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

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In the Dead of Night

Title taken from the same Judas Priest song as before, “Love Bites.”

tw: horny (duh), blood mention, consensual blood drinking, consensual mind reading, consensual mind control, dom/sub undertones but only vaguely

the mind control does not occur during the smutty bits, by the way. that shit is foreplay only and it is discussed at length by both parties (I just wanted to play with Dracula’s fun powers and also as someone said in my AO3 comments: “THRALL SEX! THRALL SEX!”).

THIS IS A SMUT, 18+ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

top!Jaskier, bottom!Geralt

please comment I am fucking begging you

---

“Geralt,” the silky voice called out to him. It echoed off the castle walls, pulling the lawyer deeper into a state languid, misty stupor. “Come to me, my love. Come to me, Geralt.”

The solicitor, whose mind was still half-convinced this was a dream, found his body moving of its own accord. He rose mechanically from the bed and crossed the enormous guest room, not even stopping to pull on his slippers or dressing gown as he should have. Nor did he brush his hair back into place; it hung in a loose white curtain, framing his eyes and jaw rather romantically.

Geralt stumbled through the keep like a drunken marionette, tied and tangled in the strings of some clever puppet-master. The drawling voice told him to turn left towards the Count’s set of private rooms, so he did. His bare feet didn’t even register the usually freezing temperature of Castle Dracula’s cold stone floors. His skin was aflame with goosebumps but not a single one had resulted from the chilly temperature.

“Geralt,” the voice purred. The sleepwalker’s pace sped up as he neared the heavy oak door that led to his employer’s bedchamber, “I am waiting for you, my pet, and I am growing impatient.”

---

“Are you completely and totally sure, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, worrying his lip between his sharp, sharp teeth. Geralt nodded and tried his best to look away from his lover’s gorgeous mouth. It wasn’t working. “Oh...Oh yes. I suppose you’re quite sure.”

“How can you tell?” the solicitor asked, quirking a curious eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction. The vampire gestured as he spoke, trying to work out some of his fizzling energy as he explained his powers.

“Uhm, right. I should probably explain. I can read minds, you see. Telepathy was gifted to me along with the immortality, the odd sleeping hours, and the lust for drinking human blood. I am also an incredibly fast healer, I can turn into a bat, and I can walk up and down walls as easily as if they were floors.”

“Impressive,” Geralt smirked. “Care to demonstrate, Your Grace?”

“Perhaps at a later date; I’m not in the mood for party tricks just now. Not after what you just told me and what I just saw going through your pretty white lawyer-jargon-filled head.”

“So you can read my thoughts as clear as day, then?”

“Yes, but I don’t make a habit of doing it regularly. I only peeked in just now because your line of questioning had me in a bundle of nerves.”

“Going to bed with me makes you nervous?”

“I very much enjoy our tender nights of lovemaking together, Geralt,” the vampire admonished teasingly. He was trying to lighten the mood, to fully process his recently acquired lover’s peculiar request. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to suddenly change your mind or feel unsure going into things and only continue for my sake. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you woke up one morning and feared me for being the monster I truly am.”

“You are no monster,” Geralt asserted, catching Jaskier’s flighty hands in both of his and holding them tightly. He squeezed his fingers and smiled encouragingly when Jaskier squeezed back. “And aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one, coming to you with something of this nature and speaking of it in plain terms? I’m mortified.”

“I just don’t want you to be afraid of me, Geralt.”

The human cocked his head to the side and smiled, the deep blush that had accompanied his earlier request still darkened the apples of his cheeks. His open expression was so trusting and endearing that Jaskier’s heart would have broken if it were still beating. “I could never be afraid of you, Your Grace.”

“Do I have your permission to read through your expectations of this, should we attempt it?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Whatever pleases you best, Your Grace.”

“That’s cheating, darling. You know how it boils my blood when you call me that,” the vampire growled.

They’d fallen back into the pillows after that but the deal had been struck: some night when Geralt wasn’t expecting it, when he was fast asleep, Jaskier would bring his lover under his thrall. He would command Geralt’s every movement, keeping careful tabs on his mind so that no wrong moves were made and no damage was done. He cared too much for the mortal’s safety to risk anything.

But the mortal had learned that it was very hard for Jaskier to deny him anything, especially when it came to adventurous and lusty bedroom games.

---

Geralt pushed the door open and approached the bed, where Jaskier was reclined comfortably against a mound of pillows. His ankles were delicately crossed and he was draped in a long, flowing white silk night shirt. His fangs were already fully extended and his irises were glowing crimson in the dim light of a few lit candles.

“Kneel,” Jaskier ordered. Geralt dropped to his knees, unconsciously grateful for the pillow that his employer and lover had set out in preparation. The Count slid from the bed and approached his prey, breathing the heady scent of a lustful, eager human. It was a warm, earthy scent and it tickled him greatly to know that Geralt felt it all for him. Only for him.

For Count Dracula, the terror of Redania.

One of the immortal’s cold, calloused fingertips slid down the side of Geralt’s jaw and the solicitor shuddered instinctively, thrusting his chest forward and turning his face to the left to better reveal the pale, unmarked column of his throat. The Count released a feral growl and fisted his hands into Geralt’s hair. He tugged his head back, forcing the younger man to arch even further forward and breathe even more shallowly than before. All Jaskier could hear in the mortal’s mind, even beneath the fog of his vampiric thrall, was: Yes! Yes! More. Yes!

It was very encouraging. He kissed a torturously slow line of tooth-heavy kisses up and down the soft skin and refused to let the mortal give in to his urge to write. He forced Geralt to stay perfectly still as he laved his throat and Adam’s apple with his teeth and tongue.

He whined, low and long, and the Count released him to step back.

“Greedy thing,” the vampire chuckled. The sound was low and ominous; it reverberated dangerously through Geralt’s chest and forced a whine from his throat, his eyes still trained on the Count. The solicitor could not force himself to move an inch as he awaited further instructions from his Master. Finally, after a nearly painful length of silence, Jaskier murmured, “Disrobe for me, pet.”

Geralt’s fingers flew to the collar of his nightshirt, tugging the buttons apart haphazardly in his rush to bare himself before his Count. His Jaskier. His Master. The vampire placed his hands over the mortal’s and tutted in disappointment. The sound had Geralt reeling, groaning in utter confusion as he went limp beneath his lover’s ministrations.

“Slower, my darling. Put on a show for me. You’re so pretty, Geralt, and I’d like it if you remembered that. Unwrap yourself like a present, wouldn’t you?”

The white-haired human flushed a charming shade of pink and ducked his head. Jaskier removed his hands and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He watched with obvious arousal as Geralt slowly unhooked each shiny black button, drawing the material aside to reveal the planes of his broad, lightly-furred chest. He slowly slipped the offending article over his head and discarded it to the side. Then he paused, waiting once again for the vampire to give him a command.

“Pants off, too. I’d like you bare, my pet.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What does it feel like to be enthralled by your love, Geralt? Do you regret letting me be your Master?”

“I regret nothing, Your Grace. Being yours like this...it feels as if my mind is far away and yet everything I touch is very close. If your skin brushes against mine unintentionally I fear that I shall fly apart; yet I’ve never wanted to be touched more desperately in my life.”

“Hmm. That is an interesting way to put it. Now, my love, come lay with me and let me touch you as you so desire.”

“As it pleases you, Your Grace.”

“Even bent to obey my every whim without question you are no less accommodating, my dear.”

Jaskier straddled Geralt as soon as the mortal had laid himself down. He shucked off his own silk nightshirt in the process, tossing it off into the darkness as if it wasn’t worth more than Geralt’s weight in gold. The Count ran his frigid hands down Geralt’s firm arms, clasping his hands and pulling them slowly, teasingly over his head.

“How strange it must be to know that I will not tie you down and yet you will not be able to move from this position without my order to do so,” the vampire whispered against the shell of his lover’s ear. Geralt moaned and tossed his head back, baring his throat once again. The human was practically screaming his thoughts at Jaskier: Bite me! Feed from me! Take from me and make me yours, Your Grace. My handsome Count. My love!

The Count wrapped himself around his lovely, willing victim and eagerly acquiesced.

---

“Fuck!” Geralt cried. He was sure that every nerve ending in his body was screaming in wave after wave of unstoppable ecstasy.

Jaskier was everywhere. The Count had released the hold of his thrall as soon as he’d bitten into the side of Geralt’s throat. Now there was nothing standing between Geralt and all of the wonderful sensations his lover was inflicting upon him. The rhythmic movements of Jaskier’s hips as the vampire fucked him firmly down into the mattress, the heaving of his breath in his slow human lungs, the little white flyaways that were stuck to his forehead with sweat; even the way his hands were buried fiercely in the vampire’s soft chestnut hair seemed to only further drive Geralt mad with lust.

There were warring sparks of arousal and heat shooting between the spot in his neck where Jaskier’s teeth were buried and the spot in his ass where Jaskier’s glorious cock was buried. The Count was an expert at mind reading and at lovemaking. He played Geralt like Geralt had seen him once play the lute and the harp. His fingers were expert, flicking at his nipples and pulling at his hair at just the right moments.

The young solicitor was nothing more than a moaning, writhing symphony and Jaskier was his wicked, brilliant composer. He sang at his Master’s order, grunting and sighing whenever one of the Count’s expert thrusts hit his prostate. It was even better knowing that every slam of Jaskier’s hips was matched by a strong pull of blood as the vampire drank from him. To know that he was pleasuring His Grace in so many ways at once brought the human to the height of joy. He mumbled a long series of wordless, gibberish thanks and let the Count drain him of his life force.

“I can keep going all night,” the vampire warned, removing his teeth from his quarry only long enough to speak. “I could drive you mad like this, Geralt. Would you like that? Would you enjoy spending your life under my spell, warming my bed and slaking my immortal lusts? Would you like it if I laid you out on a pretty velvet dais during the day and gave you endless books to read? Would you be content if I had you dressed and bathed for me by your own set of servants every night and delivered to my bed when the sun finally disappears?”

“Your Grace! Please!”

Geralt didn’t know if he was begging for it or trying to plead against it; perhaps both or perhaps neither. Perhaps he was merely begging for Jaskier to put his fangs back in his straining, yearning neck. But the Count wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“Please, you say? Does that idea appeal to you, my pet? Would you like being looked after and taken care of and tenderly worshiped from now until your dying day?”

“Jaskier!” the mortal solicitor cried, clenching tightly around the vampire and forcing the immortal’s breath from his lungs. “Keep me forever, do not let me leave your side, Your Grace! Please!”

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m-” he cut himself off by sinking his canines back into his lover’s pale arteries and sucking in one last deep gulp of sparkling ruby nectar.

“Yes! Your Grace!”

They fell over the precipice together, tumbling through empty, breathless air as they came. The feeling of Jaskier’s fangs in his neck had finally given Geralt the perfect amount of stimulation to climax, messing both his own chest and part of Jaskier’s with sticky spend. Since the Count had been monitoring Geralt’s thoughts the entire time they were coupling, hell bent on making sure he was enjoying himself, Geralt’s climax sent Jaskier headfirst into his own shuddering finish. “Fuck! My love!”

“Jaskier!” ---

“You’re a marvel, my darling,” the Count insisted, forcing Geralt to take another sip of sweet red wine. He slipped a piece of sweet bread with jam into the mortal’s mouth shortly thereafter. “I am so lucky to have had you delivered right to my doorstep, ready and willing to fall under my evil spell.”

“You’re still not frightening me,” the solicitor replied. “I went to law school; you’re almost tame.”

“For that remark you shall be severely punished.”

Geralt rolled over in Jaskier’s lap and wiggled his ass playfully. “Oh no, Your Grace. Anything but that.”

“Get back here and finish your wine, pet.”

Geralt returned to his previous position and Jaskier ran a hand through his snow-white locks. “May I get dressed yet, Your Grace?”

“Not if you keep calling me that. If you insist on flaunting my title then I may never let you see a stitch of clothing again.”

Geralt blushed and Jaskier’s eyes widened as the mortal’s thought passed through the veil into his own mind. The Count laughed and fed Geralt a bite of bread.

“You’re an absolutely filthy little minx, pet. I’m going to keep you forever.”

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kirk-spock-in-the-impala · 4 years ago

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Follow You Down (15 of 15)

CHAPTER 15: VESEMIR (Part Three)

CW: Mentions of the past death of a child; mentions of the sacking of Kaer Morhen

ON AO3 HERE; approximately 11,500 words under the cut.

As winter deepened its hold the keep, the pace of work within it slowed. With the major structural repairs and food preservation tasks completed, the witchers focused on the smaller tasks that would prepare them for the season to come. As blizzards whipped snow into high drifts and ice coated the windows, Kaer Morhen’s inhabitants tucked in by the fire, assembling bombs, grinding potion ingredients, repairing armor, and carefully weaving together thick, sturdy fabric to sew replacement tunics and trousers. There was also always laundry and cleaning to be done, tasks divided between the younger witchers and Jaskier, but Vesemir kept strict control over the cooking, allowing assistance only on occasion and never from Lambert.

As the longest nights passed by and the days started to lengthen again, Vesemir and Geralt resumed their usual tasks together in the library, inspecting the ancient tomes for mold and booklice, rebinding crumbling spines, and updating bestiaries with that season’s new knowledge. They worked in silence together in the quiet library, sitting beneath the window at opposite sides of the heavy worktable. Each day brought a greater sense of normalcy and Geralt started to truly believe the progress he had made with Vesemir would stick.

Over the past weeks, Geralt had noticed how closely Vesemir observed them when he knelt for one of his brothers or for Jaskier, how he never moved to participate but also how he never objected either. He wanted to have that with Vesemir as well, the simple comfort of being wholly himself in front of his family. He had a feeling Vesemir needed it too. He had an even stronger feeling that Vesemir would never ask for it.

One day in the library, Geralt resolved to make the first move.

Slowly, quietly, Geralt rose from his seat and closed the bestiary he’d been updating, tucking it under his arm, his quill and inkpot held carefully in his other hand. Vesemir looked up at him questioningly, it was far too early for them to break for the day, and he almost lost his resolve and returned to his seat. But he steeled himself and stepped to Vesemir’s side, sinking down to his knees on the threadbare rug and leaning against the arm of Vesemir’s wooden chair.

Vesemir froze.

Geralt forced himself to project an air of nonchalance, strictly controlling his breathing and heartrate. He wouldn’t give Vesemir any reason to think he was afraid. And, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t. He was afraid of Vesemir’s rejection, not of Vesemir himself. Even the many times he had been strapped to the wooden cross, the cat-o-nine-tails singing in Vesemir’s hand, he’d been afraid of the whip, of the agony to come, but never of Vesemir. Even through the fog of pain and forced drop, he could tell Vesemir got no enjoyment out of it -- he had smelled far more of resigned despair than of bloodlust.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, Geralt reached out and dragged his chair over, wooden legs scraping on the stone, then lay the bestiary and inkwell on it, and took back up his quill to return to his task. For a long moment, the only sound in the library was the scratch of Geralt’s quill on ancient vellum. Geralt couldn’t even hear Vesemir breathe, but he did hear his heart pounding in his chest, far faster than a witcher’s normal sedate pace.

Geralt kept working as if nothing had changed and Vesemir gradually, tentatively, reanimated, his breath starting again with a quiet gasp and his fingers trembling as they turned the pages of the quarto before him, inspecting each page for damage.

They stayed that way until the shadows stretched across the room and the stone walls glowed red from the sunset.

“Time for me to start making dinner.” Vesemir said, breaking the silence for the first time. “Finish checking the quarto and then join me.”

“Yes, Vesemir.” Geralt said, rising and placing his book and inkwell back on the table. He had made good progress with his updates and would likely finish tomorrow.

Vesemir stood and headed out of the room, pausing as he reached the door, his hand on the pull. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. This time, it was Geralt whose breath froze in his chest.

Vesemir cleared his throat and spoke to the door. “Tomorrow, bring a cushion.”

Geralt’s breath unlocked and a smile spread across his face as he watched Vesemir leave. He stood there for a moment, letting the relief wash over him, before shaking himself and taking Vesemir’s seat to inspect the rest of the quarto.

-------------------------------

On a rare, warm day, a preview of the spring to come after the last, dragging weeks of winter finally passed, Vesemir roused his wolves to spar, instructing them to clear the courtyard and prepare to practice their skills. While they ran through their footwork and sword patterns indoors throughout the winter, in a spot in the main hall set aside solely for that purpose, true sparring could only happen outdoors. They were not about to waste the opportunity.

Eager to stretch their legs and burn off energy, the three young witchers jumped to the task, burning away the snow and ice with controlled blasts of Aard and Igni, sweeping away the resulting water before it could freeze again. Vesemir and Jaskier observed from a distance, cradling mugs of warm ale.

When the inner courtyard was clear, the three men stripped off their tunics, leaving them bare to the waist, vibrant sleeve tattoos on full display. Unlike Geralt, whose arm was fully covered in intricate runic tattoos and marred by burn scars, his submissive’s cuff rendered completely invisible, the Dominant stripes on his brothers’ arms were given pride of place at the center of their tattoos, the complex runic weaving surrounding them serving to highlight rather than to hide.

As he studied them, Jaskier was suddenly struck by the physical differences between Geralt and his Dominant brothers, made only more obvious without the padding of winter tunics. Together like this, no one could mistake Geralt for anything but a submissive. While he was massive compared to the average man, especially in terms of his musculature, he was markedly leaner and lither than his brothers, both the shortest of the three, though not by much, and decidedly the least broad. Eskel was built like a bear, thick, heavy muscles bulking out his colossal frame and Lambert, though more compact than Eskel, also cut an impressively large figure. If Geralt stood behind either one, he would be completely hidden from sight.

