier gives an apologetic shrug. “He’s thinking about getting a dog.”

“Not on my watch, he’s not.” With a muttered curse, Eskel hauls himself out of the pool— giving Coën a spectacular close-up view of the way his wet swim trunks cling to the curve of his ass and hike up around his thighs— and pads towards the house. Exchanging eye rolls with Jaskier, Coën goes the civilized route and takes the stairs.

“So,” Jaskier says in a low voice once Eskel is inside. “How’s staying with Eskel?”

“Cooler than staying at my place.” Coën grabs a towel to dry himself off, because unlike Eskel, he fears Yennefer enough to be unwilling to track water through the kitchen.

“Mm hm.” Jaskier’s eyes twinkle. “Sure that’s the best part. Not those shorts he’s always wearing.”

Coën grimaces. He talked about those shorts at length with Jaskier after Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding when the two had gotten drunk and weepy together— Coën because he was in love with the best man and Jaskier because he was in love with the bride and the groom. The only difference is that a year to the day later, Jaskier married both Geralt and Yennefer in a private ceremony. Coën is still pining.

“What shorts?” he still asks, because Jaskier was also very drunk that night. He could have imagined things.

From the look on the other man’s face, he’s not fooled. “He always talks about you know. ‘Coën said this the other day.’ ‘Coën thinks this.’ It’s like you’re always here, even when you’re not.”

Coën doesn’t know what to do with that. “He is my best friend.”

Jaskier seems to take pity on him, because he just claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, once the Wolfe brothers get their hands on the food, there won’t be enough left for the rest of us.”

As soon as they step into the kitchen, Lambert calls, “Coën! My favorite brother!”

Coën ducks his head, hoping how pleased he is doesn’t show on his face. The Wolfes’ easy acceptance of him has always touched him. Eskel’s family— loud, messy, and unconventional— is world’s away from Coën’s own. No more or less loving, just a hell of a lot noisier about it. “You’re only saying that because I’m not actually your brother.”

“Alright then.” Lambert says with a grin. “My favorite brother who isn’t actually my brother.”

“Excuse me.” Jaskier places a hand over his heart, mouth opening in a little “oh” of outrage. “What about me, your dearest brother-in-law?”

“You cheat at Gwent.” Lambert gestures violently with a fork at him, nearly impaling Aiden in the eyeball. His boyfriend just has time to dodge. “Oops, sorry, Aiden. You’re dead to me, Pankratz.”

“I only cheated because you were cheating, you—”

Coën settles down between Eskel and a long-suffering Geralt and listens to the bickering of the Wolfe family around him, feeling warm in a way that has nothing to do with the heat outside.

***

Eskel and Coën don’t make their way back to the farm until nearly dark, both smelling like sunscreen and chlorine. Eskel’s shoulders and cheeks are pink from the sun, his bun only hanging on by a thread. Ciri gave him a unicorn sticker as an apology for nearly drowning him and he has it stuck to his bicep, a place of honor. He’s put on a shirt, but he’s still in those swim trunks, and Coën can’t stop looking at him.

“Lambert pulled me aside after lunch,” Eskel says. “He’s finally going to propose to Aiden.”

Coën grins. “Took him long enough. How long has he had the ring? Three years?”

“Yeah, and he’s only doing it because he thinks Aiden’s planning to propose. Wants to beat him to the punch.”

“He really should let Aiden propose. He’d be better at it.”

“That’s what I told him and he told me that he’s making Geralt his best man, just for that.”

“Fuck, what did Geralt ever do to him?”

They exchange grins.

“You’ll probably be a groomsman, you know,” Eskel says.

Coën is glad that the darkness hides his expression. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do. Lambert loves you. My whole family does.”

Coën feels like he’s going to explode from wanting. He turns to look out the window, the outline of his own face staring back at him.

“I asked Lambert what was taking him so long,” Eskel says. “He and Aiden have been together for what, six years? He says he was afraid of things changing between them.”

There’s a weight to those words, Coën can tell, even though Eskel’s tone is light. “I guess change is scary, even when you’ve known someone for that long.”

“Especially when you’ve known someone for that long,” Eskel says. “Lambert might be worried about being disappointing. What if after all that time, he wasn’t worth it?”

Coën looks over at Eskel’s familiar profile. He knows that face as well as he knows his own, but in the dark, he can’t see the look on his friend’s face. He’s having trouble breathing. “I don’t think he ever has to worry about being disappointing, Esk.”

Eskel lets out a huff of laughter, but it sounds strained. “I think he’s worried about ruining things.”

“He shouldn’t.” Coën swallows. “Because if it doesn’t work out, they can go back to being the way things were before. They’re too important to each other not to.”

They pull up in front of the cabin. Coën sits there for a long moment, hardly daring to move. He feels like they’re on the brink of something and he worries that if they get out of the car, the spell will be broken.

Eskel clears his throat. “Lambert says the groomsmen are going to wear tuxes with tails.”

Coën laughs, even as his heart sinks. “He wouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry, we probably have at least another six years to talk him out of it.”

"Well, thank fuck for that."

They head inside and Lil Bleater comes trotting to meet them at the front door.

“Bleats!” Eskel exclaims. “What did you get into while we were gone? The house is still standing, I see.”

Coën leaves him cooing at the furry menace and goes into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and a snack. He’s smearing peanut butter on a piece of bread when he looks up to see Eskel hovering in the doorway to the kitchen.

“You know, I’ve been giving Lambert a hard time about not going for what he wants with Aiden for years now,” Eskel says. “And I realize that I may be a hypocrite.”

Coën gestures at the jar of peanut butter with a knife. His heart is pounding like he just ran all the way back from Geralt’s house. “If you want a sandwich, all you need to do is ask.”

The corners of Eskel’s eyes crinkle as he steps closer. “I’m not good with change. Never have been. I like to have things in order. Like having my farm and my goats and my routine.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Coën’s voice sounds all wrong to his ears. “Got to give Lil Bleater the stability she deserves.”

“I think I’ve been scared and stupid,” Eskel says softly, taking another step closer.

“Yeah,” Coën says. “But so have I.”

And then Eskel is kissing him, broad, calloused hands cupping his face and a warm, soft body pressing him back against the counter. For a moment, Coën’s brain is nothing but a blue screen as he takes in soft lips and strong hands. Eskel, who he’s wanted since he was a college freshman, is kissing him.

Eskel pulls back. “Alright?”

It’s only then that Coën realizes he’s been standing there like a statue, letting himself be kissed. “Yeah, more than alright.”

He reaches up to thread his fingers through Eskel’s hair, tugging it free from the man bun, and captures his mouth with another kiss. Eskel makes an appreciative little noise against his lips.

“Gods, I’ve wanted to do this since I was eighteen,” Eskel whispers, pulling away from Coën’s mouth to trail kisses along his jawline.

Coën slides his hand over Eskel’s shoulders, reveling in the feel of him. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Coën laughs ruefully, tilting his head back to grant Eskel easier access to the soft, sensitive skin of his neck. “Like you said, scared and stupid. Didn’t think you wanted me.”

“Fuck.” Eskel groans and grabs his hips. “How could I not want you?”

Coën can feel the evidence of Eskel’s want pressed up against his lower belly. There’s quite a lot of evidence. “Bedroom?” he asks breathlessly.

Eskel nods. “Bedroom.”

Somehow, they make it to the bedroom, even though neither of them seem willing to take their mouths or hands away from each other for longer than it takes to peel a t-shirt or a pair of shorts off. By the time they reach the bed, they’re both naked and Coën thinks he must have drowned in Geralt’s pool and gone to heaven. He’s seen Eskel naked before, plenty of times, but never like this. Never hard and already leaking-pre-cum, his beautiful chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths. Coën runs his hands along his shoulders, his chest, the soft swell of his belly, those gorgeous fucking thighs.

Eskel chuckles. “Like my legs, do you?”

“I have eyes,” Coën growls. “And you walk around in those damn fucking shorts all the time.”

Eskel throws his head back and laughs at that and Coën kisses the sound away, wanting to memorize the feel of the curl of Eskel’s smile against his lips.

“I’m clean,” Eskel says quietly. “Got tested after Triss and haven’t been with anyone since.”

“No one?” Eskel and Triss broke up a good four years ago.

“Yeah.” Eskel’s lips twitch into a rueful little smile. “I was hung up on someone, but was too much of an idiot to tell him.”

“I’m clean too,” Coën says. “Haven’t been with anyone since I moved to Ard Carraigh. I was hung up on someone too.”

“Sounds like we’re a couple of idiots.”

“Sounds like it.”

Eskel falls backwards onto the bed, pulling Coën with him. They land in a heap on the bed, Coën’s lips never leaving Eskel’s. It’s only when he feels the press of Eskel’s erection against his hip as the other man squirms underneath him, seeking friction, that he thinks of all the other lovely things he’s wanted to do with his mouth for the last fifteen years. He kisses his way down Eskel’s body, pausing to nuzzle at his pecs and at the trail of curly dark hair leading down from his belly button.

When he gets to Eskel’s cock, he takes a moment to marvel at the beauty of it before licking a stripe up it. Eskel moans and his hips buck. Coën is a man of infinite reserves of patience, and he takes full advantage of that patience, licking and kissing and sucking the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, until Eskel is pliant and moaning under him.

“Coën,” Eskel pleads and Coën takes pity on him, slowly taking Eskel’s cock down as far as it will go. He can’t get the full length into his mouth— it’s already deep enough that he knows his voice is going to sound wrecked in the morning, a thought that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. He wraps his hand around the base of Eskel’s cock and gets to work, bobbing a steady rhythm. Eskel is heavy and hot on his tongue, the taste of him salty and heady.

Coën moans around the length and feels Eskel’s hips twitch under him. Coën gives another encouraging little moan and Eskel begins to very carefully move his hips in time with the bobbing of Coën’s head. Eskel’s hands come down to cup the back of Coën’s head, not pushing him down, but just holding him, fingers threading through Coën’s hair, palms cradling him.

“Fuck, Co, your mouth.” Eskel’s voice is strained and breathy. Coën takes him a little deeper, reveling in the choked noise his friend makes. “Gonna come.”

Coën sucks harder and Eskel’s grip on the back of his head tightens. When Eskel comes, salty and hot down Coën’s throat, Coën swallows down every drop. He pulls off Eskel’s cock with a wet pop and peppers his thighs with kisses. The skin on the inside of Eskel’s thighs is smooth and soft and Coën can’t resist the urge to bite at it gently.

Eskel makes a breathy little noise. “You could fuck them, if you wanted to.”

Coën’s neglected cock throbs; he thinks he might come from the suggestion alone. “Lube?”

Eskel chuckles and Coën hears the sound of him rifling through a drawer. He’s too distracted by lavishing kisses on the red mark his teeth just left to look. A moment later, a bottle of lube is pressed into his hands. His fingers definitely do not shake as he slicks up the insides of Coën’s thighs. When they’re slicked up enough, Eskel presses his thighs together, leaning back against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head. He looks at Coën expectantly and Coën can’t stop a huff of laughter from escaping his lips.

Coën slicks up his own cock, not missing the way Eskel watches the movement of his hands eagerly, and leans over Eskel. When he pushes his cock between Eskel’s thighs, he can feel the muscles flexing around him and he groans at the sensation. He digs his fingers into the meat of Eskel’s hips and thrusts, reveling at the slide of his cock against soft, slick skin.

“Did you know what you were doing to me, walking around in those little shorts all the time?” he asks.

Eskel grins wickedly. “I knew what I hoped I was doing to you. Saw you looking a few times.”

“Fuck, Eskel.” Coën whimpers as Eskel tightens high thighs around his cock. “Surprised Lan Exeter didn’t have a drought, with all the wanking in the shower I was doing.”

“So that’s why you take such long showers. Thought you were just high maintenance.”

“All I could ever concentrate on was your thighs. And fuck, your ass.”

“You can fuck me properly tomorrow, if you want.”

Coën snaps his hips harder at the very idea of being deep inside Eskel, with those beautiful legs wrapped around him, Eskel moaning his name.

“You like that idea?” Eskel wraps his arms around Coën, digging his own fingers into Coën’s ass cheeks.

“Fucking love that idea.” Coën buries his face into the valley between Eskel’s pecs and thrusts desperately into the sweet heat between his thighs. When he comes, it’s with Eskel gripping his ass and Eskel’s lips against his forehead and Eskel’s name on his lips. He collapses on top of his friend, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” Eskel breathes.

Coën nods, too breathless to form words to agree.

“Co, what the hell were we waiting for?”

Coën nuzzles into Eskel’s pecs. He’s spent far too long admiring Eskel’s thighs, he decides, and not nearly enough time appreciating his pecs for the masterpieces that they are. Something to rectify once he catches his breath. “Don’t know. But we have plenty of time to make up for it now.”

***

In the morning, Coën wakes to a text from his landlord that his AC unit is fixed.

“Does that mean you’re heading back?” Eskel asks, hair rumpled and cheek creased from his pillow case. It’s not the first time Coën has seen him first thing in the morning, but it’s the first time he’s been close enough to see the disarray his eyebrow hairs are in and smell his morning breath. He's stupidly adorable.

Coën presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Well, it’s Sunday. I don’t have anywhere to be. May as well spend the day here.”

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across Eskel’s face. “And then all your things are here, so you may as well just get ready for work here.”

“And then I did promise I’d make you tacos for dinner tomorrow night.”

“That you did. Guess you have to stay until Tuesday. Unless there are leftover tacos. Then you’ll have to stay until Wednesday.”

Coën makes a mental note to go get more taco meat tomorrow. “And then it will be halfway through the week, so I may as well just stay until the weekend.”

“You make lots of good points.” Eskel wraps his arms around Coën, gathering him close. He still smells a bit like chlorine and sunscreen, mixed with sex, and it shouldn’t be nearly as appealing as it is. “When is your lease up?”

“End of Saovine. Why?”

“Rent in Ard Carraigh’s pretty damn expensive.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You could move in here when your lease is up.”

Coën’s head jerks up to look at him, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. “You don’t think that’s too soon?”

Eskel strokes a hand down his back. “I think we’ve wasted fifteen years, Co. I don’t want to waste another second, do you?”

Coën presses a soft kiss to the corner of Eskel's mouth. “They weren’t wasted. Got to spend them with you, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. So none of it was a waste.”

Eskel’s eyes are warm and full of so much naked affection that it takes Coën’s breath away. “Now that I have you like this, I don’t want to let you go.”

Coën pauses, pretending to be thinking about it. “You do make a pretty decent roommate.”

“I make a better boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” Coën grins at him stupidly. “Guess I have to move in then. See for myself.”

Eskel’s smile has always been a beautiful thing, but never more beautiful than at that moment. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

***

#the witcher #witcher coen #coen #eskel #eskel x coen #coen x eskel #coen/eskel #eskel/coen #coeskel #my fic #my writing

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greyshadowfaux · 2 years ago

Note

did esk & geralt help take care of lambert occasionally or were they going into getting their own pup blindly?

Everybody helps. Lambert is a full time job.

‘Ah Geralt, there you are-’

Putting down his book, Geralt looks up to see a rather grumpy Lambert being carried into the hall by an exasperated Vesemir. Without asking, Vesemir drops Lambert into Geralt’s lap. ‘Hold this.’

Geralt sits the pup on his knee and snorts in amusement. ‘I see he got into the pantry again.’

‘Damn pup ate all my brandied cherries.’ Vesemir says with a huff. ‘He’s going to have one hell of a stomach ache later, so keep a spare pull-up on hand. And don’t let him out of your sight, there’s broken glass all through the kitchen.’

‘Accident.’ Lambert says with absolutely no remorse, wiping his sticky fingers on Geralt’s shirt.

‘Hmm.’ With one last look at Lambert, who’s covered from head to toe in a sticky red syrup, Vesemir shakes his head and makes his way back into the kitchen, leaving Lambert on Geralt's lap.

‘How’s your tummy?’ Geralt asks, brushing back a lock of Lambert’s hair, only to stop when he finds cherry syrup there, too. How one pup can cause so much trouble, Geralt isn’t sure. At least Lambert seems somewhat subdued for the moment, though Geralt suspects this has something to do with the amount of brandy in the cherries.

‘Hurts.’

‘How many jars did you eat?’

Lambert frowns, then counts on his fingers. ‘Four.’

‘That’s a new record.’ Geralt starts to laugh as Lambert’s stomach lets out an almighty gurgle, but stops when the pup’s eyes fill with tears and he doubles over in pain.

‘Owwwie- Make it better.’ Lambert’s lip quivers, and he looks at Geralt expectantly. Geralt isn’t quite sure how to do that, so he improvises. Lifting Lamb to his chest, Geralt carries him over to the fur by the fire.

Followed by the alchemy lab (because that’s where he makes both alcohol and bombs), the rug by the fire is Lambert’s favourite place in the whole keep. Probably because it’s Aiden’s favourite nap spot, and Geralt can still smell him on the fur.

As he drops Lamb onto the soft rug, the pup rubs his face eagerly into it, sniffing happily and spreading red stains everywhere. Geralt sighs. That’s going to be a bitch to clean later. Collecting the diaper bag, Geralt pulls it close, just in case. After four jars of cherries, Lambert is just as likely to throw up and need a new shirt as he is to make a mess and need changing. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

‘Kitty.’ Lambert says fondly, starting to purr.

