#i really struggled with making him somewhat look like geralt

[marloeny]

A sketch I colored to ease back into posting. :)

[limerental]

ficletober 2022 day 22 - trissbert ft. yennskier (and background relationships)

It's a less than peaceful morning at Kaer Morhen with Triss and Lambert up to their usual bickering. Except not everything is as it seems.

aka just a really self-indulgent, ambiguous canon, they all lived in KM like it was 2020 nonsense fic.

Mornings at Kaer Morhen were ordinarily a subdued affair, the groggy residents of the keep struggling to shake off the winter sluggishness. The sun never quite rose over the crags of the mountains, and shadows loomed in the poorly-lit halls. No one quite had the energy for rousing arguments and wrestling matches until at least noon.

Except, it seemed, Triss and Lambert.

"Nitwit," Triss hissed under her breath, leaning toward him across the table. "Muttonhead. Dullard."

"Are those the best insults you know, Merigold?" drawled Lambert at what he seemed to think was decreased volume. "You learn those at your little rich girl witch school?"

"It's not a– I know plenty more insults than that, you peabrain."

"The best you've got is piss for brains?"

"Peas, you insufferable Witcher. Peas!" Her cheeks were flushed red. "The vegetable. Though perhaps you're unfamiliar. Your cuisine seems to suggest so."

"If you're so displeased with our slop, why don't you slither back to your banquets?" He dug a heaping spoonful from her bowl of groats and shoved it in his mouth, comically full cheeks somewhat ruining his smug expression.

Triss made a disgusted noise as he smacked his lips loudly, chewing with his mouth open.

"What's happening this time?" Geralt grumbled to Eskel from the other end of the table, both of them considering retreating to distant parts of the keep. Yennefer and the bard had yet to show, and Vesemir woke early enough to avoid all of them and had already disappeared into his study. 

"They were shouting at each other in the hall last night," said Eskel, slumped over a bowl of steaming groats.

"About?"

"Something stupid, probably. What are they on about now? Fruits?"

Triss and Lambert had given up on hushed morning tones and devolved into a full-blown argument.

"A potato is not a fruit by any metric, you imbecile."

"It's round. It's got skin. Comes from a living thing. Fruit, Merigold."

"A tuber," says Triss with decreasing patience, "is not a fruit. And that definition is nowhere near--"

Lambert is busy listing things that are fruits on his fingers.

"Tomato, cherry, apple, melon, potato, bezoar–"

"Bezoar?!" Triss' voice reaches an alarming pitch.

"Well, I mean. Technically. You harvest them from a living thing. People spend a lot of money for them. They're round. Fruit."

"Not even by your own definition does that make any–" 

"Sometimes not everything's all neat and tidy little boxes, Merigold."

"A bezoar is not a fruit."

"An egg is a fruit."

"You are insufferable. Intolerable. You're–"

Geralt and Eskel had shuffled farther away down the table from the discussion, leaning into one another to whisper.

"This is worse than usual," said Geralt, brow drawing together. "Do you think we should intervene?"

"Be my guest," said Eskel. "But Triss is wielding that spoon like she's a second from scooping out somebody's eyeball, and I don't think she'd discriminate."

"Probably right," grumbled Geralt. He stared into his bowl. "Is… an eyeball a fruit? By Lambert's definition."

Eskel stared at him. 

Lambert and Triss, meanwhile, had escalated to a full-blown tiff, complete with exaggerated gestures and pinched facial expressions. Their faces were flushed beet-red.

The bard chose that moment to enter, looking artfully disheveled in a way Geralt knew he perfected in the mirror before leaving his room. He took one look at the arguing pair and wrinkled his nose in displeasure.

"Augh, already? Isn't it too early for catfights?"

Yennefer was not far behind Jaskier, looking pristinely unruffled. Also perfected in the mirror before leaving her room. She regarded the scene before her, eyes narrowing.

Saying nothing, she ladled a bowl of groats from the pot, sprinkled it with dried apple, and settled beside Eskel at the table. Jaskier flopped half in her lap, nearly unsettling her bowl, and she flicked him in the temple.

"Sit your bony backside somewhere else, you little jester," she said. 

"Ow," whined Jaskier, wiggling headfirst into her lap instead. "What's their deal, then? Woke up on the wrong side of the cold, dismal slabs you people call beds?"

"They're fucking," said Yennefer mildly. "They're having sex."

A chorus of disbelief rose from their end of the table, and Triss and Lambert sputtered in protest, both deepening to a further shade of red.

"As if I would ever–"

"You don't know what you're–"

"With this absolute buffoon of a–"

Yennefer rolled her eyes.