Jaskier’s realization must have shown on his face because Vesemir commented on his train of thought.

“We suspected he was a submissive before he ever presented.” Vesemir said quietly, watching the three as they stretched and warmed up, Geralt first braiding back his long, white hair. “He always was smaller and lighter than the rest of them.”

“Did you train him any differently because of that?” Jaskier asked, careful to phrase the question delicately. The chance to observe Vesemir all winter, especially the way he cared for his wolves, had cooled Jaskier’s ire and he wanted to give Vesemir a fair chance to show his true character.

Vesemir hummed, considering the question. Geralt had clearly picked up that habit from him. “Yes and no.” He said finally. “The basic training for all witcher trainees was the same. We never bothered to train to each boy’s particular strengths and weaknesses until after they completed the first Trial.”

Jaskier drew in a sharp breath but Vesemir pressed on. It was common knowledge that most boys died in the Trial of the Grasses, and that even more fell in the two subsequent Trials over the following years.

“But once a young witcher reached the more advanced stages of training, we tailored each boy’s program to capitalize on their strengths and shore up their weaknesses.” Vesemir explained. “Eskel is strong magically, so we had a mage tutor him to maximize his potential power, but he struggled with ranged weapons and needed extra training with our archery instructor. By contrast, Lambert excels with ranged weapons, so we taught him how to create an advantage in battle by striking first from a distance, but he needed extra work controlling his temper in hand-to-hand combat.”

“And Geralt?”

“Geralt is our best swordsman by far. Because he’s smaller and lighter, he’s more flexible and able to execute moves in a smaller space than the others. Makes him quick as anything.” Vesemir said. “And after he went through the additional round of experimental Trials, his weaknesses disappeared. As to his fighting ability at least. He was still vulnerable to a Dominant’s Voice, so I worked with him to learn to resist it.”

“Why you, specifically?” Jaskier asked.

“Because I was the only one who truly wanted him to survive on the Path.” Vesemir said bluntly.

Jaskier blanched, turning fully to face Vesemir. He moved to question Vesemir, but Vesemir spoke before he could.

“There had never before been a submissive witcher. We trained every boy who came to the keep, and some were submissives, but no submissive had ever before survived the Trial of the Grasses. The other trainers thought the effort put into him was wasted, that he would fall to any Dominant he encountered.” Vesemir said, face pinched at the memory. “But that boy wouldn’t give in, he just kept excelling. But even after he survived the experimental Trials, the other trainers didn’t believe he would survive the Path. Figured he was a proof of concept, a way to show the experimental Trials could be added successfully to the program, but that was it. Didn’t think he was worth the effort of any specialized training.”

“But if you put in all that extra effort to train him to resist a Dominant’s Voice, why were you so afraid he would still fall under a Dominant’s thrall?” Jaskier asked pointedly, raising a question he’d long carried and knew Geralt couldn’t answer.

“Because we could never field test it. In the end, he was able to resist all the Dominants in the keep, at least under testing conditions, but I knew there were stronger, more malicious Dominants out there, ones who would truly wish him harm. The other trainers were indifferent to his fate, but they didn’t actively seek to kill him. A Dominant monster, or a human seeking to conquer a witcher, would have such an intent. That gives power to a Dominant’s Voice in a way we couldn’t replicate.” Vesemir said, heavy with regret.

“So, you couldn’t be sure it would work outside these walls. That’s why you warned him to keep his designation a secret. It was to protect him.” Jaskier said, completing the thought.

Vesemir nodded. “The secrecy was my idea. Although we encouraged our Dominant witchers to fulfill their needs in brothels, going so far as to provide training in how to engage safely with a fragile, human submissive, I thought it was better to take care of Geralt in-house, where it was safe for him to drop, rather than to risk him getting killed -- or worse, compelled to act as a weapon -- by some unscrupulous Dominant on the outside.”

“But why prevent Eskel and Lambert from helping him? Didn’t they used to guide him down when they were children together?” Jaskier asked, voicing the question that Geralt would never dare ask for fear of sowing discord between Vesemir and his brothers.

Vesemir sighed, suddenly seeming old in a way he never had before, despite his over four centuries of life, his gaze resting heavily on Geralt’s back where the thick scars were on full display as he stretched.

“When I learned to guide a submissive down, the only known ways to do it were to fuck them or to beat them, having the submissive count the strikes to induce the drop. That’s what we taught our trainees, though we instructed them to only use the sexual method and only in brothels or with truly willing partners. We would, on occasion, seek guidance from the Madame in the brothel in the village below the keep, but each time our understanding was confirmed – the sexual method was the only way for a witcher to drop one of their submissives.” Vesemir said, staring off into the middle distance, lost in the memories. “I saw what Eskel and Lambert did with Geralt, but it was the actions of children, insufficient to drop him fully and far from enough to fulfill his biological needs once he matured. And so, once they were older, I stopped it. Their brotherly bond was strong, and I didn’t want it damaged, not when I thought I could take care of Geralt’s needs myself.”

Jaskier frowned, considering Vesemir’s words. It painted a tragic picture of fear, sacrifice, and hurt, drawn out over decades. Vesemir had been convinced there was no gentle, familial way to drop a submissive and, not wanting to risk Geralt falling to harm out on the Path, had insisted he only drop in the safety of Kaer Morhen. Because of the brutality of the act, Vesemir had taken it upon himself, unwilling to share the burden with Geralt’s brothers.

It was as misguided as it was well-intentioned. It didn’t erase the damage done to Geralt, nothing could, but Jaskier felt most of his anger fade away, replaced by a reluctant confidence that Vesemir would never revert to his old patterns of behavior. That Geralt’s choice to reconcile with Vesemir would not cause him further harm now that they had both seen the damage caused by the system in which they were each raised.

Vesemir must have seen the understanding on his face because he turned away, expression tight, and fixed his attention on the training.

“Boys! Specialized exercises first, then we’ll spar.” Vesemir called out. Three heads snapped up, jarred out of their eavesdropping on Jaskier and Vesemir’s conversation, and they each nodded, turning to attend to their tasks. Lambert jogged over to the targets and collected a cross bow. Eskel moved into a wide-open space and started to practice his signs, showing off his exquisite control as he used Igni to form intricate patterns of fire in the air.

Geralt hopped up on the pendulum, taking a practice sword in hand and tying a cloth around his eyes before starting the mechanism, sending the three pendulums swinging over the pillars below. With a deep breath, Geralt leapt past the first pendulum, twisting in the air to deliver a blow to the strike pad before landing neatly on one foot on the pillar beyond, then dropping flat to avoid a strike from the second pendulum. His heart pounded in his chest as his blood lit, the familiar exercise lifting his spirits and loosening his muscles, tightened after the long weeks spent locked indoors. He could feel Jaskier’s gaze on him and threw in some extra fancy footwork, reveling in each gasp of awe he drew out.

After hearing Vesemir’s explanation, prompted by Jaskier, he felt light in a way he never had before, as if slotting in those missing pieces allowed him to finally, truly accept that that part of his life was over. That a new, better pattern, one in which they were able to fulfill each other’s needs safely and gently, was truly possible.

Geralt could hear Jaskier and Vesemir’s conversation continue as he ran through his exercises, but he let the words flow through his mind unheard, focusing instead on the elation of his physical prowess, letting his body drive all thought from his mind. He’d already heard what he needed to hear.

“I see what you mean.” Jaskier said to Vesemir, amazement in his voice. “I knew he was a skilled swordsman, but I’ve never seen him move like this. Usually, I’m either too far from the fight to see it any detail or I’m more concerned with his potential imminent death than his footwork.”

Vesemir huffed. From another man, it might have been a laugh. “He’s showing off. Flashy and acrobatic, but not much good in a real fight. As a youngster, I had to work with him to focus his strength in his blows, rather than just flitting about.”

They watched Geralt spar with the pendulums for a long moment, each lost in thought.

“I’m starting to understand why Geralt insisted on reconciling with you, despite the harm you caused him.” Jaskier said, breaking the silence.

“I don’t deserve his forgiveness. My ignorance was no excuse for my actions.” Vesemir said flatly, turning away.

Jaskier was struck then by how similar Vesemir and Geralt truly were. They each lived driven by the need to care for others and didn’t believe their errors in judgment, whether inconsequential or profoundly damaging, could ever deserve to be forgiven. He knew the guilt for his actions would never leave Vesemir, and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to believe it should, but he knew that guilt didn’t have to define their future relationship if Vesemir repented and changed his ways. If he directed the love and protectiveness that had driven him to act as he did into more positive and constructive means.

“I understand why you handled Geralt’s needs as you did.” Jaskier said. “You were trying to protect him in the best way you knew.”

“That doesn’t absolve me.” Vesemir said firmly, jaw clenching.

“No, it doesn’t.” Jaskier said, firmly but not unkindly. “But it means you can change. He has centuries of life left and I will only be around for part of that.” Jaskier turned and forced Vesemir to meet his gaze. “And I am trusting you, and his brothers, to care for him when I am gone.”

Vesemir nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. He considered him for a long moment before his posture eased, some of the long-held tension slipping away. “We will.” Vesemir said finally. “We have learned much from you this winter.”

“I trust you won’t forget it.” Jaskier said, eyes hard.

“He will never find pain at my hands again.” Vesemir vowed. “I do not yet know what else I can offer him, but that, at least, I am certain of.”

Jaskier found nothing but truth and repentance in Vesemir’s expression. He smiled and stepped back, breaking the moment. The air between them cleared and lightened.

Vesemir gave a sharp nod and strode forward, giving a sharp whistle to draw the other three witchers’ attention back to him.

“Form up!” He called out. Eskel and Lambert jogged over and Geralt executed one last twisting flip off the pendulum and onto the ground, tucking the blindfold back in his pocket and returning the wooden sword to its hook before shutting off the pendulum’s mechanism and coming over to join his brothers.

“We’ll start with one-on-one matches. I expect to see clean hits and good footwork. Signs are allowed but the matches will be bare-handed. Eskel and Geralt will fight first, then Lambert will face the winner. Matches are to the yield.” Vesemir instructed.

Geralt and Eskel stepped forward, facing each other. Lambert stepped back beside Jaskier.

“This will be a show. Geralt boings about and Eskel barely moves, the lug.” Lambert said under his breath to Jaskier.

Vesemir reached around Jaskier to cuff Lambert gently on the back of the head. “Watch and learn, boy. Your footwork could benefit from Geralt’s tutelage.”

Lambert scoffed but subsided, watching the match with an intent that belied his relaxed posture.

With a nod from Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel leapt toward each other, Geralt pirouetting around Eskel’s Aard blast and using his centrifugal force to aim a high kick at Eskel’s back. Eskel dropped into a crouch, avoiding the blow and raising a Quen shield. Geralt let his leg complete the kick, blending the force of the miss into a one-handed front flip, landing and rolling away from the exploding force of Eskel’s shield. Eskel rushed him, casting a quick Axii to disorient Geralt and landing an open-handed blow to the side of his head, stunning him and sending him careening off to the left in an uncontrolled tumble.

Geralt’s back smacked into the outer wall and knocked him out of his daze. With a firm shake of his head, he sprang to his feet, scowling at Eskel.

“That hurt, asshole!” Geralt growled at him, rubbing the side of his head.

Eskel grinned, crooking one finger at Geralt in challenge.

“Don’t get distracted by his Signs, Geralt!” Vesemir instructed. “He’s been dropping you with that move since you were children!”

Geralt’s scowl deepened and he charged forward at Eskel, dropping into a rolling dodge just as he got within range, springing up off his hands and twisting to land right behind Eskel, striking out to kick his legs out from under him. Eskel turned away from Geralt’s hit, deflecting some of the force. He stumbled, but kept his feet, pressing a Yrden trap into the ground to slow Geralt’s quick movements. Eskel knew he couldn’t match Geralt’s speed, and in a Sign-free fight, he would always lose, but he was a strategist and a powerful mage in his own right and used that to his advantage.

Geralt grit his teeth, roaring out a noise of pure frustration as he fought Yrden’s hold. Eskel went for another open-handed hit and this time Geralt dodged, dropping flat to his belly and log rolling out of the range of Yrden’s trap, casting a powerful blast of Igni before he regained his feet. With his own movements slowed by the trap he stood within, Eskel couldn’t raise a shield in time and barely managed to raise his arms to protect his face from the flames. As this was a spar, the blast was quick and weak, designed to strike but not to injure.

Lambert tossed a bucket of ice-cold water on Eskel nonetheless. Eskel stood there, smoking and soaked, staring at Geralt with a furious expression. Geralt was utterly unrepentant, high on his successful hit. They were tied now, one good hit each.

Geralt gave Eskel a mocking bow, then took his ready position, crooking one finger at Eskel in a return challenge.

Eskel shook his head sharply to clear the water and strode forward slowly, arms raised in defense. Ice cracked along the courtyard walls and they sprung at each other, clashing in the middle, Geralt’s striking blow against Eskel’s block. Eskel was stronger and forced Geralt back, following with a kick that Geralt ducked under, snaking under Eskel’s defense to land a hard upper-cut blow to his chin. Eskel staggered back but recovered quickly, sinking into a solid stance and blasting Geralt with a short-range Aard. The blast threw Geralt back and he barely managed to twist in the air before he hit the wall again, this time feet first, and pushed off it land just outside Eskel’s strike zone.

Geralt stepped in quickly, feinting with a right hook before turning the dodged blow into a hard, spinning kick. Eskel blocked it with Quen and Geralt pirouetted out of range of shield’s exploding blast, casting an Aard blast of his own up into Eskel’s chest, lunging forward when he staggered and stopping short with the blade of his hand pressed into Eskel’s throat. If he’d followed through, the blow would have crushed Eskel’s windpipe.

Eskel huffed but dropped his guard. “I yield.”

Geralt grinned, thrilled with his victory. Battles against Eskel were hard-fought and he won and lost in equal measure. They knew each other well and, as a battle pair, were unstoppable.

Eskel reached out to draw Geralt into a one-armed embrace, ruffling his hair and laughing when Geralt flailed in protest. “Your victory this time, little brother.”

“You’re getting slow, old man.” Geralt teased, dodging out of the way of a cuff with a laugh.

Geralt strode up to face Lambert, bowing in a mockery of a duelist’s bow. “Are you ready for our promised bout?” Geralt asked, reminding Lambert of their promise in Vizima.

“About fucking time.” Lambert said, brushing past Geralt with a hard knock to his shoulder. He took Eskel’s old spot and stood ready to face Geralt.

Geralt rolled his eyes but followed, taking his position opposite Lambert. They both looked to Vesemir for the signal.

“No Signs for this match.” Vesemir instructed. “Lambert, focus on your footwork. And mind your temper!”

“I’m not a child anymore, Vesemir!” Lambert protested. “You don’t need to tell me what to do!”

“I’ll stop telling you when the lesson starts sticking.” Vesemir said, arching a stern eyebrow.

Lambert scowled, turning back to Geralt with a huff. “Don’t you start!” He said sharply when Geralt fought to keep a straight face.

“Do your best, Lambert! It’s your epic battle ‘on the fields of your youth’!” Jaskier called out, teasing Lambert for the overly flowery language he’d used to challenge Geralt back in Vizima.

Lambert tossed him an obscene gesture and took up his stance. He had yet to win a bout against Geralt hand-to-hand, but he got better every year and Geralt needed to focus. He assumed his own stance, mirroring Lambert’s pose, and took a deep breath, narrowing his focus to the task at hand.

At Vesemir’s nod, Lambert surged forward, dropping low and striking high and hard, forcing Geralt to twist out of the way. Like Eskel, Lambert had the advantage of size and strength, though the margin was smaller with him, and Geralt couldn’t afford to take a strong blow head-on. The trick with Lambert was to get his temper up. When he was angry, he was careless, and that's why he’d yet to win against Geralt.

Before Lambert could recover from the miss, Geralt spun behind him, poking his shoulder as he went by. Lambert twisted toward him with a snarl and Geralt dodged back out of the way, deflecting Lambert’s roundhouse kick and using the momentum to bring them close together. Geralt blocked a close hit from Lambert’s free arm and leaned in to plant a wet lick on the tip of Lambert’s nose before dropping down and rolling out of the way, taking a glancing blow to the ribs for his cheek.

Lambert’s face twisted in disgust and he rubbed his nose on his bare forearm.

“Mind your temper now, Lambert.” Geralt said, taking on the tone of an especially condescending instructor.

“Oh, I’m going to fucking get you for that!” Lambert shouted, charging forward at Geralt. Geralt wasn’t ready, too focused on teasing Lambert, and barely managed to dodge the first strike, dropping down under the punch and then springing up inside Lambert’s guard, headbutting him in the chest.

Lambert coughed, the wind knocked out of him, and Geralt tweaked his ear before dodging back out of range.

“You are such a little shit.” Lambert gasped, his temper fraying.

“And you’re predictable. Easy to distract and easy to anger.” Geralt said with a grin. “That’s why you can’t beat me!”

Lambert blanched and then his eyes darkened, rage twisting his expression. Geralt’s brows furrowed, suddenly concerned he’d pushed too far. Lambert had always gotten angry, it was basically his default state of being, but Geralt had never seen actual rage on his face during one of their bouts, much less that brief flash of shocked hurt. He couldn’t help but feel he’d unintentionally poked at a sore spot, causing far more harm than he’d intended.