It’s little moments like these that have Geralt feeling rather fond of the cat witcher. Big or small, Lambert loves Aiden. It’s clear Aiden loves Lambert, too, if the love bites covering his skin are anything to go by. Not that the cat does anything untoward when Lambert is feeling small. As an added bonus, Aiden is also rather good at dealing with tantrums.

‘He’s with Eskel, fixing up the woodshed. They’ll be back in time for dinner.’ Geralt says, rolling Lambert onto his back. Lambert’s tummy gurgles again, and he stops purring to sniffle, whining. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, Lambert lifts it to his chin, exposing his torso and the thick line of hairs trailing all the way down his chest, disappearing beneath the hem of his pull-up.

‘Hurts.’ He whines. ‘Geralt. Rub.’

Licking some of the cherry juice off Lambert’s face (it was a rather delicious batch this year) Geralt obliges, his fingers trailing over the warm skin around Lambert’s navel. With a little huff, Lambert relaxes, and once more the sound of his purring fills the hall.

#the witcher #witcher lambert #witcher geralt #fanfic writer #age regression

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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officerjennie · 3 years ago

Text

Touch

Summary: Eskel listens and gets off to a guided masturbation audio

CW: Soft tummies, ace!Eskel, masturbation, anal fingering

WC: 1.2k+

Taglist: at the very bottom (let me know if you want on/off it!)

Prompt: Eskel with “bend over and spread your legs”, submitted by @lokibus (thanks again!) written for Ace Week, run by @jaskierswolf - thanks for encouraging more ace content!

A bit about Eskel's brand of asexuality in this: He likes the theory of someone being there with him while he touches himself. Likes the idea of someone telling him what to do, and finding him sexy while he does it, and even a bit of the idea of someone touching him. In practice, he doesn't want anyone to touch him sexually, and isn't sexually attracted to anyone.

This audio was a new one. Eskel had gotten undressed before putting his headphones in, not entirely sure what to expect - though that was most of the thrill of it for him that night. If he'd wanted familiarity, he could have gone with the few he was far too familiar with. Ones he knew well enough to expect the hitch of the other's breath, where his hands started to roam where they were told to before the words were out.

Sometimes, knowing what to expect made the image hard to hold in his mind. Interest waning, thoughts wandering despite the firm and warm tone in his ears. That's why it was a freshly downloaded audio he scrolled to on his phone then. He hoped it would be worth the price, but even if he couldn't use it he wouldn't ask for a refund. Guided masturbation for gay men was hard to come by, and bless the men who spent their free time recording and helping men like him get off.

Already, his cock was filling out, but he didn't touch it yet. Before he had even gotten onto the bed yet he started the audio, grunting a bit at the husky voice that filled his ears. Yes, the voice would do at the very least.

Just as he reached the bed, his breath hitched, eyes darkening at the words whispered to him:

"Bend over and spread your legs for me. I want to see how desperate your hole is to be fucked and filled."

His knees felt weak as he knelt on the bed. On his hands and knees felt right, his breaths still coming a bit quicker as the voice rumbled praise to him. How quickly he'd listened, how good he looked like this - maybe it would have looked a bit silly if anyone was there to see him, but Eskel had long since gotten over that silly bit of shame. No one would ever be there with him anyway, and that's exactly how he wanted it.

Gods, but it did feel good to hear the praise dripping like honey in his ears. He wanted to skim his hand down his stomach, grip the soft flesh there and on his thighs, but he kept his palm flat against the sheets until he was told to move.

It didn't take long. The man's voice purred out an order - "Spread yourself open, let me get a better look" - and Eskel didn't waste any time spreading his thighs wider and pressing his face into his pillow. He reached back and held himself open and the man spoke filth to him. Promises to eat him out, suck and lick on his hole until he was a shaking mess.

"Going to play with your hole for me?"

Eskel scrambled for the oil in his bedside table, not realizing he'd squeezed his eyes shut until he had to open them again. His fingers were guided through soft caresses over his hole, face pressed into the pillow once more, his cock hanging heavy between his thighs while he pressed a slick fingertip against his hole just enough to tease but not press in.

Fuck, but he loved a tease. He wanted more but only touched how he was supposed to, listened as the voice grew darker and praised him more for being so good and doing as he was told.

When he was told to slip a finger into himself, he gasped, pressing in too fast. He bit back a whine when he was told to take it slow, to avoid his prostate, to not fuck himself on his fingers just yet.

It was delicious torture. Allowed to touch himself but not enough. His cheeks flushed and his blood ran hot at the thought that this was all for the man who spoke filth in his ear - that he was touching himself for a show, and he could hear how it affected the other man. Could hear his voice getting rougher as he told Eskel to work another finger into him, and then another, telling him just what pace to set and how good he'd look and feel wrapped around his cock.

Eskel rocked back onto his fingers, teasing just at the edge of his prostate, his cock aching from neglect.

"Want me to touch your cock, sweet thing?"

He whined, one hand fisted into the sheets, eyes shut tight once more as his fingers worked into him faster. Despite no one being there to hear him, he whispered, "Please."

"Why don't you touch it for me?"

The man was touching himself. Eskel could hear it, and it was for him - over him, over his body. The hand fisted in the sheets quickly followed a path down his chest, Eskel shifting his weight onto his shoulder, gasping out as he took a moment to squish and knead his soft stomach. Already he was being told just how to touch his cock but for once Eskel didn't listen, running his fingers down to his thighs, gripping one tight and cursing under his breath.

The words were lost to him then. He pressed his fingers further in and moaned as they finally brushed against his prostate, and all bets were off then. Fingers desperately rubbing against it, the hand gripping his thigh moving to his cock. Palm stroking the head to catch the pre that had been leaking out of him steadily and using it to slick the way of his strokes.

Between the incessant teasing and just the erotic thoughts of someone watching him, guiding him, telling him what to do, Eskel did not last long. He came with a grunt into his pillow, hand stripping his cock, hips rocking and chasing both the pleasure there and from the fingers that were relentlessly milking his prostate. Soon it because too much, the pitch of his whines rising higher, but he didn't stop.

His toes curled, hips jerking, the touch too much and glorious and Eskel didn't want to stop - but he couldn't keep it up. Gasping, he finally jerked his hand away from his cock, pulling his fingers out of his hole with a wet pop and all but collapsing into the sheets beneath him. On some level he was aware that the audio was still running, a rasping voice still praising him. He hummed, letting the high ride through him, too content for the moment to turn it off just yet.

The only thing that could have made it better was perhaps a post orgasm cuddle. Eskel shifted just a bit to get more comfortable, ignoring the mess he'd made of his sheets and on his hands. A warm body, arms wrapped around him - that's about all he'd ever want from anyone, though it had been a while since he'd had a friend close enough to do that with. One that wouldn't mind not having anything else, content to hold and be held just to be physically close to someone else.

He sighed as the audio shut off, silence enveloping him, the dark room tempting him to sleep. And before he could think better of it that's exactly what he did, post pleasure still buzzing under his skin and a gentle smile on his lips as his dreams welcomed him.

@fontegagrilledcheese @unyielding-as-the-sea @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @sulkyshengshou

#eskel #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fic #witcher fanfic #witcher fic #lemony #mywriting #soft tummy tuesday

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j-pankratz · 3 years ago

Text

Stuck in the Middle with You

A gift for the lovely @chubbykatsudon for the Novigrad Gift Exchange 2021!

Geraskefer, minor Lamden. 16507 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated M for an abundance of cursing and deeply suggestive flirting! Tags for a small amount of canon typical violence, & a very big dog (Roach, my love)! Other tags include: Oh My God The Were Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, We're Really Running The Gamut Here, Going viral on TikTok, The best lease of all fucking time, apple juice, and ever changing groupchat names.

“A year! A full year. Two! THREE!”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered. In one hand above his head, he dangled the dead-though-still-writhing remains of a drowner. He’d stabbed it in the spine— nerve damage, unfortunate stuff. At his feet, the groveling man who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. About 75% of the people he had to rescue from monsters, he found, were the rich sticking their noses places they oughtn’t, out of pure arrogance. This one, a landlord, apparently, had decided to wander off drunkenly from a party and go poking about the river.

He whimpered. “I— I’ll throw in maintenance! Please, Witcher, I—”

“Do you allow pets,” he asked dryly, “I need a place for Roach.” He gestured with his head to Roach, who was watching the thrashing drowner body with interest.

“Ah, no, we don’t—” Geralt dug his thumb into a wound in the deceased drowner’s neck, causing it to hiss and send out spittle. The kneeling landlord cried in fear.

“Yes! Yes! Fine, we can accept your dog, please, please Witcher I can’t die, I—”

“Deal,” Geralt said, and thrust his sword through the drowner once more, severing its head from its body. The man yelped as blood and assorted monster bits sprayed out. Geralt dropped the remnants of its head and neck to the ground, landing with a sickening splat, and the man wailed again.

“When’s move in?”

——

Move-in, as it turned out, was a week and a half later, the first of the month. It was a good apartment, better than he’d have ever rented for himself— a quiet street, an elevator, laundry in the basement, and a doorman half the time. Geralt had a view of the city from his bedroom and of the tree-lined street below from his brightly and naturally lit living room, while the second bedroom had a view of the apartment’s courtyard. The kitchen was a good size, though he didn’t cook much, and it had a dishwasher, which was worth its weight in gold. There was a corner shop at the end of the block, and a few restaurants, coffee shops, and bars within walking distance. Eskel and Coën would love visiting, at least, and if he got a decent enough couch and tv, Lambert would too. Not that they’d have much opportunity to visit, but he could have his dreams, few and minor as they were.

It was on the 8th floor, which was high enough to feel safe. There were only four apartments to a floor, which helped. Ultimately, he figured, nobody would really suspect a Witcher to live in a regular apartment building. And if anyone came after him, well, he’d deal with that then. With Ciri away at school, he would have less to stress about. He’d be subtle, wouldn’t tell people in the building he was a Witcher, wouldn’t talk much to anyone, would hope they wouldn’t notice his eyes. He’d wear sunglasses. It would be fine! This apartment was probably the second most favorable payment he’d ever had from a contract—the first of course, being Ciri— he wasn’t about to turn it down, or regret taking it.

Even when he was stuck in the elevator with, quite possibly, the most annoying man on earth.

Geralt was taking the last of his suitcases upstairs, which was really Roach’s suitcase, and a box of his cooking supplies— an embarrassingly small number of pots, pans, bowls, plates, and utensils. Just as the door was closing—

“WAIT! Hold that, hold that, if you’d please, fuck!”

A man with brown hair came barreling toward the elevator, just barely sticking his expensive looking brown leather shoe in the doors before they closed. They slid open with a soft ding, and the man, out of breath, tumbled inside.

He was tall, with a mop of brown hair and egregiously bright teal pants, a slightly lighter blue dress shirt tucked in to match. He heaved against the elevator walls, breathing heavily and eventually sinking down to a crouch to catch his breath.

“Good save,” Geralt said.

“Thank you,” the man said between gasps. “You saved my life.”

“I didn’t do anything."

The man waved his hand at the buttons. “Button. Button. You. Press. You pressed the— you know.”

“No I didn’t.”

The man paused, his breathing slowly going back to normal. “You didn’t—” He looked up at Geralt, his eyes a brilliant, piercing blue. He was frowning. “What do you mean you didn’t? You didn’t press the button?”

“Nope.”

The man came to standing, and Geralt found that the man wasn’t just tall, he was nearly Geralt’s height. “You mean to tell me, you see a man running for the elevator, screaming for you to hold the door, and instead you just— just stand there and watch?”

Geralt lifted his box a bit. “Got my hands full.”

“You have elbows! Two of them, might I add!” the man cut in before Geralt could lift the suitcase tucked into the crook of one arm. Instead, he shrugged.

“More fun to watch you run.”

“More fun to— I cannot believe this,” the man said, looking up at the floor numbers. The elevator continued to rise, and he suddenly groaned. “Ah, fuck, we’ve missed my floor,” he said, fumbling over to the buttons. Geralt frowned.

“We’re only on the fifth floor.” He watched the man press the button for the second floor. “You ran to the elevator… to go to the second floor?”

“I don’t like stairs!” he complained; Geralt could tell he’d had to give this explanation many times before.

“You like running more than stairs?”

“I would run toward convenience any day.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed softly.

They stood in silence for a moment. “Sorry, who are you? New neighbor, then?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a name, or must I call you Mildly Rude Elevator Man? You wouldn’t be the first to earn a title from me. I don’t even know the woman’s name who lives in the Penthouse so now she’s just Penthouse Lady. But surely you have a name?”

Geralt smiled. “8b.”

“Oh, hilarious, 8b, alright, then I’m 2d. Lovely to meet you, 8b,” he said as the doors slid open to the 8th floor. “Do you need some help with those?”

“No,” Geralt said, and maneuvered himself out of the elevator carefully.

“Alright, fine then, if you say so, but I’m very helpful, actually, when I need to be. I have two hands, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Geralt grunted and approached his door. Fishing in his pocket for his keys for a moment, he found himself turned to the man in the elevator— 2d— and watched as his eyes grew wide as they fell on Geralt’s medallion, just as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide closed. Well. Fuck.

“Wait— is that—” 2d’s eyes grew wide, and then a grin split across his face. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you! Wait!” but the doors had already met, and the elevator began its descent.

Okay, so, subtlety gone, and given how chatty 2d had been, he figured it was only a matter of time before the entire building knew. That was the price for a free 3-year lease in a building far above his price range at the best of times, he supposed.

There was no way this would be worth it.

——

There were three days of peace, before 2d came knocking.

It was mid-afternoon, and in the living room the sunlight streamed through his new windows onto the small amount of furniture he’d arranged so far. Roach’s bed, his orange couch, a small tv, a chair, a barstool, a bookcase. Everything else was either still in boxes or simply not purchased yet— he’d never had need for it. He didn’t even know what to do with an apartment he could enjoy spending time in. The morning had been spent sitting on the couch, letting his coffee go cold as he looked around and tried to figure out what to do with this place he might actually be able to relax in. Until, of course, the knocking began.

He tried to ignore it, but 2d was persistent. After the 5th set of knocks, Geralt groggily rose from his chair, coffee in hand, and opened the door.

“Good morning! Hi, ah, hope you’re alright, settling in well?”

“What do you want.”

“Oh, glad to see you’re in a good mood,” 2d replied easily. His outfit was just as bright today, his pants a vibrant green with a mango pattern on them, his shirt a matching orange, with yellow cuffs, and a… oh, gods above, a guitar case strapped to his back, the leather strap running across his chest, hugging him closely. His clothes fit remarkably well, Geralt noticed, and then tried to promptly un-notice. But it was hard. 2d’s eyes looked especially blue today, which was bullshit. Geralt raised an eyebrow and hoped he wasn’t being obvious about anything, though it wasn’t as if Witchers let their faces be easily readable.

“Listen. You’re a Witcher. Very neat, very cool, I could smell the heroics and heartbreak on you in that elevator, I’m getting whiffs of it even now—”

“That’s sweat. Or coffee.”

“Well, okay, it’s not, but okay. My point here is, you have stories. And I write stories. Well, I write songs. Music. Poetry, art, etcetera. And I’m good, I promise I’m fairly decently good—”

“Was that you on Sunday singing the song about the… rabbit? And the moon?” He didn’t remember it well, but whoever was singing had definitely mentioned worms, as well.

“The… oh! Yes! Ah,” he cleared his throat and began. “But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon? Or the cow that hopped the planets while straddling a spoon? Right? Yes, love that one, it’s a fun one to sing at bars. Great warm-up song. Cosmo Sheldrake! Gotta love them, strange bastards. I should record that for TikTok, now that I think of it.”

“Sure.” The man’s singing voice was… light, airy, with something like a faint rasp in there, but he dipped down low into his register another was a whole new layer of sound there as well. It sounded like him, but it was somehow completely different than what Geralt would have expected the man’s singing voice to be like. “Cows don’t do that, though. And the references to beasts in your other songs were just as unrealistic. You shouldn’t be confusing people, monsters are serious business. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perfect!” 2d cried excitedly. “See! You know these things. I would like to learn these things. Think of it as educating the public, and helping out your great new friend Jaskier. Which, hello, I’m Jaskier. You’re Geralt, right? Of Rivia?”

Geralt shifted on his feet. It shouldn’t have surprised him. There were only so many witchers, let alone ones with long white hair and a wolf medallion. Damn internet. “And if I am?”

Jaskier’s wide grin turned sly. “Then I know for a fact you have stories.”

The witcher sighed. Well. He’d bore this man with his bad storytelling, and he’d get bored, and he’d leave. In the meantime, Geralt would get to look at 2d’s well-fitting clothes and shoulders that looked terrifically broad. It could be worse. There was a long pause.

“Fine. This once. But I’m not your friend.”

“Brilliant! Beautiful, fantastic,” Jaskier was saying, and slipped past Geralt and in to the apartment.

And then Roach barreled in.

“OH, HOLY FUCK!” Jaskier screamed in surprise, as the great Dane barked, getting right up to Jaskier before Geralt quieted her with a quick command. She plopped down at Jaskier’s feet obediently, and stared up at him with big, watery brown eyes. Jaskier’s hands were raised high above his head, and when he spoke, it came out as a raspy whisper.

“I did not know you had a dog. Have you always had this dog? Whose dog is this, this is your dog? How have I missed this. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Roach.”

“Her names Roach,” he repeated in the same horse whisper. “Why have you named your dog after an insect.”