"If they haven't yet, they would like to. You're not anything approaching subtle," she said. "Both in the other's space incessantly. Insults used as endearing little nicknames. Bickering as a form of flirtation. Barely withheld lust in your heated tirades."

She ran her hands through Jaskier's hair as she spoke. The whole table stared.

"It does seem fairly suspect," the bard said, yawning. "Everyone knows the inherent eroticism of–"

Yennefer flicked him again, even as she sctatched at his scalp.

"Pipe down. The adults are speaking."

"There's nothing–" Lambert makes a vulgar gesture. "--eroticist about anything happening here."

 "It's erotic, you dunce," Triss huffed.

"Ah, so you're admitting it."

"No!"

"Blatant admittance there."

"Yep, clear as day."

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked. "What's with the very intense broody thinking face? Have I got cobwebs in my hair again? If any of you ever got out a broom, that wouldn't happen, now would it? What are you staring at?"

"Fuck," Geralt said. "You two are–"

Eskel cackled, slapping him on the shoulder. "And he's got it. Only took him a damn month."

"Got what," said Lambert.

"It's obvious," huffed Triss, still very pink. "They're–"

"Fucking," said Yennefer with a tug on the bard's hair.

"Is that all that our indecorous, clandestine union is to you, my wretched lady of the night?" Jaskier pouted.

Lambert gagged. Triss blushed. Geralt had turned a weirder shade of grey than usual. Eskel thunked his head against the table and continued to cackle.

Then, Ciri appeared in the doorway, her hair a wild rat's nest of bedhead, scurrying into the hall with a suspicious look.

"Is there no training today?" she asked. "No one came to wake me."

"Aha, you little twerp." Lambert grinned. "Finally admitting you pretend not to know how late it is."

Ciri planted both elbows flat on the table and leaned her chin on them, her expression overflowing with cheeky, ev glee.

"My room's next door to Triss," said Ciri. "I could tell everyone here what I was forced to overhear last–"

Geralt recovered from his afflicted state in no time, hostility palpable in the air. Lambert leapt back from the table at once.

"To the training yard, girl!" he barked. "Last one there shuts up and never mentions this again."

Ciri dove into a sprint, bounding over the casual leg Triss stuck out in an attempt to trip her, and Lambert followed at speed, Geralt shouting after them with both hands on his hips.

"Ha," said Eskel, shaking off his last snickers of laughter. "Speaking of catfights. Wait 'til she meets Lambert's other half. Bound to get ugly."

Yennefer hummed. "One of the most powerful sorceresses on the Contininent has her on a leash," she said. "Lambert should worry, if anything."

"Or," said Jaskier with a wagging finger, "they all agree to a polite and agreeable polyamorous arrangement where all parties consent to a communicative, open arrangement and all are wholly emotionally and physically satisfied."

The four remaiming in the hall stared at one another.

Several hours later, Vesemir braved a return to the great hall to prepare lunch. He stopped in the doorway, sighed deeply at the indecent sight before him, and turned on his heel to dissappear back into his study.

Perhaps he could get away with staying in there until spring finally came.

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[candied-cae]

I've Rambled About the Witcher Once or Twice

This is going to be an ongoing masterlist for all the OFMD stuff my brain does - it's somewhat organized by its subject/style with little descriptions! But if you wanna check out my fics or drabbles... Click Here!

Art: ...

Edits: ...

Clips: ...

Proper Thoughts: ...

The Difference Between The Golden One and Burn, Butcher, Burn - short comparison between the two songs and the hints and context clues it gives on how Jaskier felt and his timeline Post-S1E6 Mountain BreakUp.

I think Jaskier only performed Burn, Butcher, Burn once

I Don't Think Jaskier Really Trusts Geralt Yet - Analysis on the Geralt/Jasker reunion scene and how it looks like Jaskier is still hurting from what Geralt did to him and is still doing

Geralt Moving to Catch Jaskier's Vest - a little ramble on how this scene looks like the first steps Geralt's taking to prove he deserves the second chance he's getting from Jaskier.

Geralt introducing Jaskier and Ciri makes me mad every single time

Wait a Minute, Jaskier did Elven Activism through song? - pulling together context clues from the scene in S2 where Yennefer and Fringilla mention Jaskier's songs to Filavandrel and what that might mean in the grander scheme of his life and career

Jaskier may be Taylor Swift in the Witcher, but if he attended a Mitski Concert he'd be on his knees - excerpts from Mitski's "Nobody" and "Old Friend" why they are super similar to Jaskier's situation.

We deserve a Geraskier SnowWhite!AU

I want Marilka Back - I miss her and I loved her character, especially her profound effect on Geralt following that first episode.