He saw Vesemir tense out of the corner of his eye and Eskel stepped forward as if to come between them. They’d both seen the shift in Lambert’s mood.

“Lambert, forgive me, I didn’t mean -” Geralt started, dropping his stance and raising his hands. He knew something was wrong, something must have happened after they saw Lambert in the fall, something that hurt him badly and he’d just unintentionally pressed salt into that unknown wound. He wanted to make it right.

Lambert charged, striking out hard toward Geralt’s chest. Geralt twisted around the blow, retreating with his hands raised. Lambert followed, striking out hard with two quick punches. Geralt ducked under one and deflected the next, using the force to roll away from Lambert.

“Stop running away!” Lambert roared, rushing Geralt with his fist raised. Geralt sprang backwards, dodging the wide blow.

“Lambert, it’s enough!” Geralt said, raising his hands.

“No, it’s not enough! It won’t be enough until I beat you!” Lambert yelled back, feinting another straight punch and following it with a twisting kick. Geralt caught Lambert’s leg, using the momentum to spin Lambert around and away. Lambert’s blows were getting stronger and increasingly uncoordinated. There was a fragility in his expression that belied his anger. Like when he was hurt as a child and acted out rather than show he’d been wounded.

Lambert spun back to face Geralt, sinking into his stance. “Fight me!” He shouted, stepping forward and shoving Geralt back when he wouldn’t raise his own stance. He followed with a left hook and Geralt dodged again, spinning back out of the way.

Eskel intervened, putting a hand on Lambert’s shoulder that was quickly shrugged off. “Fucking FIGHT ME!” Lambert roared, expression twisted with rage and hurt, Dominant’s Voice lending commanding weight to his words.

Lambert’s Voice struck Geralt like a blow. He’d never heard it directed at him in anger and it scraped against his senses. It hurt, knowing Lambert would use that against him, but, like with the werewolf in Daevon, he felt no compulsion to obey.

Geralt dropped his hands, coming to a neutral stance. His brow furrowed and a cold weight settled in his chest. It felt as if time had stopped moving.

“No, Lambert.” Geralt said quietly. “I won’t fight you, not like this.”

Lambert dropped his hands and fell to his knees. “Fuck, Geralt, I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He said, voice wrecked.

Geralt caught Eskel’s eye over Lambert’s shoulder and motioned him back with a quick tilt of his chin. Eskel hesitated, but complied when he saw Geralt’s clear, calm expression. Jaskier stepped forward and drew Eskel back, knowing Geralt could handle this. Geralt cast him a grateful smile before turning his attention to Lambert.

He crouched in front of Lambert and drew him close, letting Lambert bury his face in the crook of Geralt’s shoulder, as he had when he was a child. Geralt was suddenly reminded of the nights he’d spent holding Lambert together after he’d been through the Trial of the Grasses, soothing his fears and trying to ease the aches of the mutations as he rode out the changes. Lambert had been so small then, so young, able to fit easily in Geralt’s lap. The years since had changed that, Lambert easily outmatching Geralt in size when he finally reached his own maturity. But he would always be Geralt’s little brother.

“I didn’t mean to use my Voice on you, Geralt, I swear it.” He said, voice thick and tight, breath hot against Geralt’s neck.

“I know, it’s all right.” Geralt said, rubbing one hand soothingly up and down Lambert’s bare back.

“It’s not.” Lambert said, arms tightening around Geralt’s back.

“No, not really, but I forgive you for it.” Geralt said gently. He’d told Lambert about the werewolf in Daevon, about how he’d been unaffected by its Dominant Voice. But that didn’t make it right for Lambert to employ his Voice against him and they both knew it. It was a betrayal of the trust Geralt placed in Lambert, but Geralt believed Lambert when he said it was unintentional, especially given the overwrought hurt Geralt had caused him with his thoughtless words. His brother was many things, impulsive, tempestuous, even insensitive at times, but he was never cruel or domineering, especially not to his family.

“You shouldn’t.” Lambert said, moving as if to draw away.

Geralt tightened his hold and Lambert subsided, relaxing into Geralt again. “But I do, and it’s my choice.” He was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu from his conversation with Vesemir. Geralt felt a sudden wave of gratitude for Jaskier teaching him how to communicate openly with his family – an incident like this could have broken his relationship with Lambert otherwise.

“What happened?” Geralt asked gently. “It’s not like you to lose control like that. You get angry, sure, but this was different.”

Lambert tensed but Geralt simply waited, continuing to stroke his back. Eventually, Lambert let his breath out in a huff, tension easing. He sat back and tugged Geralt out of his crouch, pulling him so close that Geralt had no choice but to sit on Lambert’s thighs, held against his chest. Geralt allowed it, letting Lambert take whatever comfort he needed.

“It was shortly after I left you in Vizima. I got a hunt for a katakan outside some nameless blip of a village. They'd woken the thing up trying to mine some godsdamned cave and the fucker started nabbing children from the village to break its fast.”

Lambert sighed and Geralt feared he knew what was coming. “I tracked it down, fought it, and the thing was faster even than you, flitting about and getting me with those fucking sharp claws. And the fucker kept regenerating health faster than I could drain it. I got frustrated. Got careless. I charged at it and it threw me back into the wall. Stunned me good. While I was struggling to get up again, instead of taking me out, the fucking thing took one of the kids out of the cage it kept them in and --”

Lambert broke off, burying his face in Geralt’s hair. “Fucker split the kid in half, used his blood to boost its regeneration powers. Then came at me again. I don’t really remember much after that, but I killed it. Brought the rest of the kids home. Burned the dead kid to keep the necrophages away. Knew his parents would be killed by something in those woods if they tried to go all the way out there to bury him.”

Geralt just held his brother tighter. There was nothing to say that would make it better.

“You saved all those other kids.” Geralt said finally. “They would have died without you. And more kids after that, then probably the whole village.”

“That one kid should have lived too.” Lambert said, his voice hollow.

“All of the katakan’s victims should have lived, but their deaths weren’t your fault. You saved as many as you could.” Lambert went to protest and Geralt spoke over him. “Katakans are tough hunts, there’s no way to know if it landed that blow because you lost your temper or whether it would have happened anyway. The best thing you can do to repent for that one boy’s death is to keep going. Save more people.”

Geralt drew back and caught Lambert’s gaze, forcing him to hold it. “That’s what I did after Blaviken. What I continue to do each time I fail to save someone.”

Lambert considered that for a long moment. Geralt knew it wouldn’t erase the pain he felt, but he could at least redirect it.

Lambert’s eyes lightened and he quirked a grin. “How’d you get so fucking wise?”

“It’s the power of communication.” Geralt said archly, returning Lambert’s grin.

“It’s the power of Jaskier, you mean.” Lambert leered, making an obscene gesture.

Geralt smacked him and got up, reaching a hand down. Lambert took it and stood, wrapping an arm around Geralt’s shoulders as they rejoined the others. Jaskier gave Geralt a soft, proud smile, drawing him into a tight embrace, and Geralt felt warmed through. Eskel ruffled Lambert’s hair before dragging him over to a snowbank and shoving him into it. Lambert sprang back up with a squawk, taking off after Eskel with messy handful of snow, promising cold retribution.

Geralt shook his head at the antics but sobered at Vesemir’s troubled expression.

“How can you forgive him so easily? He should not lose control like that, much less over his Voice.” Vesemir asked, brow furrowed in a frown.

“He shouldn’t, but I’m glad this came out now, at home, rather than out on his Path. And I forgave him because I can, because I knew he truly meant me no real harm.” Geralt said, tone making it clear that they were talking about more than just Lambert. “And because I forgave him, we were able to talk about it and move past it. I know he’ll be more careful in the future.”

Vesemir hummed, considering Geralt’s words. Geralt didn’t press for a response. With a nod of acknowledgment, Vesemir turned away, calling the other two back.

“If have the time to roughhouse, go chop more firewood. The kitchen hearth needs more in its reserve.” Vesemir directed.

“My hearth does too.” Geralt said, canting his head with a smile.

“All the way up that fucking tower?” Lambert protested. Eskel smacked his shoulder. Geralt just raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Fine, just this once.” Lambert conceded.

Geralt’s smile widened and Lambert waved him off with a huff, heading toward the wood pile.

“Hot spring?” Geralt asked Jaskier.

“Definitely. I can barely feel my face anymore.” Jaskier said, pulling his cloak tighter.

“Then go. I will start dinner.” Vesemir said.

Geralt pulled his tunic back on and wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him close to share body heat as they traipsed back up into the keep, heading for the soothing warmth of the hot springs below.

----------------------

Geralt sat in front of Jaskier in the hot spring, head tilted back and eyes closed as Jaskier worked soap into his long, white hair, gently working out the tangles caused by his exertions. It had been several months since they last stopped at a barber and his hair now reached the middle of his back. Without his armor and with his hair long, Geralt looked as close to a typical male submissive as he ever would. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not because he was ashamed anymore, but because he wasn’t a typical male submissive. He was something quite different and, for once, Geralt was entirely comfortable with that.

“Your hair has gotten long.” Jaskier commented, making sure to keep his voice neutral. Geralt appreciated the consideration, the way Jaskier made sure to never express a firm opinion on how Geralt should look, prioritizing Geralt’s comfort above all else.

“Hmm, it has. I think it’s time for a cut.” Geralt said, words slightly slurring together. A hot bath after a hard workout, especially if Jaskier washed his hair, always nearly put him to sleep.

“Well, you’ll need to wait until we get to a barber then. We learned the last time that my tonsorial skills leave much to be desired.” Jaskier said, a hint of amused self-deprecation in his tone.

Geralt huffed a laugh. The one time Jaskier had tried to cut his hair, he’d failed to make it even so many times that Geralt’s hair had ended up at his chin before Jaskier finally admitted defeat. The barber they’d subsequently gone to see had simply sighed, shaken his head, and cut Geralt’s hair short. It had taken over a year for it to grow back out to his preferred length. After that, they had both agreed a repeat attempt was not in the cards.

“I’ll ask Vesemir to do it. He used to cut my hair when I was in training. All of ours, actually. He was the only trainer who could do it without shearing us like sheep.” Geralt said, smiling faintly at the memory.

“Vesemir truly is a man of many skills.” Jaskier said slowly. He paused and took a long breath before continuing. “It has been difficult for me to forgive him as you have.” Jaskier said finally, haltingly, as if expecting Geralt to condemn him.

Geralt twisted around and rested his chin on Jaskier’s thigh, looking up at him. “I know, and I am grateful for your forbearance.” Geralt looked away, unsure if he should share his remaining thoughts.

“I heard you, that night in the kitchen, and today, outside.” Geralt said, deciding he should be open with Jaskier in this as with all things.

“Ah,” Jaskier said, mouth tightening. “I hadn’t intended that for your ears. I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings on the matter when you already had so much to deal with.”

Geralt shook his head and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s knee. “I already knew, I could smell your anger.”

Jaskier huffed. “You and that wolfish nose of yours,” he said, flushing with embarrassment.

Geralt twitched his nose at him and Jaskier laughed, his expression easing.

“You seem content with him now, though? Now that you’ve heard his side?” Geralt asked, head tilting slightly as he considered Jaskier.

Jaskier’s mouth thinned but then relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “Aye, I can see now why you would forgive him. He truly cares for you, loves you as a father loves a son. I understand he did what he did because he felt he had no choice if he wanted to preserve your life and keep you safe.”

Jaskier reached out and traced the thick, roping scars covering Geralt’s back. “But you will carry the mark of his errors your whole life. Your forgiveness does not erase the damage done.”

“Vesemir suffers too. I’ve never seen him so uncertain, as if he questions every decision he makes, every word he plans to speak.” Geralt said, voicing the concern he’d held close to his chest, watching how Vesemir had changed after learning the truth.

“Good.” Jaskier said vehemently. “He hurt you because he failed to question whether there was another option. His methods were already archaic by the time you were born, and he would have known that had he stopped to question his decision more thoroughly before implementing it. If he’d sought counsel from someone other than another witcher or the local village’s madame. I’m sure Nenneke would have been willing to consult with him had he but asked.”

Geralt instinctively moved to protest, to defend Vesemir, but subsided. When he forced himself to think about it, Jaskier was right. Even though he understood Vesemir’s reasons, especially after eavesdropping on his conversation earlier with Jaskier, that didn’t mean Vesemir had been in the right. Or that his good intentions excused the damage he’d wrought. Although Geralt had decided to forgive Vesemir, he realized he shouldn’t forget how they’d ended up in such a toxic loop -- it was the only way to prevent a similar occurrence in the future. He could forgive, but he must never forget.

Jaskier took a deep slow breath and his anger eased, seeing the play of expressions on Geralt’s face as he came to that realization. “That hesitation he’s displaying now is precisely why I believe I can trust him with you going forward. I’ve studied him over these past weeks. He is fundamentally a good man, very much like you. I don’t believe he will repeat his error.” Jaskier said. “And I believe you understand your own worth well enough now that you would not accept it if he sought to hurt you again. Nor would Lambert and Eskel.”

Geralt huffed. “They certainly would not,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ve grown closer to them as well this winter. I have you to thank for that.”

Jaskier tilted his head questioningly. “How so?”

“You taught me to be open, both with myself and with others.” Geralt said. “It’s the opposite of what we were taught. We were always fond of each other, always close, but there was a tension there. We held ourselves back. But this year, I was able to be fully open with them and they responded in kind.”

Jaskier gave him a warm, proud smile. “I’ve been so glad to see how close you three have become. It’s good for all of you. I can’t say I know Lambert and Eskel as well as you do, but they seem happier and more relaxed than they were at the start of winter.”

Geralt hummed and twisted back around, leaning back against the wall between Jaskier’s legs. “They are. It also helps that they aren’t going a couple months without guiding a submissive down. They would get pretty tetchy by the end of the season in past years and they’d practically race down to the brothel in the village as soon as the mountain pass cleared.”

“Do they only ever engage with working submissives?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt nodded. “Or the rare submissive willing to do it without coin. They’ve both had a few regular flings over the years, submissives willing to drop for them more than once, but it’s hard to keep that up walking the Path.” Geralt tilted his head back, looking at Jaskier upside down. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a partner willing to walk the Path with them.”

Jaskier leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a smile.

Jaskier gently guided Geralt’s head back into position and picked up a wash basin, carefully pouring water over Geralt’s hair to wash out the suds, repeating the process until the water ran clear. As he reached for the bottle of hair oil, Eskel and Lambert clattered into the chamber, dropping their boots by the door and stripping off their wet clothes before jumping into the warm water with audible sighs of relief.

“Well, would you look at this pampered pup?” Lambert drawled to Eskel.

“Sure looks comfortable,” Eskel said with a grin. “Soft, even.”

Geralt flipped them an obscene gesture, humming with contentment as Jaskier worked the oil through his hair.

“Don’t worry, Lambert, you’re next.” Jaskier said cheekily, beckoning him over.

Lambert blinking, mouth gaping open. “I am not!”

“I won’t force you, of course,” Jaskier said, “but you comment on this every time we’re down here together, so I can’t help but think you’re feeling left out.”

Lambert spluttered, flush rising in his cheeks.

Geralt rolled his eyes, twisting around and up to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before moving out of the way. “Just do it,” he said. “I’m going to wash Eskel’s hair.”

“You are?” Eskel asked, eyebrow raised.

“Aye, no arguments. Just sit down and shut up.” Geralt said imperiously, moving to sit behind Eskel.

Eskel raised his hands in surrender and ducked his head under the water, wetting it thoroughly before sitting back, leaning against the edge of the pool between Geralt’s knees.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at Lambert who finally conceded.

“Fine!” He said, throwing his hands up and sitting in front of Jaskier with a huff. “Let’s see what’s so special about this.”

Jaskier chuckled but didn’t comment, knowing Lambert would run away from too much teasing, especially after his earlier breakdown. He needed affectionate touch as much as the rest of them, but it was hard for him to accept it. He was more at ease with Geralt than he had been at the start of the season but accepting the same from Jaskier was still a trial. But Geralt was confident Jaskier’s easy nature would bring Lambert around eventually.

Geralt finished with the soap and tossed it to Jaskier. The chamber was silent but for the soft sounds of scrubbing and the content hums from Eskel and Lambert. Eskel melted immediately into Geralt’s touch, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation. Lambert stayed tense at first, flinching minutely when Jaskier scrubbed a new area, but his tension eased as Jaskier worked, and he was leaning back between Jaskier’s knees, eyes closed, by the time Jaskier finished.

Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye and they smiled softly at each other, enjoying the calm, familial atmosphere.

“Basin or dunk?” Geralt asked Eskel, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Eskel took in a long breath, stretching as he opened his eyes. Rather than responding, he simply ducked forward, submerging himself and ruffling his hair underwater to rinse out the suds.

Eskel resurfaced and sat back against the wall, motioning for Geralt to sit beside him. When Geralt arranged himself back in the pool, Eskel put an arm around his shoulders and drew him close to his side, giving him a brief squeeze to express his gratitude. Geralt smiled up at him and then settled into the hold, leaning his head on Eskel’s chest and closing his eyes, breathing in the steam and letting the warm water relax his muscles.

When Jaskier lifted his hands away, washing complete, Lambert ducked forward and rinsed his own hair, tossing Jaskier a gruff “thanks” over his shoulder before tucking in at Geralt’s other side, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. Jaskier shook his head fondly and settled back into the pool next to Lambert, his own hair already washed clean.