“Can’t get rid of her,” Geralt replied, though he knew that made it sound like he didn’t absolutely adore her. The name had been a joke, and it had stuck, simple as that.

“Oh. Lovely. Okay. Will she eat me? She won’t eat me, right? This is a good dog, a good dog with manners?”

“She won’t eat you. Unless I tell her to.”

“Stop that!! Oh, stop that, oh my gods. Okay. Okay. Hello puppy. Nice, non-murdering puppy. Not a puppy. Good… large dog. Good large girl. You’re nice, aren’t you. You won’t kill me at all, not even a little bit.” He slowly let one hand come down to his side, and Roach surged forward to lick it. Jaskier yanked his hand back up and shut his eyes tightly.

“Okay. Maybe I should come back. At another time when I am more prepared for your non-murdering, not at all monstrous 4-foot tall dog.”

“She’s more like 2 1/2 feet tall.” Geralt cocked his head to the side. “Maybe three.”

“Fuck. Gods. Okay. Okay. Another day then! But definitely. I will want to hear these stories. Okay?”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed. This was more entertainment than he had expected today. He held back laughs, smiling while Jaskier’s eyes were still shut tightly. “Another day, then.”

“Okay. I’m backing out now, he said, and slowly began to do so, not turning away from Roach. She came to standing, and he jumped back at the sound of her nails against the tile floor of the kitchen, eyes still squeezed shut. “OKAY, OH, NO, okay doggie, no following me. No following. Thank you. Okay. I will. See you soon. Okay? Okay.”

And then Jaskier was out the door, and running down the stairwell. Geralt closed the door behind him, and turned to see Roach looking at him, her head cocked. He laughed, and bent down to pet her.

——

It took just over 24 hours for 2d— no, no, Jaskier— to come knocking once more. This time, Geralt answered the door more quickly; best to either get this over with, or get some more laughs out of it while he could. Behind the door stood Jaskier, mildly nervous looking, already glancing over Geralt’s shoulder into the apartment.

It was either a blessing or a curse that Jaskier’s outfit was not nearly as tight-fitting today, though the strap of his guitar case still cut close to his figure against his lavender sweater. In his arms, he held a variety of brand-new-looking dog toys; kongs and bones and pull-ropes and even some balls.

“Hi! Ah, this time, I’ve come prepared! With distractions and assurances your Roach will not eat me. If you’d still be available for relaying some stories?”

“…You bought her toys?”

“Ah…. maybe a bit? Well, yes, I certainly don’t have a dog, I just did some searching for what kind of things abnormally large dogs might enjoy and picked some up on a walk this morning. Nothing big.” Geralt looked again at the pile in Jaskier’s arms. He’d… bought toys. For Roach. Who he’d just met the day previously, and had scared him silly.

The more time he spent around Jaskier, the less he understood about the man.

Geralt took a step back and gave a whistle, and soon Roach was trotting in from his bedroom. He could smell the tension off Jaskier, and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Try to relax. She’ll know if you’re stressed.”

“Right. No stress, just a dog who could swallow me whole. That’s fine, this is fine.”

“Put your hand out low, so she can sniff.”

After a bit of hesitation, Jaskier took a deep breath and did as he was told. “Friendly, Roach,” Geralt said as she sniffed loudly around Jaskier’s hand. And a moment later, she was licking his hand, sobering all over it. Jaskier laughed nervously, a light and airy sound Geralt found himself enjoying a bit too much. His smile was radiant, the relief in his broad shoulders palpable. He carefully moved his hand to give her a scratch on the cheek, and Roach leaned into it, pressing up against him, her tag wagging a mile a minute.

“Feel better?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes,” Jaskier said, pulling his attention away from Roach. “I’m really not usually scared of dogs. She’s just… very large, and was unexpected. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’re not nearly as scary as you look! Just like your owner, isn’t that right.”

Geralt frowned. He knew he was frightening, there was no sense in denying it. He had frightened nearly every human he came across, at least in some small way. But even since Jaskier had realized he was a witcher, Geralt hadn’t smelled fear on him. Only just now, when he’d met Roach.

Again, he understood Jaskier less than before.

Geralt stepped back wordlessly and allowed Jaskier to step further into the apartment. He pulled out one of the balls tucked into the pile of toys in his arm and threw it further into the living room, and Roach excitedly ran after it, plopping down to chew on it next to her well-loved gray bed.

Jaskier followed, moving through the room like the breeze, before sitting on the couch, kicking his shoes off, and shoving his feet between the cushions.

“So! Where should we begin! Tales of your early days, your first forays with beasts? Your most recent victories? Epic quests?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, an eye twitching. “Don’t— what are you doing?”

“Well, I figured we’d be here a while, might as well get comfortable!”

“On a stranger’s couch. A witcher’s couch.”

“On my new, good friend Geralt-The-Witcher’s couch! We’re hardly neighbors, we’re strangers! Wait, no, sorry, hardly strangers, we’re— where are you going?”

Geralt had turned and walked to his bedroom. He quietly shut the door behind him, walked to his bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. He was good at controlling his emotions. He barely had them, after all, that’s what they said about witchers. But this man, this self-proclaimed friend was driving him to madness, and it had only been four days in the building. He briefly considered moving, abandoning the apartment entirely, giving it to someone else. Or perhaps throwing this Jaskier out the window. But none of those were worth the time, or the inevitable paperwork. He could kick Jaskier out, but he’d come back, he knew he would.

It was best to just be boring. Just be boring, refuse to tell the good stories, and tell the boring ones he did have, badly. Jaskier would get tired of it, take what he got, and discover there was nothing interesting or worth telling about witches. Who would want to hear songs about him, anyway? Humans, in large part, still thought witchers were monsters. It had gotten better the past few decades, but… not much.

He took a deep breath and pulled the over-worn pillow away from his face. Time to just get it over with, he supposed. Another deep breath and he returned to the living room, where Jaskier had pulled out a pad of paper, several pens, his guitar, a small bag of what looked to be popcorn, and three notebooks that looked completely filled already. Jaskier whipped around to see him and gave a big, toothy smile.

He was doing this, Geralt thought, just to get the writer out of his hair. No more, no less. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else.

“Geralt! I am perfectly ready, and if you can’t think of where to start I have dozens of questions for you. Hundreds, really, so don’t worry about it at all! Sit down, sit down.”

“This is my house,” Geralt said, grabbing the only other chair and sitting a ways from Jaskier, “I should be inviting you to take a seat.”

“Well, that might be the case if you were an experienced host, but I get the feeling it’s not really your forte. Alright, ready to begin?”

“Did you notice how I didn’t invite you to take a seat?”

“I did, actually! Again, I can tell you’re not a natural at the hosting thing. Not to worry, I’m plenty comfortable now.” There was a glint in his eye that told Geralt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Geralt sighed, and fought off the thought that Jaskier was very, very lucky he was pretty.

A few hours later, Jaskier had gathered up his things, ready to head out. “Don’t worry, Geralt, you were plenty helpful. And our next session we will absolutely get to some… even more interesting stories, I’m sure we’ve only just barely scratched the surface.”

“What.”

Geralt had been as boring as he could possibly manage, giving only the barest of details. Jaskier had still seemed intrigued, still prodded. His eyes had been full of life and wonder at the smallest details, he’d taken fervent notes, he’d looked like an oil painting when the sun had begun to set and cast him in vibrant golds, showing off the warmth in his cheeks and the well-hidden but sharp lines of his body. This had nearly killed Geralt. And now Jaskier wanted to do it again?!

“Yes, of course, I’ll need to do some writing and then come back to you for more— really, I think I should just accompany you on your next contract, I think I’d get much more out of it— not to say you didn’t do wonderfully, dear, but I can hardly imagine that anything compares to the real thing.”

“No. Too dangerous.”

“I can keep out of the way!” Jaskier said, hefting the guitar case onto his back.

“You can’t, you won’t it wouldn’t matter if you could. No.”

“Oh, I’ll wear you down.” Geralt was deeply afraid that this was correct. “Gods, I should probably eat. What time is it? It’s not Thursday, is it? Is it Tuesday? Oh, I wonder if Posada’s is doing their wings night tonight. You’ve had them, right?” Geralt stared back blankly. “Geralt. Ohhhhh, Geralt, you cannot tell me you haven’t had Posada’s wings yet.” Geralt raised a single eyebrow.

“I’ve been here four days.”

“And what have you eaten!”

“…Food?” The real answer was anything that took less than 15 minutes to prepare, cook, and eat, but he wasn’t about to say that, was he? That’s not a thing you say to people.

“Ohhh, no, Geralt. No no no.” Jaskier shrugged off his Guitar case and whipped out his phone. “No, this is my treat. Oh fuck, it’s Thurs—no, nope, sorry, saw the T and got worried. It is in fact Tuesday, and it’s 7pm so we’re in the clear; we are in fact doing Posada’s wings deal. This is half the reason rent on this place is worth it— not that you have to worry about that. I mean, neither do I but, whatever. Sit down, I’ll order now. Wait, no, you get the plates, I’ll order, okay.”

Geralt stared blankly at Jaskier as he bustled through the apartment, around the unopened boxes and suitcases, the few pieces of furniture, all while on his phone, ordering takeout for the both of them. He seemed to be a natural at almost everything— except talking, somehow, which didn’t give Geralt much hope for his lyricism. But he flowed through the apartment like water, the lilt of his voice carried through the air like honeysuckle on a breeze.

(If you asked Geralt how Jaskier had managed to stay at his apartment from 1 in the afternoon until 10:30 in the evening, Geralt wouldn’t be able to tell you. It involved some toys for Roach, some terrible storytelling, and a wing deal that seemed like it should be financially devastating for Posada’s. And if you asked him at what point Jaskier had started feeling like, well, maybe one of the better things in his life, he would deny it was so early as a mere few days after they met.

He’d be lying, but he likely wouldn’t quite realize that.)

——

Contracts weren’t especially plentiful in the early spring like they had been in years past, but the ones that did crop up were often fairly big. Such was the one Geralt happened to find on a walk with Roach, a week later on a billboard outside the largest park in the city.

A Griffin’s nest. He could probably relocate them, if he had help. He didn’t like killing monsters when he could avoid it— and griffins weren’t horribly dangerous when left well enough alone. It wasn’t their fault society had branched outwards, into their natural habitats. They shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes of humans.

Besides, he understood monsters more than people, half the time.

So, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the flyer. The chat was used so infrequently that he didn’t even bother to scroll for it, he just typed in the names with one hand, the other busy wrapped Roach’s leash. Slowly, the names appeared. ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN.

He sends the picture with a short message; ‘Anyone in, or am I doing this myself’ before tucking the phone back in his pocket. Geralt had learned years ago to keep his phone on Do Not Disturb when on walks with Roach; it was his quiet time. If he didn’t have his walks with Roach, he would lose his mind. When he arrived back at the building, he checked the phone in the elevator.

24 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Coën – Just now

I don’t think that’s how flamethrowers work??

And before he could even open up the messages, another notification popped up as he stepped out of the elevator;

25 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Lambert – Just now

Fine ruin my dreams fuck

He smirked and put it away to let himself and Roach into the apartment. A turn of the key and he let go of the leash, Roach pushing the door open and bolting for the couch, rolling all over the orange cushions. Before Geralt stepped in, he heard the sound of music fluttering up from the second floor; this time, Jaskier was writing a new song, getting stuck on different chords and changing his idea on the words every few seconds. The stop and go nature of it should have bothered him, having to hear someone all the way from the second floor should bother him (why did Jaskier insist on having the windows constantly opened??) but instead, he found it… pleasant.

That could not possibly be good.

——

When the four returned back from the contract, they were bruised, had splinters in truly unspeakable places, and were covered in grime. But, four griffin eggs successfully relocated, a mother griffin tolerant of her new home, and a decent paycheck to split amongst the four of them. Roach, dirtiest of all of them, ran into the apartment first and rolled around on the cool tile of the kitchen. At least it wasn’t on the couch, Geralt supposed, as he led in his fellow witchers. His apartment had been the closest when they’d returned to the city, and he’d agreed to let them all crash.

“Geralt holy fuck,” Lambert said, sounding incredulous as he began to shed his armor. “This is ridiculous! I know you saved the landlord, but shirts, did you show him a good time too?! This is unbelievable.”

“Damn, Geralt. You did good,” Eskel agreed with a pat on his younger brother’s back.

“It’s really nice. You could use some… decoration, though,” Coën added. “Just, you know. Anything on the walls. Pictures, posters, something.”

“I just moved in. Do you guys want coffee?”

The three groaned, and Lambert flopped on the couch, sufficiently de-armored. “I want to sleep for a hundred years, Geralt. No I don’t want fucking coffee.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and put up a pot.

“It’s 11pm,” Coën said blankly. “Do Wolves not sleep? Is this a thing? I thought it was only Cats who didn’t sleep.”

Lambert shifted carefully onto his side. His next words were said almost in rote, as though he’d heard someone else say them a thousand times before. “Cats sleep pretty soundly, they just don’t do it at night. They have better things to do."

Coën shrugged and headed for the bathroom, but Eskel and Geralt sent each other a look. Eskel’s eyes squinted a bit, and they slowly turned to look at Lambert, motionless on the couch. There was a long moment of silence, as they just stared at the youngest wolf.

“Where’d you learn that one, lil Lamb?” Eskel asked carefully. Geralt caught a whiff of anxiety emanating off his younger brother for a moment.

“What? Oh. Uh, yeah, I met a Cat. So what?” He turned to look at his brothers, and he frowned. “Hey! So what?! You have something to say?! I can make friends!”

“You get this defensive about all your friends?”

“Geralt I will throw your couch out the fucking window, I swear to God.”

“What’s your new pal’s name?” Eskel asked. “This buddy of yours. Your chum.”

“I fucking hate you both!” Lambert shouted, and buried his face in a pillow.

With the coffee done, Geralt poured himself a mug and sat down at the kitchen bar, watching Lambert toss around on the couch. Eskel settled into one of Geralt’s only other chairs, and sat back.

“Are you gonna tell us about him?”

“…I need to be fucked up for that,” Lambert muttered. Geralt gave a gesture with his head to Eskel, who rose and opened a cabinet in the closet to reveal two bottles of White Gull. Eskel barked a laugh.

Lambert groaned and let his head fall back against the cushion once more. “Fucking hate you guys. Give me one of those.”

This was not the first time the halls were muddy.

Over the past two and a half weeks, the floor of the lobby had often been tracked with mud. She had tried to ignore this. The annoying musician, (her mortal enemy on the second floor), had been particularly stuck on some new song that was both uninspired and going nowhere. She had tried to ignore this, as well. She’d ignored Jane on the fourth floor’s delivery fiasco, and the fact that Eiman from floor 6’s fire alarm had gone off in the middle of some careful brewing she’d been doing. She had even tried to ignore the barks of a large dog from the new tenant in what was supposed to be a strictly no-dog apartment building.

(It wasn’t that she cared about the rules, she couldn’t give a shit about rules. She just hated them being broken when it inconvenienced her.)

What she could not ignore, however, what had pushed her decidedly past her breaking point, was what sounded like a heard of grown men who had trampled through the lobby, made their way up the stairs, undoubtedly coating it with mud, and were now somewhere several floors below her, all the windows thrown open, one of them lamenting about some man who he was infatuated with.

It wasn’t even good gossip. It had stopped being good gossip an hour ago, when he’d become so drunk he’d just started repeating the same things about this man— Adam, or Adrien, or Aiden, or something like that— over and over and over again.

And they were doing all of this past quiet hours. Did she have insulated, noise cancelling windows, yes. Did she herself enjoy a good night in with friends, or even a party, sometimes past quiet hours? Of course. Had she occasionally made a mess in the lobby? Possibly.

But she’d cleaned up, taken responsibility, and not made it everyone else’s problem at 2am on a Wednesday night when she’d very much like to have the windows open for a fucking breeze.

This, Yennefer thought, was not what she paid rent on a Penthouse for.

She groaned, checked her phone, and turned her bedside light on with a wave of her hand. Hadn’t anyone told these poor bastards about the witch who lived in the Penthouse? She stared at the hour again; it was 2:06am. Did she want to deal with this now? Or did she want to save raining down unholy terror for a reasonable hour, and instead capitalize on time differences.

It wasn’t a difficult decision. She pressed a few buttons, and her video chat call began to ring. A few moments later, a smiling but confused looking Anica lit up her phone, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Yennefer! It’s lovely to hear from you but… what time is it there?”

She groaned. “2am. Don’t remind me. New neighbors suck. Tell me something fun you’re working on.”

Anica smiled. “Oh, if you want something fun, you’ve come at exactly the right moment. This week Sabrina’s here, and we’re working on a warding charm against fungi in gardens— I figure we could likely scale it up to fields, but I want to have things worked out just right before we move on….”

Yennefer smiled as her friend went on, and tried not to wince every time she heard a faint wail come from several floors beneath her.

“And— he sucks. Like, he’s fucking. Sly, and cocky and shit. Where does he get off being all—” 3 hours after he had begun, the deeply drunken Lambert was still talking, gesturing wildly in front of them. “—You know?! It’s no v’y thoughtful.” He drifted into silence once more, while Coën, Eskel, and Geralt just nodded. Most of what that had gathered was that Lambert’s overwhelming crush on this mysterious Cat Witcher, Aiden, had hit him like a truck a year or so back and he still hadn’t made a move. Which meant he was serious about this one.

Coën opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. There wasn’t much to say— Lambert was a goner. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, so far as Geralt could tell from the rise and fall of his chest, but he was getting there. Eskel slowly began to stand up and collect the empty bottle of White Gull they’d finished. Suddenly, Lambert’s eyes flew open, and he careened forward, arms waving wildly. “AND HIS HAIR?! I fucking hate him! He’s awful. He’s so fucking hot and I hate everything. He sucks. How do I get him to sleep with me?!”

Eskel sat down again with a sigh.

“Wait. Geralt, you went on a contract without me?! After I specifically asked to go?! Geralt!” Jaskier huffed, his tub of sesame chicken nearly spilling. The nature documentary in front of them hummed along, though neither payed it much mind. They never did, really.

“Griffin nests are too dangerous,” Geralt said around a bite of noodles. Jaskier’s presence in his life could be described with many negative adjectives, but he had to admit, he was better fed when the musician was around. “Besides, that was two weeks ago now. You’re behind.”

“All the more offensive that I’m just hearing about it now!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You going to come watch me deal with these Wyverns, or not?” He might as well just let Jaskier tag along for something small. Maybe he wouldn’t be a disaster, and then he’d stop pestering Geralt for stories he didn’t want to tell, much less be broadcast to the entire world. Unfortunately, he was beginning to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed Jaskier’s company, but that was all the more reason to cut him out of his life, wasn’t it? He was too big of a liability.

Jaskier had started helping to brighten up Geralt’s apartment, both figuratively and literally. There were now some framed pictures on the wall, as well bright takeout menus (“At least it’s something, Geralt, you need color in your life!”) and even a plant hanging by the window, which was thankfully fake. When Jaskier was around, everything seemed to fit well enough.

When he wasn’t though, the living room was discordant, this wall decor was now big and bold in places and nothing matched, and very few things were things he’d pick out himself. When he saw it in the mornings, he often sighed and shook his head, and tried not to think about it too much, or who had put it there.

He tried really quite hard not to think about Jaskier very much at all, but he was over nearly every day now. It was hard not to.

If Geralt had also finally bought himself a sturdy bedframe, bedside tables, and good sheets for himself, well, that had nothing to do with Jaskier at all. It’s not like Jaskier would ever see it, after all.

“Fine,” Jaskier replied after some internal debate, “But I want to see griffins, someday.”

“Mmm. Look them up, if you’re so keen on seeing one.”

“It’s not the same! Do you think it’s the same?! Ugh.”

“So, you’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming! What sort of question is that? When do we leave? What should I bring? Ooo, what do I wear?!”

Geralt sighed deeply. “Don’t wear anything baggy, or bright, or anything that will make much sound. Don’t bring anything. Your phone, but only for if you get lost. Do NOT get lost. We leave here tomorrow at 5am.”

Jaskier choked on a piece of chicken. “Five a— Geralt, we cannot possibly leave here at 5am. Why! God, the things I do for music. How non-vibrant do my clothes have to be? Does a sort of forest-y green work? Do I have to wear camouflage? Please say no. You’re already severely limiting my wardrobe options, please don’t also make me commit fashion crimes.”

“Jaskier, you’re not going anywhere where you have to… impress people. You’re watching me catch, tag, and release a wyvern outside the city. That’s it.”

“I think the Wyverns deserve a good outfit! Besides, this is my first hunt! Our first big outing! I want to mark the occasion, but you and your rules prevent me. Frankly, I’m hurt.”

“Would you rather get eaten?”

“At least I’d leave a handsome corpse!” Geralt chuckled, and took a swig of beer as Jaskier swallowed thickly and continued. “But, ah, no, I’d really prefer to avoid death and injury as much as possible. Really. Truly. Not a masochist. Which surprises some people, weirdly. Do I give off a vibe? Geralt, do I give off vibes? I don’t give off any vibes, right?”

The biggest benefit of having Jaskier around, Geralt found, was that he could tease to his heart’s content, and Jaskier wouldn’t realize until Geralt had gotten a good laugh out of it.

Geralt nodded. “I can see that. There are definitely vibes.”

Jaskier gaped, and then stuttered in response. “I—you—no! That’s—there is no way—how—and what do—what’s—abs—there—I—you—that is not—!”

If Geralt could fight off his smirk a little longer, he’d get to watch Jaskier fumble for at least another minute… and it would take his mind off of trying not to picture Jaskier on his bed, pale skin and dark chest hair fully revealed, arching his back while Geralt indulged him in some fictional, masochistic tendencies. No, couldn’t think about that. Not realistic, anyway.

And then the image flipped, now with Jaskier above him, gazing down lovingly, raking his nails against Geralt’s exposed chest…

“I—the—Geralt! I thought we were friends!!”

Geralt shook it off. Not realistic.

——

The contract was supposed to be for the removal of a particularly pesky wyvern, who’d made a habit of sleeping on the top of a high rise on the other side of town, occasionally swooping down on unsuspecting residents on their balconies. Recently, it’d nabbed a little girl’s doll, which shouldn’t have tugged on his heartstrings, but after Ciri had come into his life, all bets were off. So, a nasty wyvern, somewhere it shouldn’t, who needed to be returned to a suitable habitat and tagged for tracking purposes. It had happened before, there was nothing suspicious about the contract.

Unfortunately, things were rarely so cut and dry in Geralt’s world.

It was 7 o’clock before Geralt and Jaskier finally dragged themselves back to their building; muddy, grimy and tracking it all through the lobby. Geralt’s chest was somehow still sore from being thwacked by a steel baseball bat. The contract had been a sham, and he and Jaskier had been… detained, Geralt would say, kidnapped being too strong a word, by some idiots who wanted to prove they could best a witcher. He’d hoped they’d mostly left violent displays of superiority back a few decades ago, but humans never failed to live up to the worst of themselves, he thought bitterly.

If they woke up from their concussions, hanging upside down from some pipes in the basement they’d chosen for their assault, Geralt was fairly sure they wouldn’t bother with witchers again.

“So, this was a less dangerous one, mm?” Jaskier asked groggily as they piled into the elevator. “Wanna come to mine? I feel like I’m five minutes from sleep.”

Geralt shrugged. He hadn’t actually seen Jaskier’s apartment. Not that he wanted to, of course. Jaskier mashed his finger into the button for the second floor, swaying on his feet. He slumped against one of the walls and let his eyes fall closed, and Geralt found it hard not to stare. His dark green shirt was ripped, exposing some pale skin and shallow cuts and bruises he’d received. His pants were filthy, and his face was still covered in grime, while bits of his hair stuck out at odd angles. Small prices to pay for making it out alive.

In fact, Jaskier had put up much more of a fight than he’d been expecting. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means but he’d made himself more than useful. Geralt might not have made it out without his quick thinking—a phone flashlight to the eyes of their assailants, a kick to the back of the knee of another, biting the wrist of a third when it shot past his face, as he had lunged for Geralt. Jaskier had been damn near feral. Adrenaline, Geralt supposed. Hell of a drug.

Witchers felt adrenaline too, though it was different. Similar enough, though, that he was sure his overwhelming fear of seeing Jaskier hurt, how he’d screamed at their captors to let Jaskier go, how he’d been a second away from ending them in retaliation before he’d realized how far he’d gone, yes, he was sure that all of that was nothing more than adrenaline. Even if it had only kicked in when he realized Jaskier was in danger, rather than just himself, rather than when they’d spat obscenities at him. It had been when Jaskier had spat at them, called them bastards, and earned a kick in the stomach for it.

The elevator was silent as the doors slid shut.

“Do people always look at you like that?”

“You mean with a dagger in their hands?”

Jaskier frowned, chin still tipped toward the sky, arms folded close to his chest, eye lazily shut.

“No. I figure you wouldn’t have brought me, if that happened very often. But they were so…” he shook his head. “They were fucking hateful. They were monsters.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Monsters chasing a monster.”

“No, you’re not. Hey. Geralt. No, you’re not.” Jaskier had opened his eyes and waited Geralt to meet them. The witcher looked away as the doors slid open. “You’re not a fucking monster, I don’t care what they say. I know you by now.”

“Just open the door.”

Jaskier sighed and shuffled over to his door, opening it after a bit of a fumble with the keys.

The layout of his apartment was different, Geralt noticed—the front door let out into the living room, not the kitchen, and his bathroom was on the left, not the right. It seemed like there was only one bedroom, and his main window looked out over the cityscape. But it was, predictably, the décor that stood out the most.

Jaskier had lined his ceiling molding with little lights, and as they entered, they flicked on, drifting smoothly between all colors of the rainbow. The place itself was messy, notebooks strewn about everywhere, cords coming out of various outlets without rhyme or reason, cups and plates scattered about. Geralt spotted what he thought might have been pants in one corner, but he chose not to look so hard. Jaskier flicked on the light switch, and Geralt could see how bright and colorful Jaskier had made his home—it worked somehow, though it seemed as though if a single piece were removed it would look wrong, somehow.

His instruments all looked remarkably well-kept, though. They hung on the wall in specialized mounts; two guitars, a violin, some other string instruments Geralt didn’t recognize. There was a small black case maybe holding a wind instrument sitting next to a rather impressive-looking keyboard, and the table where they sat was the only tidy area in the apartment, so far as he could see. Of course, he hadn’t seen Jaskier’s bedroom. Yet. Not that he would want to, of course. Or ever have cause to.

Jaskier plopped down on a vibrant green velvet chair and waved one hand at the room, the other covering his eyes. “Sorry for the mess. You can sit anywhere. Oh, wait, there’s cider in the fridge, would you mind? Second shelf. And don’t laugh at me for drinking cider.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know it’s too sweet. I get it. But if you drink beer or wine every night it gets boring. And if I ever grew bored of alcohol, I’d be devastated.”

“Won’t disagree with you,” Geralt muttered as he returned to the living room with a 6-pack. He sat down on the couch and opened the bottles, handing one to Jaskier. They drank in silence, and Geralt tried to get comfortable on the overly plush blue couch.

“Sorry you got dragged in—”

“No, no, stop that. I asked to come. Specifically. You had no way of knowing. Besides, I’d rather be with you to deal with that, instead of you… oh, disappearing to your apartment for days and not answering me.”

Mm. He’d done that, once or twice. Maybe three times. “Sorry.”

“Geralt. It’s fine. It’s their fault. You did nothing wrong, you were just trying to help.”

“Mm.”

They drank in silence for a bit. The cider was, in fact, too sweet, but it suited Jaskier. Geralt find he didn’t mind it much as he should have. He tried not to think of kissing it off his lips.

Jaskier gave a snort in the silence. Geralt looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just—got any other enemies I should know about?”

Geralt smiled and leaned back. “Mm. A few. Lot of humans.”

“Right, just, in general. Alright, so just ‘most humans’, got it. Next?”

“Monsters. Don’t know why, they just don’t like me.”

Jaskier laughed. “How unfair of them! They ought to give you a chance. Anyone else?”

“Mmm… some other witchers. None from my school, though. Definitely some mages.”

“Oh, fuck mages,” Jaskier said.

“Don’t fuck mages,” Geralt teased, “It won’t end well.”

“Ugh. Trust me, I know.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows until Jaskier looked at him and groaned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve only done it a few times, and I’ve sworn off them.” He finished his cider and reached for another.

“Do you have any enemies I should know about, Jaskier?”

“Valdo fucking Marx,” Jaskier spat immediately, kicking his legs up on the table. “Garbage. Absolute garbage. Stole my work at Oxenfurt. Deeply fucked up man. I want him dead. Not in a, ‘I’d hire someone to kill him’ way, but in a, ‘if he died in an untimely and horrific way tomorrow, I would spend the weekend celebrating’ way. Shouldn’t say untimely. His death will absolutely timely, whenever it comes. Really, maybe untimely because it’ll be late. Hmph.”

Geralt nodded, kicking his feet up as well. “Anyone else?”

“Mmm, no. Oh! Well, Penthouse Lady, or as I like to call her, The Bitch of the 13th Floor. She’s a mage, you know.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier. “Oh, no, no, don’t think like that. That is decidedly not one of the mages I was speaking about. No, Penthouse Lady is just… I mean, gorgeous, but evil. Extremely, wickedly beautiful, which should be a crime. She will take your clothes out of the washing machine, wet, just because you’ve left them there a bit too long. A minute. 35 seconds, minutes, whatever, really. And if you break one of the building rules and catch her in a bad mood, she will eviscerate you. She’s made people move out before, out of pure terror.”

“But not you?”

“No! No, I’m not leaving. She’s can’t make me. We’ve been mortal enemies for years now, that’s a commitment.”

Geralt laughed. “How do you afford to live here, anyway? You haven’t got a job.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, lowering his cider with a smile, “How dare you. You have no idea. I could be employed. I could have several jobs, you don’t know.”

“Jaskier, I met you at 3pm on a Monday. You come over at all hours of the day. You are rarely doing anything one could describe as ‘work’.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s a… parents thing. And grandparents. Whole family, really. Ever been to Lettenhove?” Geralt thought a bit, and then nodded—it had been awhile. “Yep. That’s us. Earls and whatnot. Technically, I’m a viscount, but I prefer the title ‘Family Disappointment’. More accurate.”

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s foot with his own. “Stop that.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not a bad thing, to disappoint those people. You know? If I’m disappointing them, I’m doing something right. Besides, they keep throwing money at me in hopes that it’ll change something. Which, you know. I’ll take it.” They sat quietly for a moment. “I have been published, to be fair. And I do go out to sing at bars on Thursdays and Saturdays. I have some followers on Spotify, TikTok and what have you. I’m not nothing. It’s just not up to their standards. ‘S why I have a pen name in the first place.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and his friend nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Why thank you.” There was quiet for a moment. “You know what they named me? Julian Alfred Pankratz. What a name. That’s the thing, with them, and their traditions—I’ve got two other people’s names, and none of my own. ‘S why I picked one for myself.”

“Mm,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier hadn’t ever said much about himself, now that he thought of it. Might as well take the plunge. “Don’t know what my surname was. Just have Geralt. Witchers are left to their schools and made to pick their own names. Picked Rivia out of a hat, essentially.”

Jaskier looked at him oddly, before raising his bottle. “To families that don’t know what they’re missing,” he said softly, and Geralt clinked their bottles together, the sound short and sweet.

——

A few hours and ciders later, Jaskier had slipped asleep, chest rising and falling gently. It hadn’t been a hard call for Geralt to make; he’d slipped Jaskier’s shoes off and carried him to his bedroom, laying him down on the bed, maneuvering him under the sheets. The bedroom was subtler than his living room—a cream color, beautiful loose paintings and sketches on the walls of flowers, hung up with tape, and dozens of pictures; some framed, some loose polaroids hanging on strings, all of friends and places he must have travelled. His oval mirror had sticky notes around the edges—what looked like scraps of songs, chord progressions, passwords, dates to remember, and a small note of encouragement to himself— ‘Keep Going!!’

Geralt smiled, found an unused sticky note, and grabbed a pen. When he was done, he smiled to himself, and put it just below the ‘Keep Going’ note.

After leaving a glass of water on his bedside table, Geralt slipped out of Jaskier’s apartment taking the elevator up. When the doors slid closed, he took out his phone.

4 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ES….)

Lambert – 48 minutes ago

God, this shit should NOT be so hard.

To: CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN)

Message: yeah, I feel you

He slipped it away, and hoped nobody would question it in the morning.

Yennefer stretched, sun hitting her eyes, and sucked in a lungful of the breeze coming through the window. It was… nice. Pleasant.

Boring.

She took out her phone.

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Who wants to go clubbing this weekend. I’m bored. Also Sabrina I know you’re 200 miles away w Anica don’t be snarky

She rose and began to stretch, sparing only a glance when her phone dinged.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Sabrina – Just Now

Sure count me in. I’d love that. Woohoo

She rolled her eyes and smiled, ignoring that her friend should absolutely still be asleep, given the time difference.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta– Just Now

I’m down for a barhop at least but only if we’re coordinating outfits I’m begging you I don’t want a repeat of last month!!

Yennefer finished her stretches and flicked her hand to start the coffee pot in the kitchen. She needed a change of pace. Things had gotten too predictable. Maybe she’d take someone home, that would be fun. She checked her phone again.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – 7 minutes ago

Why is anyone awake??? Go back to sleep

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Frin it’s 7am. This is a normal hour.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – Just Now

Not on my day off it’s not

She sighed. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t end up clubbing, not given everyone’s moods this week. But at least she’d get out of the apartment, and maybe get someone else into bed.

9:37am

Thursday, March 12th

2 Messages from Jaskier

Just now

Oh, and the note, I’m just seeing this now. “Reminder: Don’t Fuck Mages.” Thanks, Geralt, what would I do without you? My witcher in… slightly muddy armor, last I checked. ;)

7 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE

Eskel – 19 minutes ago

“YEAH I FEEL YOU??” GERALT????? (sent with Echo)

NEWS

New Novigrad Times – 2 hours ago

Three men suspected of breaking and entering, larceny, and assault found suspended upside-down in a residential downtown building. This story is will be updated as new information is revealed.

14 more notifications

The next afternoon, he heard it while on a walk with Roach, and tried to brush it off. A voice sounding suspiciously like Jaskier’s was emanating from some teenager’s cell phone. “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh-” the voice sang, before he tuned it out. It was deeply unlikely it was Jaskier. Something in seeing him asleep a few nights before must have poisoned Geralt’s brain.