The four sat in silence together, soaking in the warmth of the water and the easy companionship of family.

------------------------------------

After dinner, once everyone was settled into their quiet diversions for the evening, Geralt sought out Vesemir. He found him sitting in the front tower, on the balcony of an abandoned room that had once belonged to the keep’s master healer, nursing a tankard of strong mead as he watched the stars.

Geralt was struck by the memory of sitting out on one of the nearby mountain peaks as a small child, filled with the elation of a successful climb, listening as Vesemir taught their small training group how to navigate by the stars. Back then, he had been the fencing master for those boys who survived the Trial of the Grasses, but he’d always volunteered to lead the smallest boys up into the mountains to share his love of the stars. Not that he ever phrased it that way, but Geralt remembered how unusually open his expression had been as he shared his passion.

“I remember when you taught us how the stars could guide us home,” Geralt said quietly, approaching the balcony and taking a seat next to Vesemir on the old stone bench.

“That was another lifetime,” Vesemir said, equally quietly. Geralt knew he was thinking about the pogroms, of all the witchers and trainees lost when the keep was sacked. Before that, the keep had never been silent, never crumbled. For all the terrors that went on within the walls, all the children lost to the Trials, it was home for those who survived. Those who never should have died here, slaughtered in their home, all for the crime of seeking to protect the world from monsters. Their spirits lingered over the keep, their bones buried in the moat as a memorial. And as a warning.

“It’s still home,” Geralt said, staring up at the stars. “We cannot change what’s come before, the pain that echoes in these walls, but we can rebuild. Maybe not the School, its time is over, but our time – mine, yours, Eskel’s, Lambert’s – that’s not over.”

“But is it worth keeping?” Vesemir asked, voice tight.

Geralt looked over at him, waiting until Vesemir met his gaze. He let everything he was feeling show on his face. “Family always is.” He said simply.

Vesemir closed his eyes as if Geralt’s words pained him. Geralt waited, keeping his posture soft and open. Eventually, Vesemir took in a long, slow breath and reached out, placing a hand tentatively on Geralt’s where it rested on the bench. Geralt flipped his hand over and squeezed gently, accepting the hold.

No words were needed.

They sat in silence and stared up at the stars that had never failed to guide them home.

“You must have come up here for a reason.” Vesemir said, forcing his voice to be light and casual. “Can’t just have been to reminisce about the stars.”

Geralt shook his head, a faint smile on his face. Neither he nor Vesemir was one to linger over heavy discussions. They’d each said their piece, it was time to move on.

“Aye, I was hoping you’d cut my hair for me.” Geralt said, tugging on the ends of his long hair. “It’s gotten too long.”

Vesemir nodded, his expression easing. “Of course. Now?”

Geralt handed him the shears he’d brought in lieu of answer and stood, leaving his back to Vesemir.

“How short?” Vesemir asked, standing to join Geralt.

“My usual length.” Geralt responded, holding himself still.

Vesemir nodded. He tucked the shears into his belt and carefully finger combed Geralt’s hair, smoothing it out until it was perfectly even, leaving the front pieces out of the way. With sure hands, he cut neatly across the hair, cutting it back until it fell just past Geralt’s shoulders. With the back done, he pulled the front pieces out to the side, cutting them back in line with the rest. When the trim was complete, Vesemir stood in front of Geralt and checked the two front pieces against each other, making sure one side was not shorter than the other. They were perfectly even, as always.

Vesemir placed his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt relaxed into the pressure, dropping his head forward and letting it rest on Vesemir’s chest. It was the most normal interaction they’d had all season. It released some of the remaining tension in Geralt’s chest, giving him the courage to ask for what he wanted.

“Will you guide me down?” Geralt asked softly, pulling back to look into Vesemir’s eyes.

Vesemir tensed and dropped his hands from Geralt’s shoulders, his jaw clenching.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Vesemir said, looking away.

“Then don’t.” Geralt said.

“It’s not so simple.” Vesemir said, shoulders thrumming with tension.

“It is.” Geralt said. “You’ve seen Lambert and Eskel do it all season. It need not be anything more than that.”

Vesemir still wouldn’t meet his eyes. But he hadn’t left. And he hadn’t refused.

“I won’t insist,” Geralt said, “but I’m ready to try when you are. Just because we got it wrong before doesn’t mean we can’t correct our course.”

Vesemir’s lips pressed into a thin line but he met Geralt’s gaze. Geralt could see the conflict, the hesitation, and he decided to leave it for the day. He’d had a lot longer to come to terms with his feelings about Vesemir and their history – not to mention Jaskier’s invaluable help. It wouldn’t be fair to push Vesemir for a response without extending him that same courtesy of time to process his feelings.

Geralt reached out and placed a brief hand on Vesemir’s shoulder before turning away and heading back into the keep, leaving Vesemir to his thoughts.

---------------------------

The next fortnight passed quietly, the days lengthening as spring rapidly approached. As the snow started to melt, the streams and rivers cracked open, the thick ice covering them breaking away and rushing downstream to feed the fields and valleys below.

When the first snowbells poked their delicate heads out from under the ice, signaling winter was finally releasing its grip on the land, Kaer Morhen’s residents started to prepare to head out onto the Path again. The horses were brought in from their winter pastures and put back into work more strenuous work, slowly rebuilding muscles lost over the long, dark season. Potions were decanted into travel bottles and packed carefully into saddlebags along with bags of dried, crushed supplies. As Geralt appropriated everyone’s swords and daggers, sharpening and honing them to a fine edge, Eskel oiled the armor, ensuring no weak patches or loose stiches remained, and Lambert did the same with all the tack, replacing buckles and conditioning the leather against the spring rains to come. Jaskier worked with Vesemir to plan the spring’s harvest, sharing his knowledge of new developments in agriculture from his brother in Lettenhove to help Vesemir increase yield.

The night before they planned to set off, the men shared a hearty feast, bolstering themselves against the lean months ahead and enjoying this last chance to truly eat their fill. Though each would depart with full saddlebags, provisions usually ran low before the hunting was good, either monster or game, and they all knew lean times were likely over the next weeks.

As they lingered over generous slices of spiced honey cake, a special treat Vesemir prepared only once at the end of each winter, they began to discuss plans for the season ahead. As usual, each would keep to their assigned regions, with Geralt patrolling the west, Lambert the east, and Eskel the south. Vesemir would stay behind to supervise the spring planting before setting off to assist, as needed, with more dangerous hunts or urgent matters the witcher in control of a region could not reach in time. Vesemir had agreements with the major settlements throughout the Continent, allowing their corvids to find him wherever he roamed beyond Kaer Morhen’s walls. If he was in residence, any missives were delivered to the mage in the village below, who had a special charm allowing her corvid to pass through Kaer Morhen’s stringent wards. She would also provide a portal for Vesemir in an emergency.

The three witchers debated their routes, planning their season’s Paths to ensure that they spread out as much as possible, so as to increase the range in which their assistance could be provided.

As their discussions were winding down, Jaskier spoke. “Why don’t the two of you join us in Lettenhove for a while before setting off? That will get you through the leanest part of the season and I would like to introduce you to my family.”

“Why?” Lambert asked, eyebrow raised.

“Because you’re my family now too. You’ll always have a safe haven in Lettenhove, a place to rest and recuperate as needed, and I want to be sure you know it.” Jaskier said.

“What, you want us to just show up at your family home and ask for a room?” Lambert pressed, incredulous.

“Yes. Anytime you wish. I will set aside rooms for you all when Geralt and I visit after leaving here, and the staff will treat you as members of the family. My home is yours to use at your leisure.” Jaskier said firmly. Geralt pressed a hand to his thigh under the table, squeezing lightly to express his gratitude. He’d known Jaskier planned to make this offer, but he was still touched by the consideration.

“Won’t that upset your family?” Eskel asked gently.

“Of course not. They understand that Geralt is my submissive and that his family is now part of ours. They would prefer to be introduced first, of course, but they will welcome you regardless. You too, Vesemir, though I understand you cannot travel with us now given the planting. They know to recognize you by your medallion.” Jaskier explained.

“What the hell, let’s go.” Lambert said, leaning back and projecting an ease he almost certainly did not feel. “I could do with a little pampering in a noble house.”

Eskel smacked him. “What he means to say is that we’ll accept your offer, with gratitude.”

Jaskier waved him off with a smile. “No thanks are needed among family,” he said. “My quarters at Oxenfurt University are equally open to you, though I understand travelling that far west puts you both far out of range to begin your season.”

“That is generous of you, Jaskier.” Vesemir said, inclining his head slightly.

“It is my pleasure. And you are just as much family as Lambert and Eskel now, your thanks are equally unnecessary.” Jaskier said, inclining his head in return.

Vesemir gave a deeper nod, casting Jaskier a considering look. Jaskier held his gaze, waiting until Vesemir was ready to speak. The others sat quietly, as if waiting with bated breath.

“I have not said it in so many words, but I am glad you have taken Geralt as your submissive and I accept you into this family as his Dominant. May he bring peace and honor to your house.” Vesemir said, speaking the traditional blessing given to the Dominant of one’s submissive child.

“May I be as good for him as he is for me.” Jaskier responded, completing the set phrase and accepting Vesemir’s blessing.

Geralt felt a broad smile spread across his face, his chest light and warm. He cast a grateful glance at Vesemir and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek.

Vesemir returned Geralt’s smile with a small one of his own, nodding in approval before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “As Geralt’s Dominant, you will carry the protection of our School throughout your life, as will your family. If you have need for us, call and we will answer. If anyone profanes your home or harms your blood, we will seek vengeance on your behalf. Should you need it, Kaer Morhen is forever open to you and yours.”

Vesemir reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out a small ring holding two identical pendants. He handed it to Jaskier and Geralt took in a sharp breath when he saw what it was. “Place this on the leg of any corvid and it will pass through our wards, bringing word to me immediately. If I am outside the wards, the corvid will travel to the nearest wolf, allowing him to offer aid. Leave one with your family and carry one with you always.”

Jaskier closed his hand over the pendants, eyes shining. “Thank you,” he said, voice full, a soft smile on his face. He understood the gravity of the offering, and the trust it implied.

Vesemir huffed a laugh. “Gratitude is not needed among family, boy.” He said, his tone relaxed, speaking to Jaskier as if speaking to one of his wolves. It was a small gesture, but Geralt knew how big a concession it was, how clearly that informality demonstrated Vesemir’s acceptance of Jaskier into their family. From Jaskier’s expression, he knew it too.

Geralt glanced over at his brothers and saw only open acceptance on their faces.

Eskel stood, stretching his arms high. “Now that we’re all family, can I request a private performance from our famous brother?” He asked Jaskier with a smile.

“With pleasure,” Jaskier said. “Shall we retire to the sitting area by the hearth?”

Vesemir nodded and stood, heading out into the main hall with Eskel and Lambert close behind. While Jaskier retrieved his lute, Geralt gathered the dishes, putting them to soak in the wash basin. Just as he finished, Jaskier came back down from the tower above the kitchen, lute in hand. Geralt reached out and Jaskier came to him, easily yielding when Geralt pulled him into a tight embrace. Geralt breathed deeply, Jaskier’s familiar rosin and honey mixing with the scents of Kaer Morhen, mingling together into one scent that meant home.

“I love you,” Geralt breathed into Jaskier’s neck, pressing his eyes closed. They burned, as if tears wanted to fall, overwhelmed by the gratitude and love he felt for the man in his arms as he finally put to words that most cherished of feelings.

Jaskier choked on a gasp and Geralt pulled back, seeing tears sparkling at the corners of Jaskier’s eyes even as his face softened into a loving smile. “And I, you. With all that I am and all that I have, until the end of my days and beyond.”

Geralt leaned in, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s and letting their breaths synchronize. Jaskier was a part of him, a part of all of them now. Though Geralt would live for centuries after Jaskier’s time, Jaskier would live on in him, in the bonds he’d helped Geralt forge with his family, in the way he’d learned to accept himself as he was, until Geralt breathed his last. So, too, would the wolves of Kaer Morhen walk in lockstep with Jaskier’s family, protecting them and keeping Jaskier’s memory alive until the world outgrew its need for witchers. And then, if the gods allowed, Geralt and Jaskier would meet again.

But now was not the time for such musings, not now when Jaskier still bloomed with youth and his family awaited in the hall, eager to enjoy one last night all together in their home before setting out on the Path. Geralt pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Jaskier’s lips before leading Jaskier out into the hall to rejoin their family.

He stopped short when the seating area came into view.

At Vesemir’s feet was the cushion he’d been kneeling on in the library.

Geralt felt his chest fill with warmth and he made no effort to restrain the smile he felt spreading across his face. With a quick glance at Jaskier, who looked as affected as Geralt did, he stepped forward. And then, as he had done with Eskel, Lambert, and Jaskier all winter, Geralt sank to his knees beside Vesemir and leaned into his legs, putting himself in Vesemir’s care.

As Vesemir’s hand slowly, tentatively started to stroke through his hair, Jaskier strummed his lute, commanding the attention of the room. Geralt felt Vesemir relax, the playful mood and Jaskier’s performance providing cover, allowing them to settle into their new dynamic.

As Jaskier strummed increasingly bawdy tunes and Lambert and Eskel’s singing devolved into shouting, shoving each other as they each tried to one-up the lascivious tales from the songs, Vesemir continued to stroke Geralt’s hair, smoothing it back and letting his strong, calloused fingers massage into Geralt’s skull, chasing away tension.

Surrounded by his family, Geralt let himself drop, surrendering to Vesemir’s guidance, confident that, this time, it would not hurt.

Geralt drifted, feeling as if he were cocooned in Vesemir’s arms, safe from the world. Unlike the sharp edges he’d experienced before, now Vesemir’s Dominance felt like liniment on sore muscles, like hot cake fresh from the oven, like a long bath after a hunt. Like making the last turn on the road home, seeing the torches lit and the gate raised, the smell of fresh-baked bread in the air.

Time lost all meaning.

Geralt came out of subspace, briefly, as Vesemir tucked him into bed next to Jaskier, easing off his boots and smoothing his hair back from his face. As Vesemir’s touch disappeared, fading as his footsteps echoed down the stairs, Geralt curled into Jaskier’s embrace and let the world fall away.

-------------------------

The next morning, as the sun rose high above the mountain peaks and bird song rang through the valley, Geralt faced Vesemir at the gate, Jaskier at his side and his brothers behind them, the horses tacked and loaded for the season ahead.

Vesemir reached out and clasped Jaskier’s forearm, giving him a small, warm smile. “Take care of him,” he said.

“I will. With everything I have.” Jaskier said, nodding respectfully to Vesemir.

Vesemir returned the nod and turned to Geralt, opening his arms. Geralt stepped forward immediately, nudging his head up under Vesemir’s chin. Vesemir embraced him tightly before stepping back with a brisk nod, his expression fond, his hands on Geralt’s shoulders.

“Walk your Path with honor.” Vesemir said.

“May your Path be smooth and may your sword strike true.” Geralt replied, completing the traditional leave-taking exchange.

“And make sure those two don’t embarrass our School in front of Jaskier’s family.” Vesemir said with a grin, pretending to whisper to Geralt.

Lambert tossed them both an obscene gesture and Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“We know how to behave in polite company.” Eskel said.

“Well, maybe you do.” Geralt said, motioning with his eyes to make it clear Lambert’s ability to behave was profoundly in question.

“Honestly? Fuck you.” Lambert said, his light expression belying his words.

“They survived Geralt, the two of you will do just fine.” Jaskier teased.

Geralt gasped in mock outrage.

“Very true, it can only improve from there.” Vesemir said with a sage nod, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m trusting you to keep these three in line.”

“A task I most whole-heartedly accept.” Jaskier said, flourishing a courtly bow.

Vesemir’s teasing expression eased into something more serious. “Take care of each other out there. And come home safely.” Vesemir said, looking at each man in turn, only moving to the next when his words were accepted with a firm nod.

“Get going then, you’ll want to make it to the village by nightfall.” Vesemir said. Lambert and Eskel were already mounted and Jaskier swung up onto Potato’s back at Vesemir’s words, following the other two out the main gate.

“Until next winter.” Geralt said, turning one last time to look at Vesemir before mounting Roach to join the others.

“Until then.” Vesemir said warmly.

With a final nod, Geralt mounted Roach and directed her out onto the path. He felt Vesemir’s gaze on his back until we went around the bend and he smiled, feeling Vesemir’s support.

Geralt urged Roach into a trot, catching up to the others and playfully knocking his stirrups against Lambert’s as he pressed by on the narrow trail, pulling even with Jaskier to lead the way down into the valley.

With Jaskier at his side and his brothers at his back, Geralt knew he had nothing to fear.

------------

Thank you to everyone who's read and commented on this, you've made writing this story a real pleasure!

I'm not foreclosing the possibility of additional stories in this 'verse, exploring either future events or another perspective on something that happened here in Geralt's limited POV, but, for now at least, this story is at an end.

As a note, I know this delved into difficult territory, especially this last section dealing with reconciliation after past abuse. I did my best to do justice to all sides involved, keeping at the forefront Geralt's agency -- that it was his choice to forgive Vesemir, even though his forgiveness did not erase the damage that had come before. I know there's no right answer in such situations, but if this is something you're struggling with, or you want to discuss any of the choices made herein further, I'm here for you.