He heard snatches of it, though, everywhere he went.

Toss a—

They came after me , with masterful—

Brings you to mourn—

That’s my epic tale—

It drove him mad, but he shook it off every time. What was the likelihood of it being Jaskier, anyway?

It’s in the lobby, where he realized. The doorman, Sonny, was swiping through his phone as Geralt checked his mailbox. When he turned back around—

With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

Geralt grimaced. “Fuck.”

When he returned to his apartment, he found a sticky note waiting on the door for him.

If you track mud into this building one more

time, I will make you kneel and fix it yourself.

All the best, ~Penthouse.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta – 17 minutes ago

Yen! Isn’t this your ~enemy~??? That guy from the second floor who takes like 3 hours with laundry?? http://vm.tiktok…

——

Jaskier -- 15 minutes ago

So. I may have gone viral,

——

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: How the hell does this have 700 thousand likes already? It was only posted today

——

Jaskier -- 5 minutes ago

This is a good thing though, right??? Is this the wrong time to invite you to see me perform tomorrow night

Ciri -- Just Now

Hey uh??? Dad??? I think someone wrote a song about you???

——

Anica -- Just Now

Yennefer, I am so so sorry, but I already have it stuck in my head. I’ve only watched it twice now I swear

——

8 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES

Lambert – 1 minute ago

Literally how the fuck does this happen to you

Jaskier -- Just Now

Hey that rhymed!!

Jaskier had told him not to stress about what to wear, that he could just ‘sit in the corner and brood’ and that ‘nobody would recognize him’, but nothing about this felt like a good idea to Geralt. Is this what having friends was? Going to places he didn’t want to be, at times he didn’t want to be there, just to make someone else happy? It was terrible, and frankly, he wanted a refund.

Geralt slipped into the bar a few hours before Jaskier was slated to go on—just to get a booth decently near the stage where nobody would bother him. He didn’t care about seeing Jaskier warm up. He was on stage, tuning his instrument that wasn’t quite a guitar—either a mandolin or a lute, Geralt thought. He was listening for something, adjusting things, getting a feel of the space. His brows were furrowed and he looked to be deep in thought. Not wanting to bother him, Geralt bought whatever was on tap (some earthy beer he would tolerate for the evening) and slipped into a booth near the stage, far enough out of the light so that he wouldn’t be noticed easily by people.

He sat, watching Jaskier, letting his eyes wander down his teal and red ensemble. The pants were a tight fit, but the shirt was airy, unbuttoned a bit more than might be decent, and Geralt found himself mentally unbuttoning more, and more, and more, until his eyes flashed up and made contact with Jaskier’s.

The musician lit up like the sun, a wide beaming smile, and he quickly hopped down from the stage. “Geralt! You made it! And early, too! Oh, I’m so glad. Okay, I’m 3rd up, so you will have to sit through some other people, but not too many. I’ll join you when I’m done! You’ll enjoy it. Well, I don’t think you’ll love it, but you’ll probably tolerate it for your dear dear friend, who is slowly but surely making you famous. Right? Okay!”

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt said. He knew Jaskier’s nervous energy speeches by now.

“What? Oh.” Some tension in Jaskier’s shoulders loosened. “Thank you. I just haven’t been on a stage since suddenly so many people know my face. I did post about this, but I don’t think very many people will come. Maybe I shouldn’t have? I dunno. Still navigating fame! Alright, I should get back. I’ll see you soon!”

“I’m making an executive decision,” Fringilla said, turning on her heel. They’d been walking for 45 minutes, trying to decide on a bar. “We’re going here. We are too damn old to be spending half the night walking around.”

“Fine,” Yennefer relented, taking Coral’s arm, “but if it sucks we’re going out again tomorrow and it’s my pick.”

The three entered the bar, a dimly lit place, mostly wooden and already fairly active with people bustling about, a stage in the back looking ready for a musician.

“Oh, I love live music, yes! You get us a table near the stage and I’ll get the drinks,” Coral said; “Dry Martini and a Whiskey Sour?”

“You know us so well,” Fringilla said, and she and Yennefer left to find a table. They ended up at a booth egregiously close to the stage, in Yennefer’s opinion. They got comfortable, settling in for the night, most likely. Until one of them found someone to go home with, at least.

When Yennefer looked up, it was to a tidal wave of people entering.

It wasn’t to say the place wasn’t busy before, but soon she could barely see the bar, as giddy looking patrons took up tables and booths, and eventually, just whatever standing room they could find. Coral managed to cut through the crowd, levitating the three drinks, looking frazzled. “When did all these people get here?!”

“No idea,” Fringilla said, reaching for her Whiskey Sour, “but I’m glad we’ll at least be able to see.”

“Mm,” Yennefer agreed, grabbing her Martini, raking her eyes over the crown. Options, she thought. It was always so good to have options.

“Any idea who’s performing tonight?” Coral asked. “I couldn’t find a poster or anything that said—probably someone good, for all these people to be here”

“No idea,” Yennefer replied absentmindedly. It’s not like it mattered. She couldn’t imagine herself giving much of a shit about who was on stage, anyway.

The first performer was fine. Geralt thought they were a little boring, but they weren’t who he was there to see, anyway. Yennefer couldn’t be bothered, staring instead at a handsome young woman in a low-cut satin dress. When she finally made eye contact, though, she gave a friendly, decidedly not flirtatious smile, and Yennefer moved on.

The second performer, a kind of musical comedian, was pretty good. She capitalized off of the energy in the room, which Geralt had to admit was palpable. As soon as people had flooded in, he’d made a point to look intimidating—much as it had prevented people from sitting at his booth, it hadn’t stopped them from buzzing around the bar, and he realized they must be there for Jaskier. It put a pit in his stomach, but also made something in his chest whizz around in joy. Ah, fuck.

And then, up was Jaskier. The announcer welcomed him on stage, and Jaskier bounced on, to the warmest welcome thus far.

“Gooooood evening everyone, lovely to see you all. And I do mean all. How many people are here? There are at least…” he counted for a moment. “At least 12. Possibly more.” He got a laugh, and winked at someone in the middle of the audience as he sat down on a stool in front of the mic.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Yennefer groaned quietly. Fringilla patted her on the back. “There, there. Maybe he’ll be terrible.”

Jaskier hummed softly, warming up his voice. No, Yennefer though, he wouldn’t be terrible, because unfortunately, he was quite fucking good.

His first song was another one that had also blown up after his sudden viral-ness of the past week, an original he’d told Geralt he’d written in university, and never stopped being proud of. Geralt smiled into his second drink of the night, enjoying watching Jaskier get comfortable on the stage.

His second song finished to applause and cheers, and Jaskier got up to bow, pushing the stool far behind him with his foot. Yennefer put a fist in her hair. Unfortunately, her mortal enemy was fucking magnetic.

“Freak him out, like you said you do,” Coral whispered to her. Yennefer frowned, but nodded soon after. At least she could make this fun for herself.

Jaskier grabbed the mic and moved it off to the side of the stage, throwing some smiles to people who had their phone out, before stopping and speaking into it when the crowd had quieted a bit.

“Hey,” Jaskier said gently, his voice commanding the bar, as he looked out into the crowd. He found Geralt’s face, and beamed at him, before turning back to the sea of people. “Is uh… is anyone here on TikTok?” The crowd cheered and he launched into Toss a Coin, forgoing the stool entirely, choosing to dance around the stage.

To Geralt’s complete mortification, at the top of the first chorus Jaskier suddenly pointed to him. “Toss a coin to your witcher, Oh valley of plenty, oh!”

By the third chorus, Geralt had been sufficiently pummeled with coins, bills, and what looked like a gift card to a café, when Jaskier tipped back his head to the other side of the stage. Yennefer was sitting back, arms folded, a single eyebrow raised, flanked by Fringilla and Coral on either side, looking expectant of the musician, mimicking their friend’s pose. Yennefer thought she was fighting off her smirk, but it was hard to say. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, brief moment his smile faltered, before he let out a cackle, continuing to play. The audience ate out of his hand, and he seemed to grow more and more at ease, preening at the attention.

“It was worth a shot,” Fringilla said with a huff of laughter and a shake of her head, returning to her glass. “He’s really got something, hate to admit.”

When the song finished, he took a deep bow to riotous applause and caught a coin someone threw to him, tucking it in his pocket.

Behind him, a witcher and a mage made eye contact for the first time; gold met violet, and the air between them seemed to electrify.

“I think we’re on our own for tonight, Coral,” Fringilla said with eyebrows raised, watching her friend stare across the room, and Coral giggled in response. Yennefer made a point to use a fraction of her chaos to stir her martini from afar, so this man knew what he might be getting into.

“Thank you, thank you all. I think we have time for one more quick song. And I do hope you’ll give our next artist after the break the same amount of attention, as a personal favor to me,” Jaskier said, getting some laughs, and tuned his instrument for a moment before speaking again. “You’ve been a dream. Really, truly, thank you. I fully expect this kind of turn out every week, though, so cancel all your other Saturday night plans for the next, oh, 7 to 8 years.”

A smattering of laughter again from the audience, and then Jaskier was starting Fishmonger's Daughter, a song Geralt had deemed dirty enough to ignore the lyrics of. He looked away from the woman, clearly a mage, across the stage from him—she was gorgeous, long black hair and bright violet eyes. She was flanked by two other women in similar deep velvet dresses—the first a rosy pink, the third a midnight blue, while the woman’s he’d locked eyes with was pitch black, matching a choker around her neck. She tilted her head to expose more soft tan skin, examining him from afar as she stirred her drink with magic, graceful and languid.

Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages.

He sat back in his chair, and suddenly realized that Jaskier’s set had ended; his friend was bowing, and then disappeared off the stage in favor of the announcer. The bar was buzzing, people milling around, and then Jaskier, blue eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, smile stretched from ear to ear, was sitting in front of him.

“Geralt! Was it good? Give me your thoughts.”

“Not bad,” Geralt said with a smile, and a pat on his friend’s shoulder. Was it too much? He gave it a small squeeze, and something small in Jaskier’s face changed. He looked up and down Geralt’s face, and suddenly the witcher realized how close they were, that Jaskier was licking his lips, that he hadn’t taken his hand off his shoulder, that the world had disappeared around them. His gaze dropped for a moment to Jaskier’s lips. He could smell arousal, and excitement, and happiness, but he was in a bar, there was too much to take in, no way to know for sure it was coming from Jaskier. He held his breath, and met Jaskier’s eyes again.

His phone rang.

They kept staring.

Another ring, and someone tapped on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I should—you get that, Geralt, I’ll be a moment, just ah, have to say hello to the adoring public, I’ll be back!”

Geralt let his witcher-slow heartbeat a few more times, dazed, before looking down at his phone to see Lambert was calling. He answered, putting a finger in his other ear.

“Geralt!” Lambert hissed. Geralt could barely hear him over the noise of the bar. “Geralt! Have you seen the group chat?!”

“No. Speak louder, I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t! He’s in my apartment, Geralt! What the fuck do I do! He brought booze! He looks fucking fancy!”

Geralt frowned. “Are you on a date?”

“Not that I’m fucking aware of!”

Geralt frowned deeper. “It sounds like you’re on a date.”

“We can’t be on a date! He just asked if I wanted to do dinner! That’s not a date!”

“It can be. Clearly is. Just—take him out somewhere.”

“Fucking WHERE, Geralt!”

“Don’t you have a sushi place around the corner? Do that. Or somewhere else. Doesn’t matter, just wear something decent and go.”

“How the fuck—” Lambert was asking when Geralt hung up. He looked at his phone screen—98 unread messages from the clowns. He shook his head and looked up—Jaskier was peacocking around the bar, flirting with everyone who seemed receptive. He was a natural, winding his way through the crowd, making them all feel special. Someone was buying him a drink, and it looked like he was already part of the way through another. He delighted over everyone, taking selfies, accepting compliments, giving them in return to appreciative and giddy smiles.

That was how Jaskier was, Geralt thought. With everyone. Little moments didn’t necessarily mean anything.

He turned back to look at the sorceress across from him. Her companions had left her, disappearing into the crowd for more drinks, perhaps. She was playing with something on her table, and glanced up to see him staring. She smirked, picked up the small object, and began to levitate it over to him.

Geralt watched as through the crowd, over the stage, the object floated over to him.

When it finally arrived at his table, Geralt watched as a small coin was dropped neatly in front of him, giving a small clink.

He smirked. It was a parlor trick, and barely that, for a mage. But it was intriguing. She was intriguing. And Jaskier was busy being fawned over by fans, so it’s not as though Geralt would be missed. He stood and waded his way through the masses, towering over many of the other patrons, before finally making it to his destination. He held up the coin.

The woman smiled up at him, sly, and spoke before he did. “No need to thank me, just doing as the song requested. Are you so often followed around by… loyal bards?”

He laughed. He hadn’t heard someone use ‘bard’ in decades. “Not until recently. To who do I owe the pleasure?”

“Whom, I think,” she quipped, and offered her hand. “Yennefer.”

“Geralt,” he said, and she laughed as he sat down across from her.

“Yes, I’ve heard as much. The White Wolf. Quite the title.”

“I didn’t pick it myself, I assure you.”

“You don’t seem to mind it all that much.”

“… I suppose not. Better than some of the other titles I haven’t picked.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“Plenty. Couldn’t tell you what most of them were, though. Hard to hear when you’re dodging enemies.”

She titled her head slightly and sat back to let her gaze drag over him. “So, none from lovers, then?”

He smiled again. “Cheeky.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you’d like.”

“You’re not much for flattering yourself, are you, Geralt.”

“That’s what I’ve got my bard for.”

She laughed, a light thing that he knew would be echoing around his chest for days. She leaned back in, looking around conspiratorially. He leaned in a touch as well, their faces only inches from each other now. “Tell me, Geralt. Are you as noble and chivalrous as that song made you out to be?”

“It flatters me. But I do my best for… those in need.”

“And if I were in need, you would do something for me?”

“I might be able to do that.”

“Well then.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I would be entirely grateful, Geralt… if you get me some apple juice.” He leaned back in confusion, while she pressed the coin he still held further into his hand. “This should cover it.”

When he leaned away, she wore an unmistakably coquettish smile, biting back a laugh. He smiled despite himself, brows furrowed as he looked down at the coin, and back at her, before letting out a small laugh himself.

“Alright. One apple juice, fair mage. I will do my best.”

“Take care on your dangerous voyage!” She called after him, as he slipped into the crowd. She whipped out her phone; the break would be lasting another 15 or so minutes, just enough to play a game on her phone. Whether or not Geralt made it back to his table in time for the next set was none of her concern. Besides, he’d somehow befriended her most recent mortal enemy, so anything that happened tonight would have to be a one-time thing. If anything happened, of course, but Yennefer was not in the habit of letting a good time pass her by.

Things were perfectly right in her world, as she waited for her phone to load, until suddenly someone dressed in frankly garish teal and red was standing before her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“Ahem?”

She continued looking at her phone. The damn thing wouldn’t load.

“You know, it’s very rude to keep your most reviled enemy waiting.”

It still wouldn’t fucking load. She groaned and put it down. “What do you want, Jaskier?” Her neighbor, grinning widely and holding two glasses of punchy looking drinks, sat down across from her. “No one else hesitated to applaud my wonderful performance except… for you. Come on. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him for a moment. “I don’t buy it.”

He frowned. “No, that’s four. What don’t you buy?”

“The song. You expect me to believe you willingly put yourself within 10 miles of danger? You already complain that the second floor is too dangerous for you.”

“It is dangerous, and I sleep there, so it’s different. Really, it did happen, you could ask Geralt. Actually, gods, no, don’t ask Geralt. Don’t talk to him, actually. You’d hate each other, definitely, best stay away.”

“Oh dear. Someone’s already jealous.”

“I am not—!” he squeaked, before leaning in. “I am not jealous, I just don’t need you and your…” he waved a hand at her, “your face-ness scaring him off!”

“My face?”

“Yes! It’s full of… secrets. And… plots. Evil plots!”

“Right. Do you know what your face is full of?”

“Charm? Charisma? An air of mystery?”

She swiftly grabbed one of his drinks and splashed it in his face, while he gaped. She swiped a finger across his cheek and tasted it. “Mmm, no… something fruity. Strawberry?”

“Raspberry,” he corrected. His face dripped. “I had that coming, a bit.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She waved a hand, and the drink was gone—his face, shirt, the table all now dry. “Don’t take that as a kindness. I just don’t want to pay for your dry cleaning.”

“Of course,” he replied, touching his now dry face. “And I don’t want any more battles with you in the laundry genre, if I can help it.” Despite herself, she laughed.

“Ah, I see there is a brain behind those blue eyes after all.”

“You just like seeing me covered in liquid and at your mercy.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

He sat back in the booth. “You know, if you weren’t utterly terrifying, I could write songs about you as well. I’m sure you’ve got stories. We could make some together.”

“I am the story.”

“See, that’s good! Have you considered abandoning magic and the position of ‘very sexy, very scary witch’, and instead working towards of ‘very sexy, very charming poet’? At least then we’d be competitors in the same field. Same playing ground! Same weapons, which is to say, absolutely no weapons.”

“Mm. And have you considered abandoning your current title of ‘unfortunately charming, unfortunately talented, deeply annoying musician’ and opting instead for ‘very quiet, mildly charming eye candy’? It would suit you more.”

“The day I stop talking is the day I run out of breath.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Dear Ms. Penthouse, I’m sure you’ll be the one to bring it about.”

“Wouldn’t you love to be so lucky. Besides, haven’t you got a wolf in shining armor to protect you?” Just then, a sound went over the loudspeakers. 5 minutes until the end of the break, then.

“Well, much as I’d love to continue this lovely and for me, a frankly sexually confusing chat, I must grab my drinks before our next musicians are on.”

“Take care, then. I’d hate to see you die without getting to be a part of it,” she said, giving him a pat on the arm, her hand lingering as he looked at her for a moment, licking his lips and then hurrying off.

It was only moments before Geralt returned.

“One apple juice,” he said, setting a tall glass in front of her with a straw. Yennefer smiled and pulled it closer to her, taking a sip. “Is it to your liking, fair mage?”

It was quite good, actually. “Acceptable. Thank you, dear witcher, for your services.”

“Any others you’d like to request of me?”

“Mmm… give me the evening to think of one.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be here forever.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll think of something. You just go… sit in the corner and brood.”

He laughed. “You’re not the first one to say that to me tonight.”

“Mm, so you’re completing quests for others? Should I be worried?” She snuck a glance toward the crowd, and Geralt followed her eyes to land on Jaskier, fliting between people, drinking something that this time looked icy and blue. “Just a friend, I hope?”

Geralt turned to look back at her. His face had too many things subtly happening for her to read it well, and after only a moment Fringilla and Coral had returned, beginning to slip into the booth.

“Will you be joining us?” Fringilla asked, but Geralt shook his head.

“I’ve been told to go brood,” he replied, and made his way back to his booth.

——

Geralt did, in his defense, make an attempt to listen to the other performers. Jaskier spent the evening continuing to flirt around the room, hands lingering on him, his own hands gently caressing shoulders and arms. Geralt could tell already he’d be going home alone that night. Well, not alone. Yennefer and he had been sharing glances as the night progressed, and he was fairly certain he knew where that was heading.

He just wouldn’t be going home with Jaskier, who would himself undoubtedly be going home with some fan or other patron. He had his pick of the room, for the most part. Which was good. Geralt knew he sought the praise, the fame. Besides, Jaskier and he had only planned to spend the late night catching up on their weekly nature documentary.

Another man paid for Jaskier’s next drink, a fizzy concoction, and Geralt felt himself give the tiniest hint of a growl.

Eventually, Yennefer’s companions slipped out, and he returned to her booth.

“Do you have a quest for me, then?”

“Mmm. How about, protect me here, until it’s time to leave, and then walk me back to my apartment?”

Geralt nodded. “That, I can do.”

The night pushed onward. After a few performers more, Geralt looked around in between sets and realized he’d lost track of Jaskier entirely. It would be unlike him to not give a heads-up before going home with somebody. Geralt frowned and checked his phone. A few dozen messages from Eskel and Coën, and; one missed call from Jaskier. Shit. He took a deep breath—he could smell his friend in the air, but not quite which direction it came from, not with so many people. Yennefer gave him a look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missed a call. Hold on.” He pressed the redial and held it to his ear. It rang three times before it picked up. “Jaskier?”

“Mmm. Ger. Ger’lt. Do you wanna go home? With me.”

“You want me to take you home?” He shot an apologetic look at Yennefer.

“Come home with me.”

“Okay, Jaskier. Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Alright. Be there soon.” Geralt hung up and began to slide out of the booth. “Sorry. He’s had a big night.”

“I could tag along,” Yennefer offered. “And then you’ll have doubly earned your rewards tonight.”

“I—sure, sure,” and they were off, navigating around the bar and out the door. “He doesn’t live that far away,” Geralt began to explain.

“Oh, I know.” Geralt shot her a questioning look as they exited the front door.

——

Jaskier was right there, leaning against the wall. His head ached—he’d had possibly more to drink in this night than he had for the past two weeks combined. It had all caught up with him, and he’d found himself outside, taking deep breaths of fresh air, clutching his lute bag to his chest.

He’d flirted around all night, but nothing, nobody had been worth his time. How was he supposed to focus on anyone when Geralt was right there? Not that he was interested, of course. But he’d come out, he’d come early, just to see Jaskier perform. Well, to be fair, his hit song, (he had one of those now!) was about Geralt, so that was probably why he came. But he wanted to pretend it was just for him. That Geralt had wanted to see Jaskier perform. He was miles out of Jaskier’s league, but oh, could he could absolutely dream some very, very sexy dreams.

And then his mortal enemy had been there, and wasn’t that a treat. She’d looked gorgeous. It was unfair. His building was full of beautiful people, all who only tolerated him, were abysmally out of his league, or would eat him for breakfast, if they had the chance. At least fighting with her gave him the excuse to look at her, talk to her. She’d splashed a drink in his face and he’d needed to slip away to the bathroom when they’d finished talking, just to calm himself down. That was unfair. Don’t fuck mages, he reminded himself. Not that she ever would. He’d had at least 6 more drinks after that, just to push the thought away.

He’d thought he’d been doing a bit better, the past few minutes. But clearly, he wasn’t, as he must have been hallucinating.

Before him stood Geralt (gorgeous, fascinating, generous, kind, warm-hearted Geralt), looking a bit dazed himself, as well as The Bitch of the 13th Floor (intriguing, deadly, witty, beautiful). So, his sexual fantasy that he had not until that moment realized existed.

“Oh dear. I’m worse than I thought.”

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

“Too much to drink. Now I’m hallucinating.”

Geralt frowned. “What do you see?”

Jaskier pointed to the woman in front of him and then shut his eyes tightly. “Unless… unless it’s a magic thing.”

“No—Jaskier, this is Yennefer. Yennefer, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open. “You know this woman? Of course you know this woman. So you do have a name!”

“Of course I have a name.”

“I don’t know, maybe mages don’t all have names.”

“You two know each other?”

Jaskier smiled loosely. “That’s my mortal enemy.”

“This is not Valdo Marx.”

“No! Penthouse Lady. Second one.”

“Oh. The Bitch of the 13th Floor.”

“Glad to know I hold a reputation in your circles, Jaskier,” she said lightly. “Though I’m a touch offended I’m only number 2.”

He frowned, and reached out for her arm, and held it lightly, then did the same with Geralt.

“Oh fuck. You are both here.”

“Right. Let’s get you back home.” Carefully, Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm over his shoulders, and the three began to walk, Yennefer on his other side. They went to walk before he stopped, pulling Jaskier’s arm off him, and bent down.

“What are you--?”

“Your shoe strap is undone,” Geralt explained, before flashing a grin up at her. “I suppose this isn’t what you meant when you told me to kneel.”

“As I recall, I haven’t asked you to do that yet. I was saving it for the bedroom.”

Geralt finished with her shoe and then rose up, and they began walking. “The sticky note. ‘I will make you kneel and fix it yourself’?”

“…You’re the new tenant?! You’re the muddy bastard?!”

“Wait, you two were going to have sex?!” Jaskier whined.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“I thought it was ‘Don’t fuck mages’, not ‘Don’t fuck mages unless they’re really hot, then that’s the exception’!”

“I can’t believe this,” Yennefer said. Her world fell apart and clicked into place all at once as they crossed the street. “Oh my god.”

“Did you not know?”

“Of course I didn’t know! You didn’t say how you knew him!”

“Well, there it is,” Geralt sighed. “And Jaskier, don’t just to conclusions, I wouldn’t presume that of her. All I did was buy her apple juice.”

“Now what kind of metaphor is that!”

“The kind that isn’t a metaphor at all.”

“Jaskier, if you say a single word about my apple juice—”

“I’m not saying anything about apple juice! It’s a noble beverage! But your apple juice leads to some implications!”

“And what if it does!” “Well! Well!” Jaskier flustered. “Well! We were going to watch our nature documentary tonight!”

“No we weren’t,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him, hurt. “What?”

“We weren’t going to watch the documentary, Jaskier. You were going to find someone to go home with.”

“I did find someone to go home with!” He said, bumping his hip into Geralt.

“I don’t count,” Geralt muttered, as they finally made it into the building.

“Why don’t you count?”

“Because, Jaskier, you weren’t planning to sleep with me.”

“Says who!”

“Let’s just go to mine,” Yennefer said as they stepped in the elevator. “I don’t want to try and navigate his apartment in the dark. I’m sure it’s a wreck.”

“It’s fine, actually,” Jaskier muttered. “Geralt I know we wouldn’t have slept together, you have standards, but—”

“Well, more like because he was planning on sleeping with me, thank you very much.”

“Watch out, Lady of the Penthouse, or I’ll… write a song about you.”

“Who said I was planning or not planning on sleeping with anyone?”

“You did!”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“That’s the point!”

“So, you two… aren’t sleeping together?”

“What’s your point?!” Geralt demanded, oblivious to Yennefer’s question.

“Well, that’s how you know someone doesn’t want to sleep with you! One of the many ways. They don’t say they do! You’ve made it clear we’re just… you know. Pals.”

“I never said that!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jaskier, for once in your life, would you say something with some sense?!” “I said, ‘come home with me’! How much more clear do I have to be than ‘I’d rather spend the night with you’?! Actually, frankly, with both of you, this is nice. Loud, but nice. I can’t believe I’m saying this about my sworn nemesis.”

“Now, hold on—”

“Everybody shut up!” Yennefer said, loud enough that the boys shut their mouths. “No more speaking. We will be at my apartment soon. I will be going into my kitchen to get you,” she pointed at Jaskier, “something to ensure you don’t get sick all over the elevator.”

“I’m—I’m feeling a lot better, really,” he said. She made a shushing motion against his lips, and she could feel his hot breath, could sense his heartbeat race faster, watched his cheeks flush. Interesting.

“By the time I’m back, I want you two sorted.” The doors dinged, and they emerged on a landing in front of an intricate white door, which Yennefer opened with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just… let me know who Geralt will be kneeling for,” she said, and then walked into the kitchen, heels snapping against the tile.

She looked at her cabinets, opening one and retrieving the bottle she wanted. Well. They’d need more than a few seconds, surely. She placed it carefully on the counter and listened.

“I…” Geralt was saying. “Um.”

“I didn’t… Geralt. I’m sorry. I don’t want to… ruin things.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

“You’ve hardly shown interest, I know you’re not…”

“I’m bad at these things. Talking. You know that.”

“Okay, then…” Jaskier trailed off, and took a big breath. “Then show me.”

“Show you?”

“What you mean. Or… what you don’t mean. I don’t know. But if there’s… Geralt, if there’s something, anything about me that you want, in that way, I am asking you to show me. It’s fine if not. But… I’m here, I want it, if you do. I mean, I want it either way, really. Have for a bit.”

“…You’re drunk.”

“I won’t be, once Yennefer gets that… thing. And it’ll be the same. I promise.

“I don’t want you regretting anything.”

“How could I regret you? Show me, Geralt. Please.”

“…Show you."

“Yes, yes, please, Geralt. Pl—”

And there was silence. Or, there was the sound of mouths sliding against each other, soft, deep moans reverberating in their chests. She let them have the moment, and then Jaskier gave a soft whine, and she smiled. That was her cue.

She clicked into the foyer, bottle held aloft.

“A gift,” she said, and the two staggered apart, “for my nemesis. Purely because his white wolf brought me apple juice, let it be known. And thank you for the show. Both at the bar and here.” Jaskier stepped toward her and took the bottle.

“I must warn you,” she said, “it tastes like goat piss.” Jaskier popped the cork, and chugged the bottle before making a face.

“How long does it take to— oh, fuck—”

“Pretty instantaneous,” Yennefer said as he grabbed her shoulder to support himself. Geralt came up behind him.

“The room stopped spinning. I didn’t even realize it was spinning,” he frowned. He shook his head for a moment, turned back to Geralt, and grabbed his neck, pulling them to meet in a firm kiss. “See? Meant it.”

“Maybe I need some of that too,” Geralt muttered. “Things are spinning.”

“As much as I enjoy playing cupid,” Yennefer said, taking back the bottle, “it seems as though I’ve been a bit removed from the equation, so you two had best be off, I suppose.”

“Someday, you’ll be won over by my charms,” Jaskier said with a kiss to her knuckles. “But if you two had… plans… I could always wait a night. Unless you’d like both of us in your bed,” he half-joked to her.

“I don’t know how this is happening to me,” Geralt muttered.

“Oh, be careful what you wish for, Jaskier,” she hummed, “you might just get it.”

“Does this mean I’ve won you over?”

“It means I don’t let a good night pass me by.”

“Oh, so you think I’ll be good, you admit that.”

“It means I’m open to you proving me wrong. But I saw you play. You can make good use of those hands. Geralt?”

Geralt was leaning against the wall, staring into the middle distance, looking lost. “I just. A lot has happened. I thought you hated each other?”

“I told you she was gorgeous, I don’t just say things.”

“You do very much just say things.”

“Well, then, someone’s going to have to shut me up.”

Yennefer tilted his head back to face her and pulled him down into a kiss—languid and slow, as one of his arms grabbed her waist and pulled her upwards and to him, just enough that she was standing on tip toe. She ran her hands up his chest, coming to rest around his neck, playing with his hair. He finally pulled away, just to kiss a line down one side of her jaw, sucking a small mark onto her neck.

She looked back at Geralt, still a bit dazed but with a fire behind his eyes. “Well,” she said, detaching herself from Jaskier. “Will you be joining?”

Rather than answer, Geralt took a few steps forward toward her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her—gentle and almost pleading. They fit together so easily, he thought. He hadn’t ever fit with someone like he had with two people tonight. How had he earned this? How had he made it to this point in his life?

Jaskier was suddenly behind him, kissing his back, running one hand up his chest, the other against Yennefer’s hand, which had reached his shoulder. He couldn’t have all this, could he?

“You think so loudly, Geralt,” Yennefer teased him.

“It’s true,” Jaskier agreed. “Even I hear it, darling.”

“Okay. Then… take me somewhere I don’t have to think.”

Yennefer smiled, took his hand in hers, and Jaskier’s in her other. “I’m glad your place was the bedroom,” Jaskier whispered, “Because honestly, mine would probably be the zoo.”

Yennefer pinched his hand, “Ow! But am I wrong?! You don’t need your brain for the zoo!” and led them on.

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

16 Messages from Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta — 9 hours ago

okay, thanks for letting us know, yen!!! have fun!!

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

Wait, I’m sorry, were the two people you just went home with the witcher and the musician? The guy you hate?

Sabrina — 9 hours ago

What on earth is happening

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

She didn’t specify which two guys she went home with, but I’m pretty sure I just saw them all leave together.

Sabrina — 8 hours ago

I can’t believe drama is happening without me

Coral Lytta — 7 hours ago

its not drama drama is frin getting the number of someone with a green hair when she specifically said she’d sworn off of green hair for at least a year

Sabrina — 7 hours ago

omfg

Fringilla – 6 hours ago

Coral!! Where are you, I’m not letting you get away with this! They’re cute! You can’t shame me.

Coral Lytta — 5 hours ago

update everyone we got a car home and frin has been texting green hair (jesu) the whole way home if youre reading this its too late for me it was nice knowing u

Sabrina – 3 hours ago

Loving this. Just blew up half a field with Anica. She says hi

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

Hey yen I am seeing this mystery enemy of yours on tiktok people filmed his set

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

He’s hot good job

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

But why is he playing a fucking lute

Coral Lytta – 1 hour ago

morning all yennefer please send pics of ur hot date(s)

Fringilla – 15 minutes ago

Are we not addressing that Sabrina and Anica blew up a field?!

Sabrina — Just Now

Lol

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

167 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES… Showing 16

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Okay I made him laugh and now I’m in the bathroom what the fuck now??

Eskel – 10 hours ago

Pay for the bill, leave a good tip for that waiter for saving your ass, and then ask him if he wants to go back to yours. You’ve done this before, Lamb.

Coën – 10 hours ago

He’s been flirting with you all night, you’ll be fine.

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Fuck Okay If you never hear from me again it’s because I died of embarrassment

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Bye forever

Eskel – 9 hours ago

Drama queen. Hey Geralt how’s it going?

Coën – 9 hours ago

He’s in it too deep. He probably watched that guy play live and just died.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Sex is so awesome

Eskel – 6 hours ago

Congrats bro. I’m sleeping now.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Don’t you wanna hear about how great sex is

Eskel – 6 hours ago

I know it’s great, Lambert. I’ve had sex before

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Are we sure are we super sure you had sex cause like I just had GREAT sex possibly the best

Coën – 6 hours ago

It is two in the morning. I am begging you to shut up

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Put us on silent so I can talk about how great sex is

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Ha beat you to this one Geralt bet you didn’t have sex with someone hot tonight. HA

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Okay gotta go round two bye

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You coming back to the table?

Geralt – 10 hours ago

If I’m gone when you get back let me know when you get home

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You did really good, Jaskier. I’m proud of you

TikTok – 2 hours ago

You have 25,634 new followers!

TikTok – 1 hour ago

You hit 2.3 million views! Click here to see what people are saying…

Spotify – 15 minutes ago

You have 5,785 new followers and 806,216 new listens on Toss a Coin EP

Maybe: Yennefer – 5 minutes ago

It's Yennefer, send me that selfie of all of us you took, I wanna freak out my group chat

Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Maybe: Yennefer – 4 minutes ago

I can’t believe I’m the one doing this, but I guess we need a group chat.