Also, I have a lot of stories in my WIP folder, so hit the subscribe button on my AO3 profile if you want to get those updates.

Stay safe out there.

@thesunshinemanman

@humbae

@a-crown-for-sweets

@lookoutrogue

#kirk-spock-in-the-impala writes #follow you down #the witcher #geralt/jaskier #geraskier #fic #sub!geralt #dom!jaskier #gentle dom jaskier #soft!geralt #soft!jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher family

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samstree · 2 years ago

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okay but my headcanon for geraskier trying BDSM for the first time includes geralt who:

enjoys 100% vanilla sex but agreed to try for jaskier’s sake

checks jaskier is okay excessively at the beginning

also uses his safe word immediately because he got overwhelmed when jaskier sounds like he’s in pain

cannot resist being sweet even when he’s not supposed to

keeps kissing jaskier where he hurts him even when he’s not supposed to

is so so careful using his strength like this

takes aftercare very seriously, being as tactile as when jaskier is actually injured

insists on being the big spoon after, even though he’s the small spoon between them

is very pleased with himself for giving jaskier what he wants, not realizing the sex ended up being basically the same as their normal sex, which was tender and loving and he kept calling jaskier sweet names

#geraskier #geraskier headcanon #he needs time to learn alright #and they take a long time to find a balance #the balance is geralt being a gentle dom and jaskier enjoying his praise kink #where geralt does not need to do anything he’s uncomfortable with #because jaskier never wants to make him uncomfortable #man i need to write this fic

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kirk-spock-in-the-impala · 5 years ago

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I like the way you think. Soft Dom Jaskier forever! And previously mistreated sub! Geralt getting the care he deserves? SIGN ME UP

(I may have written 62k words and counting on that, if you want to check it out: Follow You Down )

soft dom jaskier is such a good concept and yet i see almost no content for it :(

#sub!geralt #gentle dom jaskier #soft!jaskier

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parttimesinnerslutt · 2 years ago

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Hello!! I love your writings of geralt of rivia and i have a request!

Dom!Geralt x fem!reader

Geralt and reader fall asleep in the same bed because she couldnt sleep alone and they both wake up to geralt's morning wood and they have morning sex?

(If kink request are okay can i req Praise kink- idk what other kinks to put, i just love praises-you can come up with other kinks of corse)

You dont have to do this req if you dont want to!:)

Hehe I love this.

Pairning - Dom!Geralt x sub!reader (female)

Warnings - Degradation. Dumbification. Size kink (It's Henry. If you love this dude you have a size kink). Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Spanking. Boobies spanking. Choking.

Summary - After a night of celebration in Cintra, you and Geralt retire in chambers across from one another. In the middle of the night, nightmares grasp your mind but a good thing that a Witcher is close. He keeps you safe during the night but as the morning comes...The Witcher has different things on his mind.

This is NOT edited.

This one is going to be a little...rough. So yeah, keep that in mind.

The banquet was in full swing. People spun around, smiling and laughing as if it was the last time they'd do it. You sat at a corner, watching the view of the celebration, wondering when would you be able to join such...life. The nightmares of your past ate at you, taking away everything you held dear.

Then there he was. The Witcher. Geralt of Rivia, someone had called him. He sat beside the Queen of Cintra, looking no less than a King. He was handsome, you realized as your eyes caressed every inch of that hardened face. He was really handsome in sort of a rugged way which told you that those hands did not know gentleness.

"That is my friend." Jaskier smiled, handing you a mug of ale. You took a sniff of the drink, scrunching your nose. Your old friend laughed. "He kills. I write songs about it."

"Seems interesting."

"It is," he agreed. "Do you plan on fucking him?"

If you had been drinking the ale, you would have spat it out. "Jaskier-"

Your friend grinned. "He will gladly take up the offer." With a wink, the bard walked away, eyeing a few ladies. He walked up to Geralt and curses sat right on the tip of your tongue as the man whispered something to the witcher which made Geralt look right at you.

The side of his lips twisted up in a smirk which sent a zap of heat through you. He took a sip of his drink, eyes not moving from you. Your cheeks heated and you turned your gaze away. Yet, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you.

You looked at Jaskier. "I will kill you," you mouthed. The bard grinned, unapologetic as ever.

. . .

Geralt, much to your disappointment, didn't approach you and you, much to your disappointment, couldn't gather enough guts to approach him so you found yourself laying on a bed in the castle of Cintra, cursing yourself out repeatedly. You could have had him on top of you right now, touching and caressing you.

Fucking you.

You sighed. Soon the sleep came and so did the shadows.

The creature was a large one. It attacked, retracted, and attacked again. It played with you, laughing when you struggled. It didn't touch. It taunted. It spat. It chuckled.

"Y/N" You heard someone say. It was the monster but no...no the voice was too deep. "Y/N."

It was someone else. It's a dream, a part of you sighed in relief. It's just a dream. Your eyes opened and the witcher was crouched next to your bed, his great sword in his hand. His eyes, golden and beautiful and unnatural, flickered over your face.

"I..." You whispered. "Bad dream," you finally said, knowing it was a pathetic explanation. You must have been screaming and even through the walls of the castle were the thickest you had seen, witchers had amplified hearing.

"Hm." That was so deep. Your thighs clenched. He noticed and somehow his already shining eyes shone brighter.

"Geralt..."

He stood. "Will you be alright?" His voice. His damned voice. Your thighs clenched together again, warmth pooling out of you. You had not expected him to sound like that.

He watched you, golden eyes taking in your reaction. "You're vulnerable," he said. "You do not want me like this, y/n."

"I do," you rushed out quickly, sitting up. "Please, Geralt..."

He shook his head. "Not when you are like this." He walked to the door.

You gulped. "Stay," you whispered. "I-I mean just stay. The bed is big enough. I don't get nightmares when there's someone close."

Just when you were convinced he'd say no, he nodded and walked closer. He kept his sword on a nightstand, within arm's reach. His fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt and you watched, trying to keep your mouth shut as it threatened to fall open at the perfect...perfect man Geralt was.

He shrugged his shirt off and threw it somewhere. He lay in the bed, pulling the covers over him. You pulled half of them over you and blew at the candle, washing the room in darkness.

His presence could not be ignored. He smelled good, you couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it suited him. Not a single part of you was touching him. You wanted to be closer.

You laid on your side, facing him. You couldn't see him in the intense darkness, but you could feel him. His warmth. His strength.

"Do you want to be closer?" He asked. His voice...You held back a whimper. You had not felt this needy for ages.

"Can I?"

His large arm wrapped around you and before you knew it, you were on his chest, your head laying on his heart.

He kept one arm around your waist. Now, having all of his hard body pressed to yours, your whole body throbbed with need for pleasure but you wouldn't ask when you had been denied already. No matter how good you knew he'd feel.

You fell asleep listening to the slow heartbeat of the Witcher.

. . .

His breath was on your ear, his oversized hands on your waist, holding you to him.

"Now," he whispered. "Do you want it?'

"Yes, Geralt." The answer was quick.

The sunrays whispered on his pale skin as his mouth came on yours and his hands shifted under the nightie, grabbing your ass as if it belonged to him. He squeezed, kissing you harder. You whimpered in his mouth, loving the harsh treatment.

He flipped, pinning you under his great body, and kissed you deeply as if unable to get enough of your mouth. Your arms wrapped around his head, feeling the softness of his hair, as he tugged your nightie up till it was gathered above your breasts.

He pulled back, looking into your eyes. "Such a good girl," he whispered. Your core throbbed. His voice had been enough to make you lose your mind, now his words seemed to break you.

"Geralt," you whispered, swiping your thumb on his bottom lip while a golden storm brewed in his eyes.

"How do you want it?" he asked. "How do you want it, y/n? I don't want to hurt you but give me the permission..." His hands whispered on your breast. "And I'll make these red, along with your whole body."

"Do it," you whispered. "Take me how you want."

"You will say stop if it gets too much," he said firmly. "What will you say when it gets too much?"

"Stop."

"That's a good fucking girl." His eyes finally left yours and travelled down at your breasts then down to your cunt which laid bare, without any covering. Something which sounded like a growl left his lips. Your eyes fell on the hardness between his legs. Wetness leaked out of you. Just when you were about to clench your thighs, he grabbed your knees and pushed you open like a book.

"Delicious," he said, watching your wetness. His one hand whispered on your thigh. You gulped as you noticed how big his hand looked, even though you were in no way small. He was just too big. "I will break you." His lips fluttered on your breasts. He took one nipple between his teeth, pulling gently. "And I will enjoy it."

You gasped at the gentle pain. His one hand grabbed both of your wrists, easily pinning you down to the bed as he sucked at your nipples. He pulled and bit into the soft flesh, creating marks while all you could do was gasp and whimper and whine for more. No one in your twenty years had made you feel like this. "So fucking soft," he growled.

He ignored all your noises, putting all his attention on your breasts, worshipping and hurting them, making them red as he had promised he would. When you were convinced you could no longer take the teasing, he lifted his mouth and looked into your blurry eyes.

His lip lifted up in a smirk.

"Am I being mean, pretty girl?"

You struggled in his powerful hold, desperate for some kind of attention where you needed it the most.

"Geralt...please. You've made me wait so much."

He tilted his head. "Poor little girl, hm?" His eyes lowered to your cunt. "You slept on me the whole night not even fucking wearing your panties, humping on me in your sleep, letting out pretty moans." His hand slapped at your right breast.

You cried, thighs flexing in a desperate attempt to get some relief. "Look at those pretty tears." He slapped your left breast, reddening the already red skin.

His hand finally slid down to your belly and then between your thighs. He cupped you, keeping his hand there. Your hips jerked, unable to resist his rough hand. Your cunt humped his large hand. Your eyes closed. This felt so good. Cries left your lips, quiet and small. You had been waiting for this since you had seen him.

He took his hand away.

"Geralt-"

He needed to stop torturing you like this.

Geralt parted your cunt with his two fingers and spat down right on your clit. You gasped at the shameless action. His eyes held yours as he lowered his mouth and feasted. "Such a pretty little cunt you have, y/n." He chuckled. "I wonder how pretty it will look after a good fucking."

Your hands scratched on the bed, and tugged at his hair, as your back arched with the insane pleasure his mouth was. You tried to grab something, ending up with a silk pillow cuddled to your chest as the witcher ate you as if starved. He lapped at the wetness, tugged at your clit, and pushed his tongue inside you till your legs shook. "Hm," he growled against your heated flesh and chuckled as more wetness came out. That chuckle made you clench.

"I thought you were a good little girl," he said, his voice sending vibrations through your body as he lazily licked around your cunt. You whimpered into the pillow. "When I saw you walking around in that red dress of yours. I thought I'd need to be gentle." He licked your clit. You were so close. "I thought I'd need to make sure I didn't bruise this precious little body of yours too much." He stuffed two fingers inside of you. You gasped at the unexpected stretch.

He pounded in and out of you. You hid your face in the pillow, letting out muffled whimpers as the witcher played with you. "But you're just a little whore, aren't you, y/n?" He stilled his fingers deep inside of you, curling them. You let out a cry as he touched a spot no one ever had.

His fingers fucked you faster. "Let go of the fucking pillow and look at me."

Letting out a cry, you threw the pillow away, forcing yourself to look at the witcher through teary eyes.

He grabbed your throat and increased the speed of his two fingers, hitting that spot which made you twitch. Your mouth opened. He kissed your mouth, swallowing the cries. Just when you knew you were about to cum, his fingers disappeared.

You cried in his mouth, trying to reach down to finish yourself off but with one large hand, he grabbed both of your wrists and kissed you till your cries turned into soft sniffles.

He pulled away, wiping the tears off your face, tugging at your quivering bottom lip. "Already crying, whore?" He mocked. You whimpered again, his harsh words making your oversensitive cunt throb. "I haven't even started making you cry yet."

He let go of you, letting you fall on the bed. Your thighs were glued together, you were on the brink of insanity. The witcher looked completely in control.

"Get off the bed and stand with your hands on the wall, ass facing me."

You let out a breath. You had always only heard of the men who were dominant in bed. You never dared to seek one out.

You got off the bed and stood as you were told, body trembling with need so deep it hurt.

You heard him take his breeches off and then he was behind you, big and powerful. He pulled at your hips and parted your thighs.

"Be a good girl," he said to you. "And take all of it."

He pushed and your eyes almost popped out of your skull at how big he felt. He put a hand around your throat, set his chin on your head, and pushed.

"Geralt...Geralt!" He stuffed you full, leaving no space inside of you when he was completely in.

"Shh," he hushed you softly, hand tightening around your throat. You gasped. He gently pulled out and pushed in. Your thighs shook more than ever. "Shh," he whispered again when you continued whimpering. He pressed his lips on your ear. "Am I too big, sweetheart?"

You furiously nodded, nails digging into the smooth walls. "T-Too much."

He chuckled. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you whispered.

"That's my good girl. Now brace yourself."

"What-"

The question was cut off by him grabbing your hip in one hand, putting his hand on your mouth, and fucking you harder than you had ever been fucked.

His cock slammed in and out, denting something deep inside of you that shook your legs.

"Look at that," he said. "Taking it so well. My brave little girl." He moved you till you were on your knees, torso on the bed and he was behind you, fucking your cunt so roughly you saw stars.

You screamed into the mattress, hands grabbing a pillow again. Geralt's hand came down on your ass, bruising it. "Dumb little whore." His hand tugged at your nipples, abusing the little buds till you screamed, cumming over his cock before you even realized what you were doing.

He stopped after fucking you through your orgasm. He kept his cock inside of you, all of it. "You know," he whispered, gently rubbing your breasts while you quivered. "When Jaskier pointed you out to me, I knew I was going to get into this little cunt sooner or later."

He spanked your ass.

He twisted a nipple. Your cunt tightened over his cock. "You had your fun," he said. "Now I will have mine."

He fucked you for what felt like hours, pounding your cunt in a frenzy. His hand came down on your ass several times, making the skin hurt as he fucked you. You cried and sobbed into the covers, cumming more than you ever had. He degraded you, praised you, mocked you, laughed at you, as you struggled around his cock.

When be came inside of you, you were nothing but a mess of tears and cum. You felt it drip out of you as the witcher dressed.

He picked you up, golden eyes looking all over your face. "Best I've ever had, Y/n."

. . .

This one was looonnngg

(That's what she said.)

#dom!geralt x fem reader #dom!geralt x reader #geralt x oc #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill #dom!geralt #mean dom #smut #parttimesinnerslut

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kingeomer · 2 years ago

Text

Way Down Inside (Honey, You Need It)

Geralt/Jaskier / rated explicit / 2,363 words / ao3.

written for @thepassifloradiscord‘s team bingo event again, this time for the prompt “Daddy/Mommy kink”. also features lingerie, stockings, face fucking, choking, gentle!dom geralt, safewords (non-verbal, used to convey being good to carry on), and some aftercare. it’s face fucking but it’s soft, you guys. enjoy!

Jaskier fidgeted with the sash holding his robe shut for what had to be the thousandth time since he’d changed. His nerves were stupid and he knew they were, he and Geralt were in love and there were few things that would change that. Besides, he’d seen Geralt’s search history and knew this was something his boyfriend liked.

Just. Would he like Jaskier like this?

“Like this” being dressed in a light pink lace bralette and matching thong, black stockings, platform heels, and a satin robe. He’d completed the look with a little makeup; shimmery pink lipstick and light mascara and eyeliner. Jaskier thought he looked good, and the feel of the soft fabrics against his skin felt luxurious, he just… he really hoped Geralt at least approved, if not appreciated it.

Perched on the edge of their bed, Jaskier waited impatiently. Geralt should be home from work any moment now, and the anticipation was killing him.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made Jaskier jump slightly, and Geralt’s voice calling out his name set an unpleasant flutter of butterflies off inside him.

“I—I’m in the bedroom…” he responded, feeling himself already blushing. God, this was stupid. He should just rush to the bathroom and scrub this stupid makeup off and—

“Honestly, Jask, the day I’ve ha— aah, oh my God!” Geralt cut himself off as he walked into the room, seemingly thrown entirely off course by his boyfriend sat demurely in pretty lingerie on the bed.

“Hi…?” Said boyfriend responded, feeling his cheeks burn hot as he peered up at Geralt from beneath his eyelashes.

“What… What’s this?” Geralt looked flustered, which made Jaskier think maybe he’d got things right after all. He shifted a little where he sat before shrugging, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Wanted to surprise you,” still fidgeting, Jaskier found it hard to actually meet Geralt’s eye. “This is stupid, I’m gonna go cha—”

“No!” He’s cut off almost immediately by Geralt, who in a few long strides was across the room to physically stop Jaskier moving with a hand on his wrist. His thumb stroked over the satin of his robe and Jaskier shuddered at the sensation, blinking up at Geralt as he blushed shyly.

“You look amazing, you are amazing. What a lovely surprise.” Guiding Jaskier back to the bed, Geralt had him sit back down again, cupping his warm cheek gently. Jaskier found himself smiling despite the nerves still bubbling up inside him, and when Geralt dragged his thumb over his lover’s bottom lip, Jaskier in turn kissed the pad; little more than a sweet, tender press of lips and a tease for more.

“Really…?” Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes slightly, feeling a little more confident that he’d got things right. With the robe being tied shut, Geralt hasn’t seen the whole look yet, but he was already this affected?

Jaskier was almost eye level with his waist, could see the swell of Geralt’s sizeable erection pressing against his zipper, and peering up he could see the heat in those honey coloured eyes he loved so much. Fuck, okay. Geralt was really on board with this.

Thick fingers brushed down over Jaskier’s neck and over his collarbones to follow the edge of the robe, tickling over hair dusted skin. Jaskier shuddered, and as Geralt’s fingertips dipped just slightly under the fabric, he decided to untie the sash holding it closed

“Holy shit, Jask…” the older man’s voice sounded wrecked as he let his eyes wander. Letting the robe fall from his shoulders, Jaskier felt emboldened, and as Geralt’s fingertips lightly brushed over him, he arched his back, pushing his chest further into his lover’s touch.

“Am I pretty, Daddy?” Jaskier turned his voice playfully coy as Geralt palmed the swell of his pecs, squeezing lightly. The feel of those big, warm hands though the lacy fabric was maddening, made all the better as it caused his stiff nipples to drag against the material just right.

“So pretty, baby,” he swiped his thumbs over Jaskier’s nipples then, seeking to delight in his full body shudder, and finally, finally, leaned in to begin peppering kisses over bare skin. “Daddy’s pretty little girl, aren’t you?” Jaskier’s brain seemed to grid to a halt at Geralt’s words, and he’d have been embarrassed at the high, whining moan that left his mouth if not for the way Geralt bit down on his shoulder as it spilled out.

“‘M yours, Daddy. Anything you want…” feeling breathless, Jaskier angled his head towards Geralt, desperate for those lips on his. His lover seemed to know exactly what he needed and claimed him with a deep kiss, pushing his tongue into the younger man’s mouth to tangle with his own desperately.

Hands roamed over each other as they kissed; Geralt groping and squeezing every inch of Jaskier that he could reach, and Jaskier tugging Geralt’s shirt out of his pants, rightly uncoordinatedly with his belt and with buttons.

Geralt’s hand covering his own as he started tugging at his lover’s flies had Jaskier blinking up at him with wide eyes, a playful little pout tugging at his lips.

“Let me see how pretty you look, baby. Lay down.” Geralt instructed, his hands leaving Jaskier’s body as he took a reluctant step back. Still pouting, Jaskier did as he was told, falling back into the bed and wriggling backwards, heels catching on the bedspread as he tried his best to artfully display himself for his Daddy’s approval.

“Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous, pretty little Julek,” as he spoke, Geralt finished unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it hanging from his broad shoulders as he tugged his flies down, letting his trousers and his boxers slip from his hips and to the floor. “Come back here, want your mouth.”

Jaskier didn’t need telling twice.

Scrambling to the foot of the bed, Jaskier started to sit in front of his lover, desperate to get his hands and mouth on that huge prick. He was stopped, though, by a hand in his shoulder.

“Ah ah. On your back, head off the bed.” Swallowing, Jaskier nodded and began to move into position.

Peering up at Geralt as best as he could while upside down, Jaskier bit his bottom lip lightly, teasingly, before flicking his tongue out to wet his lips slowly. Geralt seemed to approve as he stepped closer, a fond little smile on his face, and brushed his fingers over a warm cheek.

“There we go. Perfect.” Dipping his fingers into Jaskier’s mouth, he let his younger lover suckle on them as he carried on speaking. “Gonna ruin this pretty makeup, darling.”

Nodding caused Jaskier’s head to bob on the long fingers in his mouth, a poor imitation of what they both wanted. Letting them slip from his mouth, Jaskier whined breathily.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck my mouth.”

Geralt let out a soft curse, taking himself in hand and giving his cock a few lazy strokes as he simply watched Jaskier. Finally, after agonisingly long seconds, he stepped closer. Still holding his length in one hand, Geralt used the other to adjust Jaskier, tilting his head down lower and opening his mouth wider until he was positioned perfectly to take everything Geralt would give him.

“Take a breath, sweetheart,” was all the warning Jaskier was given before he was being fed Geralt’s length, inch by inch until he felt the head bump against his soft palette and beyond, nestled tightly in his throat.

Swallowing as best as he could, Jaskier brought a hand up to blindly tap Geralt anywhere he could reach, their signal for when his mouth was busy to continue. His fingers scrabbled against the firm, hairy skin of Geralt’s abdomen and were grabbed up by his lover, squeezed tightly but briefly before they were let go.

Geralt wasted little time, setting a fast pace as he fucked into Jaskier’s throat.

“Fuck, you feel so good, made for my cock, weren’t you?” Nodding as best as he could in his current position only served to force the cock in his throat impossibly deeper, and Jaskier could feel the tears streaming from his eyes, drool bubbling from his lips and covering his face.

Geralt had said he wanted to ruin his makeup. Jaskier just hoped when he finished he’d be pleased with the results.

The feeling of being so thoroughly used made Jaskier burn hot, suddenly desperate to cum. His own prick had been neglected so far, trapped tightly beneath a thin layer of lace. Not sure whether he’s allowed to, Jaskier tentatively started moving a hand down to relieve some of the pressure, only for Geralt to groan above him.

“That’s it, baby. Rub your little prick through your panties. Good boy…” the words made Jaskier burn even brighter, a bolt of humiliation shooting through him as his fingers fumble over the fabric. He knew he wasn’t “little” by any stretch, but something about those words from Geralt had him reeling in the best way.

At the same time as his own fingers began stroking over his shaft, Geralt’s returned to his chest, groping and squeezing at his pecs through the bralette he wore.

“God, look at you. Fuck—” Geralt interrupted himself as Jaskier swallowed tightly, feeling his lover’s length twitch where it was lodged so deeply inside him. “Look so pretty, darling. Your little tits…” he pinched at hard nipples through the lace then, chuckling at the garbled sounding whine that worked its way out of Jaskier. “Should take you to get some piercings some day, baby. You’d look perfect with some rings right here.” He punctuated his words with a sharp twist of each nipple, causing Jaskier to choke as his body bucked and twisted from the overwhelming sensations.

Geralt backed off, easing his throbbing prick from Jaskier to let him catch his breath. Coughing as he choked on his own saliva and Geralt’s precome, Jaskier wheezed for air. He kept playing with himself though, and after a moment, brought his free hand up to tap over Geralt’s hip, desperate to be used once more.

“That’s it, you’re so good for me. Not long now, keep touching yourself,” Geralt’s voice was like gravel as he eased his way back inside, one hand at the base of his cock and the other slipped under one side of the bralette to caress warm skin. Jaskier hummed as best as he could, delighting at being filled once again.

This time, Geralt set a brutal pace. Hips fucking back and forth into Jaskier’s throat, he singlemindedly seemed to chase his own orgasm down, and a hand pressed down lightly on Jaskier’s throat to feel the length moving in and out of the tight channel, the fluttering of his airways being cut off and released again.

Jaskier had long been lightheaded, driven wild by his Daddy’s words, his hands, the way he was using his good boy for his own pleasure. His prick had soaked the thong he still wore, lace clinging to the head as he rutted up into his own touch, and the heels had slipped off his feet, leaving his toes to curl as he arched his hips upward, desperate for his own release.

“F—fuck, Jask, ‘m gonna. Gonna cum, baby. Need you to, need to see…” Geralt sounded like he was losing his mind. Leaning over Jaskier, the movement driving his cock somehow even deeper still, Geralt slid a hand under the straining waistband of the thong, curling tightly around Jaskier’s prick and tugging fast, almost in time to the way he ground his hips against Jaskier’s face.

Everything began to get too much; Geralt’s hands, his cock, his body covering Jaskier’s, the drag and scrape of lace over his oversensitive skin, the filth pouring from his Daddy’s mouth, the lack of air getting to his lungs—

Jaskier tried to scream as his orgasm tore through him, but all that came out was a barely audible, gargled moan. He saw stars for a moment, then white, then finally black.

He barely registered Geralt’s cock twitching erratically in his throat, the almost violent thrusting of hips against his face, the words tumbling from his lover above him, so utterly fucked out and rendered barely present.

He did register the sudden ability to breathe again as Geralt carefully slipped his softening cock from him. He registered gentle hands cradling his head, soft lips peppering kisses over his face, a tongue lapping at tear tracks and drool and spit that covered his face.

It took awhile to come back to himself, how long, he couldn’t quite say, but Jaskier blinked between sips of water and the fog in his brain had all but cleared.

Geralt had moved him at some point. He was laid in his lover’s arms, cradled against his broad chest as they reclined into the pillows at the head of the bed. One hand spanned Jaskier’s stomach, brushing lightly over him, soothing him as tiny tremors still coursed through him.

“There you are…” Geralt’s voice was soft, pitched low as he peered down at Jaskier. He smiled gently, lips curling up as he swept his thumb under Jaskier’s eye, gently cradling his cheek as he leaned in for a sweet kiss.

As they parted, Jaskier cleared his throat to speak, but Geralt shushed him.

“Rest your voice, Julek. You were amazing,” warm, honey coloured eyes held his own as Geralt wiped at Jaskier’s face with a damp cloth carefully, then he was eased back into the pillows.

A quiet, painful whine slipped out of Jaskier as Geralt let go of him, but he was once again shushed by the older man. “Just getting you clean and comfortable, love.” Geralt told him as he slipped further down the bed, tugging the stockings off and then the panties down over Jaskier’s hips and tossing them to the floor, using the cloth to clean up his spend.

Geralt took the gentlest care getting them both stripped down before finally pulling the covers up over them, pulling Jaskier into his arms once again for a tender kiss.

“Rest now. I love you.” Eyes drifting shut, Jaskier did exactly as he was told.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #smut #manda writes

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twisting-vine-x · 2 years ago

Text

Fic: Nothing To Hide, Geralt/Jaskier, NC-17

Title: Nothing To Hide Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier/Geralt Rating: NC-17 Tags: Dom/sub, top!Jaskier, bottom!Geralt, sub!Geralt, dom!Jaskier, gentle dom Jaskier, praise kink, biting, light spanking, kink negotiation, kink exploration, frottage, endearments, aftercare, developing relationship, light angst, happy ending, cuddling, discussion of using spit as lube, implied masochism on Geralt’s part, insecurity, light scratching, begging, safe sane and consensual

Summary: Behind him, he can hear Jaskier smile, and then there’s a kiss being pressed against his shoulder, and Geralt can’t help but arch into it. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice is a murmur. “Much better,” and Geralt wants to whine again. “You’re beautiful,” he says, “I love looking at you,” and, well. It’s not true, Geralt knows it’s not, but he can feel the panic fade, anyway, because Jaskier thinks it’s true.

It calms him, at least, some of the tension easing from his limbs, and he can feel Jaskier smile again, followed by another kiss on his shoulder. “Good,” he murmurs again, “Now stay right like that, all nice and relaxed, please.” Geralt nods, takes a breath, and then stays right where he is.

Written for Kinktober Day 7 - Buttjob.

Nothing To Hide

#Geralt/Jaskier #Jaskier/Geralt #Geraskier #Gerskier #Kinktober #Kinktober 2022 #my fic

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jaskierswolf · 3 years ago

Note

Hi hi prompt for you- jaskier tied up for 12 hours whilst geralt does witcher business (sort his armour, make potions etc) and hoey-ly tortures his bard in between tasks

I have no idea what I ended up with... but I hope you like it.

Geraskier!

CW: smut ahead, dom/sub, sub!Jask, bondage (obviously), hand jobs, orgasm control, watersports (a little undernegotiated but Jask is given plenty of opportunities to stop the scene), blind folds... and I think that's it.

The slow and steady scrape against steel had been Jaskier's only companion for Melitele knows how long. The first... maybe hour or so he'd chattered away to himself, nerves itching just under his skin and a restlessness he couldn't quite shake, but Geralt had been so excited about the whole tying Jaskier to a chair all fucking day thing that he hadn't been able to say no. The blindfold had been added two hours in, after Jaskier talked himself to silence and he'd ended up just watching Geralt as the witcher pottered around their room. It had been... strange, but as his world had plunged into darkness, Jaskier found a sort of calm wash over him that he hadn't been expecting.

His wrists hurt, that was to be expected, but every so often Geralt would check in, massage his stiff and aching joints and then leave him be for another.. gods only knew how long. Jaskier dozed off a couple of times, letting his mind drift, float, but the scraping of Geralt's swords had woken him up.

At least he assumed it was Geralt's swords.

He'd always had a keen ear, but after so long of being in the chair, blind to the world, and unable to do anything but breathe, he was starting to doubt himself. Jaskier sighed, grateful that Geralt had at least left his mouth free to talk whenever the silence got too much, but it was rare that the witcher ever responded. Apart from the check-ins, Jaskier was left alone and ignored, becoming part of the furniture as Geralt went about his day. Thankfully, the witcher never left the room, and Jaskier could hear every little thing that Geralt did, from calling downstairs for refreshments, to the gentle rustle of paper as he presumably read a book.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

The noise was becoming the percussion line of whatever tune that Jaskier's brain would come up with. At first it had been jarring, but the familiarity was quickly becoming a comfort in Jaskier's otherwise dark and lonely world. It was also a distraction from the growing ache in his groin... the desperate need to have a piss. They'd not discussed that, and really Jaskier hadn't even really thought about it when Geralt had first suggested twelve hours stuck to a chair, but it was all he could focus on now.

"Geralt?" he murmured, his voice hoarse as he spoke his first words since gods only knew how long. He instinctively tugged at his restraints, his hands itching to move, to rub his throat, his hair, scratch the seam of his trousers. His head fell back as he groaned in frustration. Of course he couldn't move. He knew that. His body knew that. Fuck! He wasn't even sure he'd be able to move after this.

The witcher didn't reply, he didn't even miss a beat on his swords.

Jaskier knew he could safeword and Geralt would come over to him in seconds, the word "lute" balanced right on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't want to, not really. He was uncomfortable, but the urge to please his witcher was overwhelming, and the promise of a reward was far too tantalising. He'd not reached his limit yet, so he bit back the word, and instead called for his witcher again. "Geralt, I need to piss."

This time silence rang out in the air, followed by a gentle thud, presumably Geralt setting aside his swords. Then, deceptively light, Jaskier heard Geralt's footsteps make their way across the room. He gasped when he felt Geralt's calloused fingers brush his cheek, and not a second later, the press of Geralt's forehead against his. There was a warm breath of air tingling over Jaskier's lips, the scent of Est Est filling his nose.

"Do you need to safeword?" Geralt murmured, the low growl of his voice sending shockwaves through Jaskier's poor sense-deprived body. Just the reminder that Geralt was really here with him was too much. He swallowed, yearning to reach out and cup Geralt's cheeks, to feel the rough bristles of stubble beneath his fingers, but he couldn't. It was the sweetest torture.

Jaskier considered the question again, but no, apart from the growing urge to piss, he was fine, a little stiff but fine. So he shook his head, mumbled a quick "I'm fine" and then whined as Geralt pulled away without warning.

The seconds dragged into minutes of silence, each beat of Jaskier's heart too loud in the room. Even blindfolded, he could feel the heat of Geralt's stare as it burned into his skin, and he could only imagine the fire in those golden eyes - and oh how he himself must look, every part the helpless bard, the damsel in distress.

"Geralt?" He asked again, the nerves creeping back the longer Geralt ignored his request. "Geralt, I really do need to go... if you wouldn't mind-"

"Then go, bard."

Oh... Oh fuck. Jaskier whined. For hours he'd been stuck, submitting to Geralt in every way. The witcher had given him food and water as and when he'd seen fit. He'd taken away Jaskier's sight, his movement, his freedom, but never in a million years had Jaskier thought that Geralt would try and control this. Holy mother of fuck, Jaskier was not expecting to be so turned on by it.

"I- what?" Jaskier stammered, whimpering as he felt Geralt's hand rest on his leg.

"You heard me, bard, either safeword.... or go. Your choice."

Jaskier swallowed, wishing, not for the first time, that he could see his witcher. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so vulnerable, and this was by far the longest scene they'd ever done, but he could do this. It was simply a matter of swallowing his pride. So with one last heavy breath... he let go. The feeling of warmth soaking through his trousers made him grimace, but he heard a contented growl from Geralt, and it made everything worth it. He'd done well.

Geralt's hands were in his hair the moment he'd finished, and there was a brush along Jaskier's jaw, a soft low hum accompanying the movement. He whimpered, leaning into the touch as best as he could. Slowly, the blindfold came loose, and the light burned Jaskier's eyes. He blinked as he tried to readjust to the dim light in the room, once again squirming in his restraints as the dampness already started to cool in his lap. "Good boy," Geralt hummed, pressing a kiss against Jaskier's cheek. "So obedient, so perfect."

Sinking into the gold of Geralt's eyes, Jaskier let out a choked sob. Suddenly, everything felt too much, too overwhelming. He had no idea how much time had passed, only that it had been hours. He was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and yearned to be closer to Geralt, to touch him. The return of his sight had only been a catalyst for that - it was easier to exist in the dark, not be able to see what he was missing. And gods, he felt disgusting. It had only been a few seconds but he was acutely aware that he was covered in his own piss. He was a noble and a bard; appearance was everything to Jaskier, and fuck...

"G-Geralt..." he whined pitifully.

"So good," the witcher reassured him, as he nimbly unlaced the front of Jaskier's sodden trousers.

The first touch to Jaskier’s cock felt like fire after so long alone, deprived of both sight and touch. He gasped and bucked up in his chair, the ropes cutting into his wrists. “Please,” he begged breathlessly. “I- Geralt!”

“Be good,” the witcher reminded him. “We’re not done yet. Stay still, bard.”