To: Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Message: 1 image

Here’s the selfie for you both!! Use it wisely ;)

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 3 minutes ago

Geralt get me apple juice while you’re up

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 2 minutes ago

Jaskier, this chat name, you cannot be serious

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

Haha

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

#geraskefer #geraskier #witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #Novigrad Exchange #chubbykatsudon #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #Ensemble fic #Butterbard's Fics #lambden

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on-a-lucky-tide · 3 years ago

Note

I saw the post about WIP. I love the fruit of the hunt. Could you tell a little of what you got planned for that AU. If you don't mind that is. Thank you

The final chapter + epilogue. This is from the plotty bit, which sounds odd considering it's a "Eskel gets railed" story in disguise (a bad one, like a dodgy moustache and Geralt's Season 1 wig).

Letho rapped on the door three times - twice in quick succession, pause, then a third - and waited. “Come in,” called a low, tired growl, and Letho let himself through the door. The room smelled musty. The fire was high, and the windows closed tight, with heavy curtains thrown over the thin glass panes. Ivar sat hunched at a writing desk, his forehead pressed into the heel of his palm, while his other hand scratched idly at a piece of parchment. “It’s late, Letho,” he murmured without looking up.

“You’re not sleepin’,” Letho replied, his gaze sliding over the rumpled sheets and furs in the middle of Ivar’s bed. They would smell of sweat and fear. Ivar’s nightmarish visions were an open secret, and as his grandmaster looked round, his evil eye swollen and red, Letho knew that tonight had been particularly bad. “How many this time?”

“Too many,” Ivar pulled some dispatches over the handful of scrappy sketches he had scribbled down the moment the paralysis cleared. Frantic and powerless, all Ivar could do was make a record of their faces, warped in terror as evil gods snatched them from their homes. Letho saw the blurred features of an Aen Seidhe woman before a table of numbers covered her. Ivar continued, “Eight people snatched from a farming town on the Kaedwen border, and I’m up here, haggling with Arnaghad for access to Sodden and Brugge.”

“Cesspits both,” Letho grunted, “but you’re hoping for unfettered access to Eithné.”

“With what is to come, Eithné and her dryads will be valuable allies,” Ivar sighed, rubbing at his eyes as they burned with a combination of exhaustion and residue of the vision that had wrenched Ivar from his bed.

“Arnaghad can’t promise what he doesn’t own.”

“You’ve made some observations,” Ivar raised an eyebrow, fingers winding together. The pause was permission to continue.

“He’s brought his best with him, and even they grumble behind his back. He could promise us access to Sodden, but the first viper that steps across its border won’t last five minutes.” Letho shrugged. “They call him the Bear of the South like a great warlord, but his fiefdom ends at the walls of Haern Caduch.”

“Hmm,” Ivar’s upper lip quirked in the semblance of a smile, more a grimace that revealed one of his canines. It was something he’d considered himself, which led Letho to wonder why he even bothered with this whole charade in the first place. Ivar turned back to his desk. “You haven’t come to discuss territorial claims. What do you want?”

Letho stood by the window and stared down into the courtyard. A small pack of wolf pups shuffled through the gates of Kaer Morhen at the heel of their instructor. Judging by their gait, they’d spent the last few days learning survival and orienteering skills in the wilderness and were now looking forward to a good meal, a warm bed. “Gaetan can’t do the Last Dinner.”

Ivar’s quill stilled mid-sentence. Letho knew that had any other man walked into Ivar’s private quarters and made such a demand, Ivar would have dismissed them. The Grandmaster of the Vipers was very much focused on the greater good, and if the greater good meant sacrificing the comfort of some scrawny kit to cement the fragile alliances between the schools, then he wouldn’t bat an eye. But Letho was his heir apparent; twice-grassed, a giant in more than physical stature. Letho would steer the future of the Continent, Ivar was certain of that, so he listened. “Explain.”

#rawrkinanswers #shanhei #wip game #Letho #Letho of Gulet #Fruits of the Hunt

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

Text

Bygone Love

This is for @pearlll09 for @thewitchersecretsanta!

Fair warning, this is 6k+ words so here is the AO3 link, if you think it’s easier to read on there!

This is a Geraskier soulmate AU :)

Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!

Jaskier stared wistfully at the book in front of him, wishing it were true.

Those meant to be, linked by destiny, soulmates.

It was bullshit.

Maybe it hadn’t always been. All the stories say that soulmates just stopped appearing hundreds of years ago and no one knew why. However long ago it had been, there was very little record of it left. The book sitting in front of Jaskier is one of the only books left that tells anything about it.

And, while it isn’t a very detailed book, and has quite a few missing pages, what is there sounds lovely. The person you were meant to be with, your very souls linked, it’s romantic. The idea of there being someone who is your perfect match in every way was enticing. Someone who would love you as were, no need for you to bend or break yourself to make them happy.

Jaskier sighed, standing slowly, grabbing his bags and the book, and returning the book to the hook-nosed librarian that watched every Oxenfurt student with the utmost sense of distrust.

Jaskier’s final day as a student at Oxenfurt was bittersweet. His years there had been wonderful, his experiences grand, but now he would get to travel and truly make a name for himself.

The bard, Jaskier.

He would be a name known across the land, called upon by kings and queens.

Strutting out of the city walls, a bright smile on his face, Jaskier looked in the direction of Lettenhove, his family’s lands. The smile slipped off his face. There would be nothing there for him, anymore. He wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms, not as Viscount and certainly not as a bard.

Resolutely turning on his heel, Jaskier took the opposite path. He wasn’t exactly sure where it would lead him, but he was excited to find out.

Six months on the road hadn’t exactly snuffed out Jaskier’s optimism but it had put a certain damper on it, being thrown rotten or stale food instead of coins was a bit disheartening after all, but still he persevered. He was currently playing in a tavern in Posada and the patrons were… nicer than a lot of the others he’d encountered the past few weeks.

Taking a break and gratefully collecting the stale bread thrown his way, Jaskier’s eyes skimmed the room, settling on a cloaked man seated in the corner.

Oh, he looks like trouble.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier started one night, a few months into their travels, drawing the witcher’s attention, “how old are you?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, staring silently at Jaskier.

“I only ask because I’ve heard witchers have long lifespans.”

Geralt cocked his head to the side, remaining silent.

Jaskier huffed in frustration, “There are some things I learned about at Oxenfurt but most of the information has been lost to time! I just thought you might have some further information on it, is all.”

“On what, bard?”

“Soulmates.”

Geralt snorted, “They don’t exist.”

“But they did!” argued Jaskier.

“Possibly,” Geralt agreed, “but they don’t now, so what is the point in wondering.”

Jaskier was indignant, “For the history, Geralt! The remaining texts are so few and old and damaged we don’t really know anything about them!”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not that old. And we didn’t learn about soulmates in our studies, they weren’t important.”

Jaskier sighed, looking down at his hands, “Oh well, I suppose that’s that, then.”

The camp turned silent as Jaskier let his thoughts wander. It was a foolish dream, really… the idea of soulmates.

Jaskier spent the rest of his year travelling with the witcher until finally autumn had arrived and it was time for the pair to part for winter, Geralt going north to somewhere secret and dangerous and Jaskier back to Oxenfurt to gloat about his wonderful travels to all those who doubted him.

Jaskier clapped Geralt on the back, smiling brightly, “Well, friend, this is it I suppose.” He would miss the witcher dearly, the past year travelling with Geralt had been the best time of Jaskier’s life.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier’s smile didn’t slip with Geralt’s taciturn response, more than used to it at this point, and instead continued with his farewells, “We can meet up again, as soon as the snow melts!”

“Great.” Geralt grunted.

“No need to sound so enthused Geralt.” Jaskier stated, hands on his hips.

And then they parted.

Jaskier turned on his heel and pulled his lute in front of him, ready to write a new ballad to commemorate the past year, and the hope for what the next year would bring with his new travelling companion, his new muse.

Halfway to Oxenfurt, Jaskier noticed a strange tickle in his nose, hopefully I’m not getting sick, he thought, dreading the possibility. His eyes were itching, and he was sniffling, sneezing occasionally, but he never developed a fever, so he wrote it off and continued on his travels.

This is getting ridiculous, Jaskier thought as he sneezed again. Not long after he and Geralt had parted ways, Jaskier’s allergies had begun acting up and even now, halfway through winter, they were still bothering him.

His eyes were sore and itchy, his head was stuffed, his nose was running constantly. Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to say he was miserable, but he certainly wasn’t having a great time. He’d had allergies most of his life, come down with hay fever almost every spring, but never had he had such persistent symptoms and never had his allergies bothered him during winter.

“Jaskier, just go see the healer.” Priscilla said, rolling her eyes as he blew his nose yet again. His best friend had been at the mercy of his complaining since he had returned to Oxenfurt and it was a wonder she was still being so nice to him.

“I’ve been, Pris. They said I’m fine.” And Jaskier had been to a healer, to two different healers in fact. They’d both said the same thing, common allergy symptoms, nothing to worry about.

Geralt had almost reached Kaer Morhen, he would get to the gate by midday, when he noticed a strange pressure behind his eyes. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and his medallion wasn’t vibrating, so he continued on his path, expecting the pressure to dissipate by the time he reached the keep.

It didn’t.

By the time Geralt had reached the gates of Kaer Morhen the pressure in his head had increased and his nose felt full of cotton. Certain something was wrong, he hurried through the gate, rushing to the main doors and into the keep, not even properly stabling Roach.

Eskel was in the main hall and his head swung around to stare at Geralt, brow furrow as he watched Geralt's dramatic entrance. "Geralt! Welcome. Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I think I've been cursed." Geralt pushed past Eskel, heading straight to the kitchen where he could hear Vesemir moving around.

As Geralt burst through the door, Vesemir continued his motions, stirring a pot filled with stew. Not looking up from his cooking, he addressed Geralt, "What kind of curse?"

"It's affecting my head."

Vesemir shot an unimpressed look over his shoulder at Geralt, "What do you mean? Be specific, Wolf."

Geralt growled, “There's a pressure building in my head and I can barely breathe through my nose."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, still stirring the pot in front of him, "And when did it start?"

"On the pass, not far from the front gate." Geralt’s head was aching, the pressure seeming to build and build, it felt like his head would explode at any moment.

"And did your medallion vibrate?"

"No."

"And you had no symptoms prior to that?" Vesemir finally turned around, staring at Geralt.

"No."

"It doesn't sound like a curse."

Geralt growled again, angry at the dismissal, "My head feels as though it's going to explode!"

"Stop exaggerating." Vesemir responded curtly, far too used to the dramatics of his charges.

"Something could be wrong!” Geralt yelled, stepping forward and angrily gesturing to his head.

Vesemir levelled Geralt an unimpressed look, "Hush, boy. You're going to be fine. Get settled in and we'll figure out what's wrong after dinner. Whatever it is, it isn’t life threatening.”

Turning in huff, Geralt stormed out of the kitchen and past Eskel where he had been hovering by the door. If they wouldn’t take him seriously then he would figure out what was wrong himself.

After he settled Roach.

Dinner was tense, Geralt in pain and Vesemir ignoring him. Lambert had yet to arrive so Eskel sat beside Geralt, uncomfortably glancing between Geralt and Vesemir as if he were unsure of what to do, if he should say something or not.

Geralt's head ached every time he moved, especially when he leaned down. If he tilted his head back, the pressure behind his eyes made it feel like they would explode from his skull.

Vesemir ate silently, focused on the meal in front of him and saying nothing until he had finished.

"How does your throat feel?"

Geralt startled at the question, looking across the table and meeting Vesemir's eyes, "Ummm… it's sore. It hurts to swallow, like I'm swallowing knives."

Geralt sniffled.

Vesemir's eyebrows drew together as he studied Geralt, "It seems as though you have allergies, Wolf."

"You think I have allergies?" Geralt asked as he took in what Vesemir was saying.

"It sounds like allergies."

"Allergies?" Eskel chimed in. "I haven't heard of witchers suffering from allergies."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, "I can't think of a time in recent history one did."

"Why would I have allergies?"

"A few things come to mind but none that seem likely. The best idea is to probably look through the library. Eskel and Lambert will help."

Eskel nodded and leaned toward Geralt, bumping their shoulders together, "We'll figure this out."

Geralt ignored Eskel and glared at Vesemir, "It feels like my head is being crushed by a boulder and the best you can offer is I should read some books?"

Vesemir stared back at Geralt, his face impassive, before standing up wordlessly and exiting the kitchen.

Lambert arrived later in the week and was quickly swept away to join Eskel and Geralt in the library where they had set up.

They had pushed two tables together and there were piles of books stacked across it, organized by Eskel in some manner that only made sense to him.

Eskel and Geralt had been spending their mornings training and working around the keep and then retired to the library nightly, trying to find mention of witchers with allergies.

The three witchers were reading in silence but for the occasional grunt from Lambert when Eskel sucked in a sharp breath, “Hey I found something.”

Lambert looked up lazily from the book he had been staring at while pretending to read, “Is he contagious? I don’t want to catch whatever he has.”

Geralt growled at Lambert before standing from his chair and walking over to Eskel, “What does it say?”

“Well…” Eskel started hesitantly, still staring at the book, “I’m not sure if this is really what’s wrong with you but it’s the only thing we’ve found so far.”

“What is it Eskel?” Geralt asked again, growing impatient.

“It says that when unbound or broken soulmates are parted, they would experience allergy and cold symptoms until they came together again.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, “Soulmates?”

Eskel nodded.

“You think I have a soulmate?”

Lambert snorted, “That would be cruel, forcing someone to put up with this grumpy bastard for eternity.”

Eskel shook his head, “No that isn’t how soulmates work. There’s someone who is made for you but you still have the choice, you can either accept the bond with a handfasting or perform the ritual to break the bond. Either one would allow you to travel away from each other without getting sick anymore, but until the soul bond is acknowledged one way or the other, you get sick.”

“Eskel, do you really think I have a soulmate? Soulmates haven’t been seen for centuries!”

Eskel huffed, “I know it doesn’t really make sense but it’s the only thing I’ve found!”

Geralt sighed, “I think we should keep looking, I don’t have a soulmate, Eskel.”

“Alright, I’ll add this book to the useless pile, then.” Eskel stood slowly to walk across the room to a large pile of books he had created to reshelve.

Geralt hesitated, “Wait… is the whole book about soulmates?”

Eskel looked back to Geralt with his eyebrows raised, “Yes.”

“Can I have it?” Geralt asked, reaching out his hand for the book.

Eskel stared at Geralt, a confused look furrowing his brow, “Why would you want it?”

Geralt wasn’t sure how to respond. He had never travelled with someone before and his brothers were certain to question him about it. And there was also the chance they had heard that stupid song. “Ahh… a bard I was travelling with asked me if I had any knowledge of them because the human texts were all mostly destroyed.”

“You travelled with a bard?” Lambert cut in harshly.

“And you want to bring him a present?” Eskel asked, in a far softer voice than the one Lambert had used.

Lambert stood up suddenly, “Wait, that song about tossing a coin! That was about you!”

Geralt groaned, his already pounding head throbbing even more at the idea of having this conversation, “Yes.”

Lambert let out a loud bray of laughter, “I should have known! Of course, you managed to find yourself a bard to sing your praises, you vain bastard.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, causing another wave of pain to shoot through his head, and looked back to Eskel, ignoring Lambert still chuckling behind him. Eskel had walked back over to Geralt, book in hand, and he finally held it out to Geralt. Geralt took the book tentatively and nodded in thanks.

Eskel was staring at Geralt consideringly, “How long did you travel with your bard?”

“He isn’t mine.”

Eskel rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever. How long?”

“Most of the year.” Geralt answered shortly, unsure where this line of questioning was going.

Eskel made a considering noise, “Did you two just split for the winter?”

Geralt nodded, “Yes, he headed back to Oxenfurt and I came straight here.”

Eskel hummed softly, his eyes wandering over the books still piled high on the table, “I don’t know how much information we’ll find in those; we’ve read all the books that were most likely to help.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to help anymore?” Lambert chimed in.

Eskel snorted and shot an unimpressed look at Lambert, “That would suggest you were any help to begin with.”

Lambert scoffed, “I was plenty help. Moral support and all that.”

Eskel directed his attention back to Geralt, “Geralt it might be best to just… find a healer or a mage when you leave for spring. I’m not confident these books will have answers. Perhaps you could head to Oxenfurt and meet up with your bard, the scholars there might have answers.”

“Do you really think we won’t find an answer?” Geralt had been worried he wouldn’t find out what was wrong with him since Vesemir had first dismissed him.

Eskel shook his head and smiled sadly, “I think we’ve found all the answers that are here.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, unsure of what Eskel meant, “What answers have we found?”

“I’m not completely sure. But I’m sure you’ll find out come spring.” Eskel walked past Geralt and quickly exited the library, leaving Geralt and Lambert staring dumbfounded after him.

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Lambert finally asked. “He gets more cryptic every year. One of these days he’s going to show up and talk only in Nilfgaardian riddles.”

The winter had been long and far less restful than any year before. Geralt’s symptoms hadn’t improved though they at least hadn’t gotten worse.

This year, Geralt was the last to leave Kaer Morhen, wanting the opportunity to talk to Vesemir privately. Their relationship had stayed distant this winter, though it had gotten less hostile. But it didn’t seem right, Vesemir didn’t act like this normally, he had to be keeping something from Geralt.

Geralt cleared his throat as he gazed across the courtyard at Vesemir, “I’m ready to go.”