Gods, he was a fucking bastard. In the morning, Jaskier would give Geralt a piece of his mind, not that he was really mad, how could he be? There had been plenty of opportunities to safeword, to back out, but he was always a stubborn little shit and Geralt was enjoying this far too much. If Jaskier wasn’t quite so desperate for his witcher’s touch and comfort, then perhaps he would have played up, but the night had been long and he was tired.

“I’ll be good,” he slurred, struggling to keep his eyes open in the bright light. “I’ll be good.”

And he really did try his best.

Holding still was nearly impossible when all he wanted to do was sink into Geralt’s embrace, and his body jolted with nearly every stroke of his cock. Geralt hadn’t touched him for hours, and yet he still felt oversensitive, like he’d been kept on the edge all evening instead of neglected. Fire burned through him, and he whimpered pitifully as he came, spilling over Geralt’s hand with a wordless cry. It was embarrassingly quick, but Geralt hadn’t said he couldn’t cum, and Jaskier was helpless to control himself after everything he’d been through. Geralt stroked him through the aftershocks of his orgasm, before wiping his hands on Jaskier’s damp trousers.

Normally Jaskier would whine about the expensive fabric, but that ship had long since sailed. Instead, he just closed his eyes and sank back in his chair as Geralt’s fingers brushed along his wrists, pulling at the ropes until they fell loose onto the floor.

The chair was knocked to the floor and Jaskier was scooped up into his witcher’s arms, finally able to press against Geralt’s chest and cling onto him like he’d wanted to for hours. He felt at peace, knowing that Geralt would always be there to protect him, guide him, and make the noise just go away. With Geralt, Jaskier could rest…

Rest…

He was asleep before he could take another breath, missing out on the way that Geralt tenderly stripped off his ruined clothes, carrying him over to the tub of hot water. If Jaskier had been awake, he would have cooed over the way Geralt took care of him, cleaning up all the mess before wrapping him up in a warm towel. As he was lowered onto their bed, he roused just enough to cuddle up to Geralt’s chest and place a kiss on his shoulder before falling back into the darkness.

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @hot-multifandom-mess

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier pankratz #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing

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tantumuna · 3 years ago

Note

10. Guided masturbation with Geraskier, please??

Geralt x Jaskier rating: E cw: dom/sub undertones

Send me some support! __

Jaskier gave a sharp cry when Geralt told him to stop. Stopping was the last thing he wanted to do, but he stilled his hand around his cock and removed it when Geralt told him to. His bed was suddenly stiflingly uncomfortable, but with Geralt sitting right beside him, he calmed his breath and tilted his shaky gaze to meet Geralt’s, just as he’d been told.

“Good boy,” Geralt said. “How do you want to come tonight, Jaskier?”

“I—” Jaskier bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “That’s not my choice, sir.”

Geralt grinned and leaned in to give Jaskier an appreciative touch to the thigh. As that warmth rushed over him, Jaskier jolted, but Geralt pulled away immediately after.

“Good boy. You’re mine, aren’t you? And everything you do is my decision.”

With a whimper, Jaskier nodded and slunk down the bed a little further. He wanted to touch himself again, but Geralt didn’t give him an order until every drop of his approaching orgasm drained away. Only then did Geralt lean in and touch Jaskier again. The warmth of his hand trailed over Jaskier’s chest and to his neck, where he took Jaskier by the chin and tilted his head.

“You’re doing so well,” Geralt whispered. “Can I have your hand?”

Though Jaskier hesitated, he laid his hand in Geralt’s outstretched fingers. Geralt tugged his hand to the side where he already had a vial of oil waiting. At the sight of it, Jaskier knew exactly what he was being tasked with, and it sent a shiver up his spine. Oil dripped over his fingers. Instead of being allowed his own free movement, Geralt moved his hand for him down between his thighs. Jaskier did the rest, canting his hips and spreading his thighs so he was out on display.

As Geralt’s fingers trailed away, Jaskier sat perfectly still with his wet fingers dangling over his hole. He didn’t dare touch himself without permission, which earned him an amused huff and a press of lips to the side of his face. Jaskier trembled and closed his eyes. A whimper escaped his lips. Geralt leaned in closer and pressed himself against Jaskier’s side, so he could look down and watch the crook of his wrist.

“Go on, Jaskier. Touch yourself, but only touch. Don’t push inside, yet.”

“Y-yes, sir…”

At his first touch, Jaskier gasped and leaned against Geralt’s body. Geralt had kept him here for what felt like hours, having him stroke his cock and touch his nipples until he was right at the cusp of a mind-blowing orgasm, then took it away. He needed this, and he would do it in whatever way Geralt wanted of him. He would still lean into Geralt for support as he rubbed over his hole and sent a shock of tremble up through his spine.

“Geralt—”

“Keep going. You can do it. You’re my good boy, aren’t you? My pretty bird. Don’t you want to make me happy?”

Jaskier nodded and whined between pressed lips.

“I want nothing more than to see you come apart on your fingers, thinking of nothing but me.”

Jaskier trembled and closed his eyes tightly. Geralt’s lips brushed his ear with every whisper, and the sound of his voice resonated so deeply that Jaskier’s thighs shook. He circled tortuously over his hole, and as it loosened under his gentle touch, he pushed harder. At Geralt’s order, he didn’t dip inside, but he touched as hard as he dared so he could feel that fire smoldering again in his hips.

“Please.” Jaskier gasped. “I want—want to come on my fingers, sir. For you, sir, please—”

“Inside, birdie. Touch yourself like you need.”

Immediately, Jaskier gave in and pushed a finger into himself. With the oil, it slipped in easily, and he gasped at the feeling of a stretch working through him. He pumped his finger back and forth and pushed for a second finger as quickly as he could, causing his hips to jump.

“Take your time, Jaskier. Move your fingers slowly, deliberately. Find your spot.”

Following Geralt’s instruction was difficult, but when Jaskier slowed, it earned him a kiss to his cheek that he craved. He did what he was told and moved slowly, deliberately. He searched inside of himself until his fingers brushed that perfect spot inside, and he gasped. As he pressed his forehead into Geralt’s shoulder, he trembled and kept his fingers right there. It was almost painful, how direct and harsh the pleasure was, but Jaskier’s cock twitched in excitement as he rubbed torturous circles.

“Look so beautiful, Jaskier. Keep going.”

“Geralt—Geralt—”

“Don’t stop. If you stop, you’re finished, so push through.” Geralt cupped Jaskier’s chin. “Push through, pretty bird. Let me see you come.”

Jaskier gave a sharp cry as he pushed into his own fingers. He could do this. Geralt was normally the one to bring him off like this, but he was right there at the edge. With Geralt’s hand resting on his chest and Geralt’s lips on his skin, all he could think about was Geralt, Geralt, Geralt—

“Feels good, doesn’t it? My fingers inside you? Know just how to touch my pretty bird to make him happy. And he deserves to be happy. Deserve to come, because he’s been such a good boy for me.”

With another cry, Jaskier’s body jolted, and he came. As his cock twitched against his stomach, he spurted over himself and gasped into Geralt’s neck. He rocked his hips and pumped his fingers back and forth just like Geralt would have. As he pressed, he milked every last second of his orgasm out, then stilled with another weak cry. Beside him, Geralt shifted and kissed his forehead.

“So beautiful, Jask. Take your fingers out.”

Jaskier removed his fingers and whimpered through every inch against his sensitive skin. He went limp against the pillows and Geralt’s chest and won himself another kiss as Geralt curled around and held him.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #geralt #witcher #tw3 #the witcher 3 #witcher 3 wild hunt #twn #the witcher netflix #writes #prompt

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sargassostories · 3 years ago

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yennskier fics

These are my self-recs for yennskier and geraskefer! In case you've blown through the rest or are looking for more bite-sized little smuts.

the longest night, 785 words, Gen, yennskier, post season 2

The longest night of the year feels very long indeed where a witch and a bard are concerned.

stay in my arms if you dare, 13k WIP, Explicit, modern AU yennskier/geraskier/will endgame geraskefer

Gerry Riviera, aka the “silent giant” of porn, meets upstart camboy Jaskier, thanks to his ex/producing partner Yennefer, and the chemistry is electric. Behind the scenes, Yen falls hard for Jaskier and, for the first time in her life, finds she isn’t sure how to make a move.

ages and ages, 16k, Explicit, Geraskier => Yennskier => Geraskefer

Geralt can hear all of Jaskier's amorous encounters... and finds he can't bring himself to stay out of earshot.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows, 1.3k, Explicit, yennskier => geraskefer, modern AU

Yennefer and Jaskier are enemies with benefits who've worked across the street from one another for years. But when the landscaping business next to Jaskier's (father's) adult book shop hires a new manager, Geralt, the two start a bet to see who can seduce him first.

little smuts:

a bard in the hand is worth two in the bush, 600 words, Explicit, yennskier

Jaskier buys Yennefer gloves as a gift. Turns out she has a small kink?

her cu(rre)nt is pulling you closer, 2k, Explicit, yennskier

How Jaskier Became Flustered By Yennefer's Lipstick Choice (then Even More Flustered When He Learned What She Uses It For)(Blowjobs)

a little tenderness, 2.6k, Explicit, geraskefer

A very tender, very gentle, the tenderest of Geraskefer DPs for Yennefer.

anyone for tennis?, 2k, Explicit, geraskefer modern AU

In which Jaskier wears THIS because he needs attention, and boy does he get it.

the promise, 1.8k, Explicit, geraskefer

Based on a tumblr prompt: How about some Jaskier being punished by Gerald and Yennefer for doing something reckless. The two of them domming him into a blubbering mess 👀

#yennskier #geraskier #fic rec #my fic #geraskefer #my smut

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officerjennie · 3 years ago

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press me down, hold me together

Summary: Eskel pushes Jaskier down onto the bed and rides him senseless

CW: Soft tummies (if you squint), smut, intercourse, AOB, knotting, daddy kink, praise kink, D/s elements, omega!Eskel, alpha!Jaskier, dom!Eskel (kinda - he takes charge?), 'pet' used as an endearment

WC: 1k+

Taglist: at the very bottom, let me know if you want on it!

Special thanks to the bog for encouraging me to thot this out. I love y'all so much, I just. I can't express it properly, take all of my love.

Jaskier's pupils blew wide as he was pressed back into the bed. His scramble to get his clothes off just a minute before had been just that, a scramble. Desperate to follow the low growl that had demanded he strip, whining when Eskel had stopped kissing him breathless to nip his lower lip.

It wasn't like this was his first time. How many omegas had Jaskier laid down in some random sheets and fucked until the sun came up? How many alpha had he done the same with? Countless, too many, so many faces and names swirling in his head that were promptly drowned out when Eskel climbed on top of him and straddled his hips.

Immediately, Jaskier's fingers were on his thighs. Digging into the soft flesh there while Eskel watched him with a cocked head and hazy, lust-filled eyes.

If it was Jaskier's fate to be trapped between those thighs, oh what a prison they would make.

A warm chuckle drew his gaze up, though he took his time looking. Thick cock already swelled and heavy, begging to be sucked. A big stomach that he could and would bite every single inch of, it needed to be marked, needed to be sucked and licked - Jaskier whined, forcing his eyes up, already feeling weak even before he saw the smirk that twisted Eskel's lips up.

"Like what you see?" his omega purred, reaching out to tilt Jaskier's chin up, pressing his thumb onto his lower lip. Jaskier licked it, lost in the darkening gold of Eskel's eyes. "Going to be good for me, aren't you? Been thinking of riding your cock since last night."

And how was Jaskier supposed to respond to that? Whatever noise came out of his throat then couldn't have been a word, didn't resemble one at the very least, but it was cut off all the same when Eskel pressed his thumb into his mouth. Pressed down on his tongue and purred out for him to suck.

Jaskier did.

Eskel rocked his hips when Jaskier listened, grinding down on Jaskier's cock. "Wouldn't normally skip to the main event but I need your knot." The last few words were a growl that made Jaskier's cock twitch helplessly, and Eskel leaned down over him, his grip on his chin tightening. "Ready for me? 'm going to milk your cock for all its got."

Never in his life had Jaskier been so eager to say yes, yes he was ready, nodding his head before Eskel had even finished his sentence.

With a gentle caress to his lip, Eskel removed his hand from his chin. He ran the back of his fingers against Jaskier's cheek, letting the alpha nuzzle into the soft affection.

"You going to be good for me?" It was an actual question this time. Jaskier's eyes fluttered, his hands still on Eskel's thighs, fingers kneading into them and feeling the strong muscle underneath the thick layer of soft.

"Yes," he breathed, all other words lost to him.

"That's a good boy," Eskel purred, sitting back upright, slipping a hand behind him to grip Jaskier's cock. When Jaskier gasped, Eskel traced his finger down his face, down his throat, his chest, until it was pressed open there. He steadied himself, rubbing the tip of Jaskier's cock against his slick hole, his own eyes shutting tight for a brief moment before they snapped back open to pin Jaskier down with a single look.

"Now, call me daddy." He took Jaskier's cock into his tight heat without any hesitation, and Jaskier keened, head pressed back into the pillow and fingers like claws in Eskel's skin.

There was no time to adjust. No time to get used to it, the searing heat that enveloped him, the wet hole that threatened to drive out every sane thought that tried to stick in his mind. Eskel didn't give him time, just threw his head back and moaned, and then used those strong thighs and legs to ride him.

He was trapped. Stuck between the most beautiful set of thighs he'd ever had his hands on, cock already leaking while Eskel took his pleasure from it.

"F-fuck," Jaskier whined, not even able to fuck up into him, no matter how desperately he wanted to. All he could do was lay there and watch, and lose himself. "Fuck, I- d-daddy."

"That's right." Eskel rolled his head, staring down at Jaskier with half-lidded eyes, his lip curled up in another devastating smirk. "Say it again."

"Daddy."

They'd only just started, but Jaskier could already feel his knot swelling. Eskel dropped down on his cock and ground down on it, clenching and making Jaskier babble out for him.

"Going to take your knot," Eskel said, running his fingers over Jaskier's chest, tracing odd patterns onto his skin. "Then I'll take it again. And again." He cocked his head, rocking his hips again, this time slow enough for it to be torture.

Jaskier had to cling to him, feeling the drag of his tight hole on his cock, tugging at his swelling knot. He was panting, hardly able to form words - but he managed to beg anyway. "Daddy- daddy please, I- I want to touch you, please, Daddy, can I?"

With a small purse of his lips, Eskel shook his head, and Jaskier sobbed through his desperate pleas. "No, not yet." Eskel soothed his hand over Jaskier's chest to quiet his begging, his pace picking up, riding Jaskier's cock faster. "Not yet, pet, you can touch later. I won't be done with you for a while."

His hand went back to Jaskier's face, and Jaskier immediately opened his mouth, making Eskel chuckle as he pressed his thumb back in. He didn't have to tell him to suck this time.

"Being so good for me," he praised, Jaskier's eyes rolling back - at the pace, Eskel's words, his tone, the thumb pressing his tongue down once more. "Keep being this good for me, love, and I'll fuck you once I'm done with your knot."

That was all Jaskier could take. His orgasm hit him without mercy, fingers digging into Eskel's thighs, a high whine torn out of him as he knotted Eskel. He heard Eskel growl but the sound was lost to the pleasure that drowned out the world. All he knew for a time was the pressure on his knot, the hand holding his chin, and the weight pressing him down into the mattress.

When Jaskier could finally open his eyes again, they were misted and wet. They were still tied together, Eskel leaning over him, barely a breath away, lips almost touching his own hand that still held Jaskier's chin. Still held him together.

"Good boy." His voice was breathy, dripping with his own pleasure, and Jaskier found he would do anything to hear him say that again in that tone. Eskel shifted, testing his knot, finding it just loose enough that he could have slipped off of him if he wanted.

He didn't.

"Jaskier," he purred, brushing their noses together briefly. "Ready to keep being good for Daddy?"

And for the second time that night, Jaskier nodded eagerly, ready to do whatever his daddy told him to.

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

#soft tummy tuesday #jaskel #eskier #eskel/jaskier #jaskier/eskel #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x eskel #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #mywriting #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #lemony

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

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Geralt and eskel taking turns eating jask one night during winter at kaer morhen 👀👀👀

For this prompt I was very specifically told to obliterate the twink, to make him cry. So, here ya go! 5 months later

Title: An Absolute Disaster

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel

Warnings: buckle up buttercups, this one’s a ride (literally) - threesome, double penetration, cum eating, rimming, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, orgasm delay/denial

The biggest of thanks to @thecomfortofoldstorries for beta-ing the shit out of this for me

Jaskier shivered under Eskel's intense gaze.

When Geralt had first suggested it, Jaskier had been unsure about bringing someone else into their bed. But now, with his eyes burning into Jaskier's skin, Jaskier was thrilled.

He focused on the sight of Geralt, sprawled out on their bed, piled high with furs to help keep Jaskier warm during the harsh winter at Kaer Morhen. Geralt looked like a dream, splayed naked, his hard cock already straining, leaking on his stomach where the tip rested. His normally pale skin was flushed with his arousal, a look Jaskier had come to know well. His hands were folded back behind his head as he gazed back at Jaskier, his eyes roving Jaskier’s equally naked form.

Jaskier never felt more wanted, more desired, than when Geralt watched him so intently. Jaskier felt waves of heat behind him as Eskel moved closer.

Jaskier had been instructed to keep his eyes focused on Geralt until Eskel told him otherwise, so that was what he would do. Eskel’s presence was dominating, demanding attention and obedience in equal parts. Jaskier was drunk off it.

Roughened hands settled on Jaskier’s hips, squeezing briefly before trailing up Jaskier’s sides in a comforting motion before moving back down.

“Geralt,” Eskel said, the deep bass of his voice making Jaskier whine, “why don’t you get started? Give Jaskier a show.”

Jaskier’s eyes met Geralt’s as the man smirked, following Eskel’s order slowly but surely. Jaskier followed Geralt’s slow movements, relishing in the strong grip on his hips and he felt his knees weaken at the sight of Geralt, stroking himself.

Geralt’s mouth fell open as he began to pant lightly and Jaskier let out a ragged moan at the sight.

“Mmmm… you like watching just as much as you like being watched, don’t you?” Eskel asked, his breath warming the outer shell of Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier nodded, unable to find his voice, his eyes still focused on the downright sinful picture in front of him.

“Geralt lay back, prop your head on a pillow and get comfortable.” Eskel ordered, the command sending sparks racing down Jaskier’s spine, even though it wasn’t directed at him.

Eskel squeezed Jaskier’s hips again. “Alright Jask, I need you to sit on Geralt’s face for me, okay? Face me.” Eskel’s voice was calm, but held an undercurrent of dominance that made Jaskier shiver.

Jaskier hurries to do as ordered, clambering up the bed and Geralt’s body, carefully straddling the witcher’s face. As Jaskier maneuvered his legs into a good position, balancing on his knees, Geralt’s hands came up, providing support. The anticipation of what was to come had stolen Jaskier’s breath and he gasped shakily as he settled, hovering over Geralt.

Using his grip on Jaskier’s waist, Geralt pulled him down eagerly. Jaskier lost his balance, tilting forward as he felt Geralt’s tongue circle his hole. The relief he felt was immediate, the sensation sending sharp bursts of pleasure through him. He put his hands on Geralt’s chest to keep himself from falling as he grinded back on Geralt’s face, making the witcher moan.

Geralt’s hands came up, spreading Jaskier’s cheeks, allowing the witcher to press even closer. Jaskier’s eyes fell shut and he whined when he felt Geralt’s tongue push inside of him.

“No, no, little lark, eyes open and on me.” Eskel’s voice sent another shock through Jaskier and he forced his eyes open slowly, his vision blurry as he gazed towards Eskel’s large form.

The larger witcher had climbed onto the bed without Jaskier noticing and was now resting on his knees in between Geralt’s legs. His hands were rubbing a gentle rhythm on Geralt’s spread thighs as he watched Jaskier intently.

“Geralt, let’s give Jaskier a little more, okay? Use your fingers.”

Jaskier groaned weakly as he felt Geralt’s arms shift, a finger prodding at Jaskier’s hole. It was slick, the jar conveniently left in Geralt’s reach by Eskel at the start. Geralt’s thick finger finally pushed in beside his tongue, brushing up against Jaskier’s prostate and making him shake from the stimulation.

He was aching.

His cock throbbed as he reached for it, desperate to give himself some friction.

A growl made Jaskier freeze, his only movements caused by Geralt shifting him around minutely. His eyes met Eskel’s.

“Who told you,” Eskel asked, his voice low and powerful, “that you were allowed to touch yourself?”

Jaskier shivered under the fiery gaze of the man in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, shaking from desperation.

Eskel hummed, “You won’t touch yourself little lark, we’ll give you your pleasure as you earn it.”

Jaskier nodded, his hand settling back on Geralt’s abdomen for support.

“Is Geralt not doing a good enough job?” Eskel asked, shifting Geralt’s legs so that Eskel could slide his bent knees under them. Geralt wrapped his legs around Eskel easily as he continued his ministrations.

Jaskier was panting, Geralt now pistoning a finger in and out of him at a harsh pace, “No, no!” the bard gasped out, shifting his hips, “so good… just… wanted more. Want to cum.”

“You will, Jaskier. I’ll tell you when. Got it?”

Jaskier whimpered and nodded, rocking back onto Geralt’s finger and tongue.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Geralt stroked Jaskier’s prostate, making the bard howl with pleasure. Jaskier was quickly becoming mindless with it, rocking his hips and practically smothering Geralt, chasing the pleasure jolting through him at every movement Geralt made. His fingers, now two pressed in him, were focused directly on Jaskier’s prostate, hitting it with every thrust in. His tongue licking inside of Jaskier, helping stretch him while he occasionally nipped at Jaskier's rim with sharp teeth, making the bard squirm and wriggle and mewl.

“Four fingers, Geralt. He’s ready. And he’ll need at least that to take my cock.”

Geralt pulled both his hand and mouth away from Jaskier, making the bard whimper. He quickly slicked up his hand and put his fingers back to Jaskier’s hole. He pushed in slowly with all four fingers, making the bard whine from the pressure. The stretch was just this side of too much and it felt amazing.

Jaskier couldn’t think of a time he had been more desperate or more fulfilled.

He was babbling now, the words nonsensical as he rocked back onto Geralt’s hand, his pleas making absolutely no sense.

He felt himself being shifted again and then suddenly a wet heat was on his balls. He keened as he felt Geralt’s mouth draw him in, suckling gently at his sac. Jaskier was overwhelmed.

“Please,” he cried out. He could feel tears streaking down his face.

“Please what?” Eskel purred.

“I need to come. Please let me. Let me touch my cock please. Please, please, please, please.”

“Shhh it’s okay, buttercup. You’re doing so well. Being such a good boy for me. Do you think you’re stretched out enough for my cock?”

Jaskier groaned and feverishly nodded, “Please. I want it so bad. Please.”

“You’re being so good, buttercup. So good. But I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

Jaskier whimpered.

Eskel muttered something so quiet only Geralt could make out the words and then suddenly two sets of hands were on him, lifting and shifting until he was sitting on Geralt’s crotch, his ass pressured right up against Geralt’s cock.

“Alright buttercup, we’re gonna let Geralt get you nice and open for me first, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, the tears still slowly trailing down his face. Strong hands gripped him again and he was seated comfortably on Geralt’s cock, letting him slide down slowly until Geralt bottomed out. Jaskier’s head was thrown back from the pleasure of the stretch. Geralt’s cock was thick and beautifully curved so it hit Jaskier’s prostate unerringly every time.

“Come on, buttercup, think you can bounce on him for me?” Eskel’s deep voice made Jaskier shiver. He tried to get his legs underneath him and lift up, but they were too shaky.

“It’s okay, buttercup, we’ve got you. Geralt can do all the work, beautiful. You just enjoy.”

Geralt’s hands settled back on Jaskier’s hips as he rolled his hips, grinding inside the bard, making him wail. “That’s right, Jask,” Geralt whispered, “let me take care of you.”

Geralt wasted no time, beginning to lift Jaskier up as if he weighed nothing, thrusting his hips.

Eskel hummed, “Look at that. How does it feel, Jask? Geralt’s using you like a toy, moving you around for his own pleasure. Do you like that? Being used?”

“Yes,” Jaskier sobbed, the tears renewed as Geralt pounded into his prostate, “please, please, please”

“Just enjoy buttercup, we’ve got you.” Eskel leaned forward and pressed a hard kiss to the bard’s lips. Jaskier was so fucked out he could do nothing but moan into it.

Eskel shifted again, reaching for the lube and slicking up two of his fingers, “Geralt slow your thrusts down, we don’t want to push him too far too soon.”

Geralt did as ordered with a grunt, slowing his powerful thrusts down until they were smooth rolls of pleasure.

Jaskier’s whine threw his voice into a pitch he didn’t think had ever achieved before.

From his position, Jaskier had the perfect view of Eskel fingering at Geralt’s hole, circling the muscles before pushing in quickly with two fingers.

Geralt grunted and bucked his hips, making Eskel chuckle, “missed the stretch, wolf?” Geralt grunted again, pushing down on the fingers inside of him just as he lifted Jaskier, nearly unseating the bard from his cock before slamming him back down.

Jaskier nearly toppled forward from the force, reaching out to grab hold of Eskel’s shoulders.

Eskel smiled at him, “That’s right little buttercup, you can hold on to me, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, burying his head into Eskel’s neck, tears leaking steadily from his eyes as Geralt’s thrusts began getting more powerful.

Eskel hummed and trailed one hand up and down Jaskier’s back, the other still fingering Geralt open, “Geralt’s close, Jaskier. Can you feel it? How desperate he is?” Jaskier nodded, head still in Eskel’s neck. “Has he done well, buttercup? Does he deserve to cum in you? Mark you?”

Jaskier whimpered, his hips making aborted thrusts, desperate for friction on his cock.

“I think he’s done well. Alright Geralt, cum inside our buttercup for me.” Geralt thrust one more time inside of Jaskier before shivering, his cock throbbing as Jaskier felt his hot seed spill inside of him.

He didn’t feel Geralt soften.

Eskel made a pleased noise as he ran a rand down Jaskier’s back, fingers prodding at Jaskier’s opening. “Still just as hard for us, Geralt?”

Geralt grunted.

“Use your words wolf.”

“Yes.”

“Prop yourself up, Geralt.”

Jaskier remained seated on Geralt’s cock, his head still buried in Eskel’s neck, whimpering quietly every time Geralt shifted inside of him as he resituated.

“Perfect. Jaskier, lean back onto Geralt, okay?” Jaskier whimpered. Eskel chuckled and shifted forward, moving Jaskier back until he was settled against Geralt’s chest, still seated on Geralt’s cock.

Geralt’s arms came up and wrapped around Jaskier, strong and solid. Comforting.

Jaskier whined and bucked his hips. His cock was red and angry, and he was so desperate. “Please,” he whined, breathing hard, he begged again, “please”

“Not yet, buttercup.”

Jaskier let out a sob and closed his eyes he wasn’t sure he could take anymore.

He bucked again when he felt more pressure pressing against his hole. Opening his eyes, he saw Eskel in front of him, a slick finger prodding at his opening.

“I think that you would feel amazing if I slipped in here beside Geralt, what do you think, buttercup.”

Jaskier froze, the idea alone enough to make him feel so incredibly close to his orgasm. He bucked his hips again, so close.

Suddenly Geralt’s hands settled on his hips, stilling Jaskier’s hips just as one of Eskel’s hands circled his cock, gripping the base tightly.

Jaskier sobbed again.

“None of that, I told you that I tell you when to cum.”

Jaskier nodded.

Suddenly the fingers were back at his hole, pushing in, Eskel’s other hand still wrapped almost painfully tight around the base of Jaskier’s cock.

“Gods you’re already loose and sloppy Jaskier. Geralt’s cum inside of you. I could just push right in, couldn’t I?”

Jaskier stared at Eskel cock, larger than any he had ever taken.

He had never wanted something more.

“What do you want, Jaskier”

“Wanna be full,” He whimpered, trying to shift but Geralt’s strong grip stopped him.

Eskel pushed another finger inside of him. It slid in easily, Jaskier’s opening around him beautifully.

Eskel smiled and pushed two more fingers in him on the next thrust. Jaskier whimpered at the stretch.

“Please, please, please, want you in me, please.” Jaskier was desperate for more. For everything.

Eskel tutted, “Patience, buttercup. If we go too fast, we could hurt you. Just sit back. Let us take care of you.” Eskel’s composure was infuriating. Jaskier was reduced to a shivering, sobbing mess but it seemed like Eskel was completely unbothered by the whole situation.

Jaskier felt another sob escape him as Eskel continued thrusting his fingers in and out of him. The additional stretch alongside Geralt’s cock was mind numbingly amazing and Jaskier couldn’t focus on anything else.

He felt like he might pass out from it.

Eskel’s position was perfect to hit his prostate but he just skirted around it, sometimes grazing against it enough to make Jaskier shout.

Jaskier didn’t know if it had been minutes or hours when he finally felt Eskel’s hand pull back. Jaskier felt empty despite the hard cock still inside of him.

Suddenly, Eskel was on his knees, his hard cock slick and pushed up against Jaskier’s opening, “You still want this buttercup?”

“Please” Jaskier couldn’t take one more minute of this delicious torture but he would rather die than be anywhere else.

The stretch was divine, something Jaskier couldn’t remember ever feeling. It stung but the pleasure far outweighed the pain. Jaskier couldn’t have imagined a feeling like this.

It felt like ages before Eskel finally bottomed out inside of Jaskier. The two thick hard cocks stretching Jaskier far past what he would have ever thought he could take.

It was bliss.

Jaskier tried to buck again but Geralt’s hands still held him in place.

Eskel pulled out and thrust back in slowly, over and over, drawing groans from both Geralt and Jaskier.

Finally, Eskel smirked, “I think you’re ready, buttercup. Hold on.”

Eskel pulled out to the very tip, slamming back into him just as Geralt lifted him just enough to thrust out. They set a brutal pace, pistoning into him alternatingly so he was never empty, their cocks dragging against each other inside of him as Jaskier felt like he was being pounded into oblivion.

He really might pass out.

His cock was long forgotten, the stimulation he was receiving was more than he thought he ever would.

All he could do was lay there and take it.

Geralt was the first to break, shaking through his second orgasm of the night and Jaskier could feel him go soft inside him.

Eskel kept thrusting.

Jaskier was reminded of the throbbing of his cock and he tried desperately to angle his hips so he could get some sort of stimulation on it.

Eskel puffed out a breath, “You ready too, buttercup? Gonna come on my cock?”

Jaskier bucked his hips again, desperate for more. Desperate to cum.

The hand that wrapped around him was the best thing Jaskier had ever felt. Eskel’s hand was still slick from fingering him open as he pumped Jaskier’s cock in time with his thrusts.

When Jaskier came, he swore he could feel chaos raging through him.

His vision blurred.

When Jaskier came to, he was lying on the bed, covered in a thin sheet. Geralt lay beside him, facing him, his eyes closed and face screwed up in pleasure as Eskel fucked into him from behind.

“Buttercup,” Eskel said brightly, only the slightest hitch in his voice indicating he was doing anything more strenuous than laying in bed, “welcome back.”

“How long was I out,” He asked, voice raw,

“Just a couple minutes.”

“Fuck.”

“Had fun?”

Eskel’s thrusts were speeding up, shaking the bed and jolting Geralt. He shuddered as he came inside the white haired man, his thrusts slowing until he finally stopped.

Eskel’s eyes found Jaskier’s, “It was a shame I didn’t get to come inside of you before you passed out.” He barely even sounded out of breath.

Jaskier’s hole was throbbing but he wanted, oh how he wanted it. To take Eskel’s cock again, have it fill him up.

His over sensitive cock gave a twitch.

Eskel chuckled, “It’s okay, buttercup. We can do that next time. I’ve got dinner duty tonight so I need to get going anyway,” Eskel slid from the bed, graceful despite his size, “I’ll see you both in a couple of hours.”

He slipped his clothes on and was out the door before Jaskier even realized what happened.

He looked at Geralt laying beside him. He looked sleepy and content. Except for his achingly hard cock.

Despite everything, Jaskier felt heat pool in his groin. Fuck, he would be so sore later.

His movements still shaky, Jaskier slid down the bed and settled between Geralt’s thighs where he was now lying on his stomach. Jaskier cupped his cheeks, pulling them apart and watching as Eskel’s spend dribbled out of Geralt’s hole still stretched and gaping from his cock. Fuck, Jaskier could only imagine what he looked like... He groaned at the thought.

Geralt’s hips shifted as he grinded his cock into the bed, “You want to cum again?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt let out a sleepy hum, “fuck me?” he asked quietly, shifting to spread his legs even more.

Fuck.

Yeah, Jaskier could do that. His cock was filling out quickly, leaving Jaskier feeling light-headed and sensitive.

He could feel Geralt’s cum where it was drying on his thighs as it leaked out of him. Fuck they were a mess.

Eskel’s cum was still spilling from Geralt slowly, the sight was beautiful and Jaskier couldn’t resist, leaning forward and tonguing at the spend.

Geralt keened.

Jaskier buried his face into Geralt, licking sloppily at his hole. Geralt whined and thrust his hips back when Jaskier’s tongue pushed passed the loose practically gaping muscle.

Jaskier took his time, licking Geralt open and cleaning him out until he was whimpering, thrusting minutely against the bed.

Deeming him clean, Jaskier slid up, pressing a gentle kiss against Geralt’s shoulder before grabbing him by the hair, pulling gently to bring Geralt’s face from the pillow he had buried it in. His eyes were red rimmed and there were tear tracks on his cheeks

He looked ruined

Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder if he looked the same. He certainly felt the same.

Maintaining his grip in Geralt’s hair, he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips as he slid inside of Geralt.

The slide was easy and wet, Geralt more than opened enough to take him.

“I won’t last long,” Jaskier bit out, his thrusts already speeding up as he chased the edge.

“Me either.” Geralt grunted, grinding his cock onto the bed beneath him as Jaskier pounded into him.

In what felt like no time, Jaskier could feel Geralt tighten up slightly around him, still looser than Jaskier had ever felt him before, and it pulled Jaskier with him over the edge. Jaskier rolled to the side, wrapping his arm around Geralt and muzzling up to his side, “We should clean up,” he whispered sleepily.

Geralt rolled so he was being spooned by Jaskier, his back pressed to Jaskier’s front, “Sleep now.” He said quietly.

Jaskier pressed a kiss between Geralt’s shoulder blades and let his eyes fall closed. They would regret not cleaning up when they awoke, but in that moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

They would definitely be doing this again. At least once a week until they all departed, if Jaskier had anything to say about it.

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