Vesemir nodded at him, “Travel well, Wolf. I’ll see you next winter.”

Geralt took a deep, steadying breath, “Did I do something wrong?”

Vesemir frowned and walked closer to Geralt, “No, Wolf. I just worry for you. But I’m confident you’ll find your answer back out on the road.” Vesemir quickly drew Geralt in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. Geralt returned the embrace briefly before pulling away.

“Travel well, Vesemir. I’ll see you next winter.” And with a nod, Geralt mounted Roach and set off out of the gate, his path to Oxenfurt laid out clearly in his mind.

Geralt wasn't sure how long he had been able to breathe through his nose by the time he finally noticed the difference. It was strange that it hadn't been more obvious of a change since he had gone the entire winter with his nose stuffed and runny.

His sense of smell heightening was the only thing that really drew his attention to the change. He had worried the difficulties he might encounter on the Path with his senses dulled, but when he'd approached the bridge leading to Oxenfurt, suddenly the smells overwhelmed him.

"Woah, Roach." Geralt urged Roach to slow down while he took a moment to gather himself, adjusting to the sudden difference. As he waited, he could feel as his head became clearer and clearer, all the pressure slowly dissipating. His sense of smell returned full force and his hearing became more acute. Geralt let out a sigh of relief, he had almost forgotten what it was like to have his senses so sharp.

He would still need to find a mage to make sure this never happened again but with his senses returned he needn't be in as much of a hurry. "C'mon Roach," Geralt guided Roach back to the road leading into Oxenfurt, trying to think of where he might find Jaskier.

He hadn't had to look for long, simply meandering down the street when he heard a commotion ahead. He dismounted and led Roach behind him as he approached the shouting, breaking through the circle of onlookers to see Jaskier and another man arguing.

"Because you're wrong!" Jaskier shouted, waving his arms wildly.

Geralt took in the situation in front of him slowly. Jaskier was flushed, his chest puffing heavily from his ragged breathing. He looked livid, his eyes shooting daggers at the man in front of him.

And the man in front of Jaskier looked… well… a lot like Jaskier. His hair was darker, black instead of brown, but cut in a similar fashion. His eyes were also a brilliant blue though deeper than the bright cornflower of Jaskier's. Unlike Jaskier's clean shaven face, the other man had a full mustache, covering his entire upper lip. That's where the differences seemed to stop, though. Their build was the same, long and lanky yet deceptively strong, they had the same jaw line, the same cheek bones, the same nose. Jaskier had never mentioned family but this must be a brother.

Geralt watched amusedly as the two men taunted each other until finally Jaskier charged forward, clearly ready to attack the other man. Moving swiftly, Geralt put himself between Jaskier and the other man, gripping Jaskier by the shoulders to prevent him from going around Geralt. Jaskier huffed and yanked himself backward, out of Geralt's grip, looking up at the man who had been holding him.

It was clear he hadn't expected Geralt to be standing there when his mouth dropped open in shock. "Geralt! So good of you to stop by. Here, let's get out of here, the riffraff is out of control." Jaskier glared over Geralt's shoulder and grabbed Geralt by the arm, leading Geralt back to Roach.

Geralt followed silently, amusedly listening to Jaskier's grumbling the whole way until they reached a small inn and Jaskier led them upstairs to what must have been his room over winter.

“That bastard!” Jaskier grunted as soon as Geralt had closed the door behind them.

“Hmm.” Geralt watched in silence as Jaskier slammed his things around, seeming to move his bags and clothes for no purpose other than to throw them in irritation.

“Honestly, the bastard had the nerve to insinuate that he is more attractive than I am! Me! As if he isn’t the ugliest cock on the planet. I swear Geralt even the thought someone might find him attractive is horrendous.”

Geralt cocked his head curiously, “Are you two not related?”

Jaskier looked horrified, “Related? To that thing? Gods no.”

Geralt suddenly felt confused, the man was practically Jaskier’s twin. “Jaskier, you look just like him.”

Jaskier gazed at Geralt for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face, before finally he started cackling, laughing so hard he collapsed on the bed behind him.

Geralt was unsure of what was happening.

Finally, Jaskier’s laughter slowed, “Darling,” Jaskier started, still chuckling to himself slightly, “that was the funniest joke you’ve ever made. The idea of I and Valdo Marx looking anything alike is truly, absolutely hilarious. Oh, thank you, Geralt. I needed that laugh. Especially after the winter I’ve had.”

Geralt was still very much confused, positive his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him when he’d seen this Valdo Marx character, and sure that he and Jaskier did in fact look very similar. Deciding to not continue with the matter for the moment, Geralt decided to direct the conversation elsewhere, “And why was your winter so terrible?”

Jaskier threw his arms up dramatically and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, “I was sick! The whole time. As if I had a cold. It started right after we parted and continued all the way until this very morning. All the healers said it just seemed to be my allergies. Honestly, Geralt I think I may have been cursed.”

Geralt froze, frowning at Jaskier’s words. Allergies? All winter. Starting just after the two had parted. Thinking back to the book currently resting in Roach’s saddlebags, Geralt shook his head, silently telling himself it was just an odd coincidence. “Sounds odd, bard. Perhaps you slept with the wrong person and their spouse decided on some petty revenge.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, still staring at the ceiling, “Perhaps. It certainly was petty in that case. I had a sore throat all winter, I was barely able to sing.”

“Hmm”

Jaskier rolled to his side on the bed, staring curiously at Geralt, still standing awkwardly in front of the door, “Well, how was your winter then? And what brings you to Oxenfurt? Did you miss me, you scamp?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the smirk on Jaskier’s face, “Winter was winter, the same as every other year. I’m here looking for a mage or a scholar well versed in curses.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up the way they always did when he was about to get into something, he had no business messing with, “Ohhh what kind of curse.”

“Never you mind.” The last thing Geralt needed was Jaskier learning that Geralt was also sick all winter. He would make a big deal of the coincidence even without knowing what Geralt did.

“Excuse me, Geralt but I mind very much, thank you.”

Geralt remained quiet.

Finally, Jaskier snorted, “Alright well, lucky you, I happen to know a retired professor that specialized in curses and things of the sort. Not a sorceress herself, mind you, but interested in it.”

Jaskier led them through the streets of Oxenfurt, babbling a mile a minute, “She is very old, positively ancient, possibly even older than you. No one is quite sure how she’s still alive, or her actual age for that matter, but as she taught most of the professors that taught my professors, it’s sufficient to say that she’s been around a while. She’s also quite crotchety but she likes my singing so that should help us get some information out of her. What exactly are we asking her about again?”

Leave it to Jaskier to try to wheedle the information out of Geralt after wearing him down with a bit of rambling. Luckily, Geralt had spent nearly a year with the man already and had built up a tolerance to the man’s sneaky ways. “It doesn’t concern you, bard.”

Hopefully.

The very thought that Jaskier could be his… well… no that certainly didn’t make any sense. None whatsoever. Hopefully this wise woman would be able to identify what the problem is, and he could solve it quickly and move on.

And hopefully it would have absolutely nothing to do with Jaskier.

Nothing at all.

And absolutely nothing to do with the absurd idea of soulmates.

Geralt would never be able to give the book to Jaskier. If Geralt had managed to draw the connection then certainly Jaskier would as well, whether Geralt mentioned having the same symptoms during their time apart or not.

Geralt was pulled from his reverie by Jaskier drawing to a halt suddenly and opening his arms, wide, “We have arrived, my dearest witcher.”

The house was small, tucked in between a pawn shop and a sketchy looking apothecary. It was the type of house it was easy to miss, would be overlooked if you weren’t looking for it specifically. Jaskier let himself in the house, not bothering to knock, so Geralt followed quietly, feeling uneasy, though he wasn’t sure why. His medallion wasn’t vibrating and there wasn’t anything particularly strange about the front room of the house, but something didn’t seem quite right.

“Jaskier are you certain we should be here?” Geralt whispered his question, unwilling to disturb any occupants of the house.

Jaskier, however, was not as worried about disturbing anyone and responded loudly, “Of course, Geralt. I’ve a standing invitation.”

Geralt cautiously followed Jaskier further into the house, unsure of what to expect. In the last room of the house there was an old woman, sitting in a chair by a window, knitting quietly. When they entered the room, she glanced up curiously, a small smile on her face as she looked at Jaskier.

“I was wondering when you would come find me with questions.” The woman’s voice was surprisingly deep, hoarse as if she spent her days smoking away at a pipe.

“Were you?” Jaskier asked, shooting Geralt a strange look.

The woman hummed, “Yes. As soon as I saw your symptoms this winter. I’m glad you have been reunited though.”

Geralt felt a shock run through him, she couldn’t possibly mean…

“You know why I was sick?” Jaskier’s voice was higher than usual, sounding incredulous.

“Do you not?”

“No!” Jaskier exclaimed dramatically.

“Ahh..” she stared at Geralt for a moment before looking back at Jaskier, “there’s no need to worry about it. Your witcher will explain everything.”

Jaskier spun around, “Geralt?”

He sighed, suddenly unsure of what to do, “I have everything I needed Jaskier. Let’s go back.”

“Go back? We came here to ask questions about a curse! You didn’t even ask anything. Oh… were we here about my curse? Was I actually cursed?”

“Come along, Jaskier.” Geralt turned on his heel, quickly leaving the house. He heard Jaskier hustling behind him.

Geralt led them back up to Jaskier’s inn room, Jaskier puffing behind him from keeping up with Geralt’s faster than normal stride. “Geralt what is going on?’

Instead of responding, Geralt rifled through his bags and pulled out the book he had previously decided to chuck in a river so Jaskier would never see it. Turning to face Jaskier, Geralt’s heart was racing. He had faced monsters out of nightmares, stared death in the face, but the idea that the contents in this book could be true, the idea that Jaskier could be his soulmate was horrifying.

Holding out the book slowly, Geralt watched warily as Jaskier snatched it from his hands, his eyes roaming over the cover. “Soulmates?”

“I found it at Kaer Morhen and brought it for you, I thought you might like it. But now it might be important.”

Jaskier’s eyes shone brightly, “You brought it because you thought I might like it?”

“Yes.”

“What makes it important now?” Jaskier was looking back at the book, fingers tracing the cover carefully.

Geralt’s heart was pounding in his ears, “Just… read it.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt, concern on his face, “Okay.”

Jaskier crossed the room to sit at the table and opened the book. Geralt stayed motionless, watching as Jaskier eagerly devoured page after page of information he had been so interested in for years. It was clear to Geralt when Jaskier reached the part Geralt was most afraid of. Instead of Jaskier moving on to the next page, Jaskier’s eyes slowly worked their way back to the start of the page and he read the same section again, slower this time.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, his eyes not moving off the page in front of him, “are you telling me that my allergies this winter were because I have a soulmate?”

Geralt grunted, unsure of what to say.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt suddenly, his face wary, “And who exactly is my soulmate in this scenario? Who else had the same symptoms while they were away from me for the length of winter?”

Geralt felt his face reddening, an uncharacteristic blush blooming.

Jaskier stood slowly, placing the book down on the chair as he abandoned it, “Geralt were you sick this winter?”

Geralt nodded.

"Oh." Jaskier sounded breathless.

Geralt didn't know what to say, floundering in the silence. Usually, Jaskier was the one to fill the void, to put words where there was once silence. Instead, Jaskier remained silent for a beat, simply staring at Geralt, before turning back and grabbing the book, returning to his seat. Jaskier opened the book again with shaky hands and once again began reading.

Their breathing and slightly too fast heart beats were the only sounds in the room as Geralt stood motionless, waiting for Jaskier to do something, say something. But Jaskier simply sat, reading studiously, while Geralt waited.

It felt like ages by the time Jaskier closed the book, finally looking back up at Geralt. "Well, if we intend to travel anywhere from each other, I think it would be best to perform the ceremony."

Geralt's heart dropped, "Of course. We'll have to research the proper way to do it, I'm not sure if we'll need a mage."

Jaskier stood from his seat, walking to stand directly in front of Geralt, "Geralt, it says a simple handfasting will suffice."

Geralt didn't understand, a handfasting didn't seem like a practical way to end a soul bond, "A handfasting? To break the bond?"

"Break the bond? Why would we do something silly like that? Do you… not want to be bound to me?"

Bound to Jaskier, their souls intertwined, it sounded nice. But it wasn't realistic, Geralt was a witcher and Jaskier a bard. Clearly their souls couldn't have meant to be linked. "Do I not… Jaskier you can't want this! I'm a witcher. My life is dangerous."

"Well yes but that hasn't stopped me yet, and I don't intend to let it. Besides, the slowed aging will be a big plus for me." Jaskier sounded matter of fact, putting his hands on his hips and staring at Geralt as if it were obvious.

"Slowed aging?"

"Yes Geralt, slowed aging. The book said very clearly that those soul bonded to witchers experienced slowed aging like that of the witcher. Did you not finish the book?"

"I didn't read it." Maybe he should have read through the book, to understand more about what was going on, more about his bond with Jaskier. Geralt hadn’t felt so out of his depth in a long time.

Jaskier sounded incredibly unimpressed when he responded, "You didn't read… any of it?"

"No."

Jaskier whined, "Geralt. You suspected we could be soulmates and you didn't even read the book?"

Of course he hadn’t expected that! The very idea that they could be soulmates was ridiculous. He hadn’t even considered it to be an option. "No! I brought the book because I thought you would like it. I didn't think that was what was wrong with me. I didn't know you were sick."

Jaskier was silent, his face contemplative as he stared at Geralt. His response was so quiet, Geralt was unsure he would have heard it without his enhanced hearing, "Is it… really so awful of an idea? Being my soulmate?"

It wasn’t an awful idea at all, it was… nice actually. But that didn’t mean it was right, it couldn’t possibly be. Jaskier didn’t deserve to be stuck with a witcher for the rest of his life, "No, Jaskier… it just… it can't be right. I can't be bound to someone like you and you shouldn't be stuck with someone like me."

“Well, I stuck myself to you long before we knew about this soul bond business, so I don’t see what’s so different. Unless you wish to be rid of me.” The last sentence was hushed, like Jaskier hadn’t even wanted to say it.

When Jaskier had first started following Geralt, the witcher had definitely wanted rid of him. He was loud and annoying and impractical. He caused chaos everywhere he went, rarely thought of his actions before making a decision, and always managed to put himself directly in harm's way. But the bard had grown on Geralt. Every time he started a tavern fight out of righteous anger on Geralt’s behalf or talked down an alderman trying to short Geralt his owed coin, or ran headfirst into danger to foolishly protect Geralt, Geralt felt a bit more fond of Jaskier. And considering how often Jaskier did all of those things, Geralt was fit to burst with his fondness for the man.

Geralt rubbed a hand over his eyes, “No, I don’t… wish to be rid of you. But Jaskier, you can’t know what you’re agreeing to. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. My path doesn’t need to be yours.”

Jaskier’s body language screamed how indignant he felt at Geralt’s statement, “But I want it to be! I wanted to walk The Path with you last year and I haven’t changed my mind.”

Even if Jaskier meant it, and never changed his mind, he didn’t know if he would ever be what Jaskier wanted. Jaskier was young and the idea of grand love thanks to a soul bond must sound enticing, but that wasn’t Geralt. Witchers weren’t supposed to feel, it was dangerous, made them weak. Jaskier deserved that grand love but Geralt couldn’t be sure he could ever give that, “Jaskier… I’m not… I don’t know how to be in a relationship. I’m not sure I ever will… be able to be that for you.”

Jaskier’s face softened and he reached out to take hold of Geralt’s hands, “I like you just as you are, Geralt. We can figure out everything else as we go.”

Geralt felt something in him break. He wanted to be stronger, strong enough to turn Jaskier away, for his own good, but more than that he wanted to be loved. “Are you sure you want this?” Geralt’s voice cracked as he asked, one final time, simultaneously hoping Jaskier would say no, but dreading the idea of losing the bard.

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hands, “Do you?”

“Travelling with you last year was… different. It was good… to share The Path with someone. With you.” Geralt had never felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, staring into Jaskier’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve spent with you for the world, and I want to keep spending time with you.” Jaskier hesitated, “If you’ll let me.”

“We… will have to get handfasted then? If we don’t break the bond?” Geralt really needed to read that book.

Jaskier nodded, “Yes, either that or never separate from each other.”

An outward sign of the bond the two shared… Geralt liked the idea, “I think… that handfasting would be okay.”

“Just okay?”

“It would be… nice. I suppose.”

Jaskier chuckled at Geralt’s response, “When should we do it? We could go now if you wanted?”

They could go right then, there was sure to be someone in Oxenfurt, probably many someones, that knew how to perform the ceremony, but it didn’t feel right. “Could we… wait for winter?”

Jaskier furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side, “I mean… we can. We would have to be careful about parting through the year though.”

It was impractical, Geralt knew, but it was something he never thought he would experience. And he wanted to do it at Kaer Morhen, “Just… I think I would like Vesemir to be there. And Eskel and Lambert.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand reassuringly, “Okay. May I ask who they are?”

“They’re my… family. Fellow witchers. We winter together.”

Suddenly Jaskier’s eyes were filled with tears and Geralt was worried he had done something wrong.

“Oh. Yes, that would be lovely, I think.” Jaskier finally responded, his voice thick like he was trying not to cry.

“Really?”

Jaskier nodded and pulled his hands from Geralt’s, instead drawing him into a tight hug, “Yes, darling. Really.”

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