"Have You Ever Shed a Tear Over Anything Elven?" - Massive appreciation post for this incredible line from Francesca to Yennefer with small analysis on why it's important and accurate.

^Pt. 2) this is not to say Elves who "pass" a human should be excluded from the community - further explanation of Yennefer's relationship with her Elven Blood and why she has alienated herself from the community, not the other way around.

Were there Non-Mutant Wolf Cubs Vesemir Raised at Kaer Morhen? - headcanon that since there was no way to tell the Continent that Kaer Morhen lost the ability to make more witchers, there were probably many more boys who were left to the keep who might've been taken in anyway.

People Don't Understand Vesemir? - an analysis on Vesemir's character, motivations, and canon backstory on why I believe it made a lot of sense for him to want to turn Ciri (and others) into Witchers. Minor Spoilers from Netflix's Nightmare of the Wolf.

Yennefer and Cahir's Wanted Posters - Let's look at these for a moment. You try to tell me anyone was going to actually catch them based on these if not for plot reasons and them acting suspicious as hell.

Oh My God, I forgot Yen had siblings, and they could still be alive?!

Why does TWN quote a line from the books that doesn't appear in Season 1? It Doesn't Make Sense. Geralt shouldn't have this quote in the show's Canon

Why I want to like Yennefer, but struggle to sympathize due to many writing choices from S2 - Character Analysis on why Yen being a morallly grey character is already difficult for me, but with what they did with her S2, particularly how they wrote her and Ciri together, I'm really not enjoying her :( Love the Fanon, but in Canon Yen stresses me out

Netflix is making Geralt and Yen look like a married couple who want to/should get divorced, but try bringing a child into the relationship to "fix" them and I hate it

My Critiques of Yennefer and the decisions the show makes with her character are criticisms of the Writing, Showrunner, and Production team. It is NEVER about Anya

I think the writers ruined the dock scene when they killed someone - analysis on the SandPiper scene on the dock and why it makes scene for Jaskier to retaliate, but it looks like he killed someone for being immature.

S1's excessive nudity was atrocious and I am so happy they dialed it back for S2

Silly Stuff:

Jaskier invented icon behavior when he wrote The Golden One

The Golden One is barely in the show and it makes me MAD

The Saddest Death of Season 2 (joke + obvious S2 spoilers)

I'm choosing to believe Jaskier DID "win the hearts of the huntress pair"

Sometimes I cry at my job while I write Angsty Geraskier fanfics on the computer (meme)

If the Continent treated Geralt like TS fans treat J*ke Gyllenh*l after BBB (joke)

My Geraskier fanfics aren't horny, just really S A D (meme)

I watched S1 of The Witcher in my senior year at highschool, and those fanfics had me by the gd neck

The Witcher is just Fantasy Queer Eye because I said so (+ lil sketch)

[eskelstits]

Okay okay so hear me out:

Jaskier has been acting odd lately, though the bard was either too shy or too stubborn to acknowledge it. At the very least, he was stubborn fool for thinking Geralt, of all people, wouldn’t take notice. Jaskier had suddenly become adamant about more generous rations for his Witcher, started to insist on larger dinners at taverns, and was always quick to suggest another round of food and drink— only to insist that Geralt finish it. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier watched intently while he ate and hid his wry amusement when the bard hurriedly looked away upon being caught. Geralt had so far played along with these antics in feigned ignorance, admittedly feeling a small thrill as his body started to bulk and strain against his armor. And now that he was paying closer attention, he found himself fond of just how delicate his bard looked by comparison. Armed with his suspicions of what Jaskier is up to, Geralt decides to satisfy his curiosity by embracing the bard’s antics and seeing just how much he can him squirm.

I was thinking some stuffing and size kink ~ with increasingly daring taunts thrown from both sides of the table bc let’s be real neither of the boys would give in easily.

THANK YOU i definitely had fun with this prompt

[ masterpost - ao3 ]

"Are you ill?" Geralt asked the question hunched over the plate of eggs and bacon he was enjoying for his breakfast.

More accurately, Jaskier's breakfast. Geralt had already finished his own serving, but then Jaskier had deftly stacked his own half-full plate on top of Geralt's empty one. To be fair, as it turned out, that particular tavern did tend to dish out surprisingly hearty portions, and Geralt had to remind himself that Jaskier was not a witcher, and therefore did not have the appetite of one. It was not the only occasion on which Jaskier had passed off a good fraction of his food to Geralt, however.

In fact, it seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He would demand seconds, larger portions, extra bread or more ale, only to immediately claim that he was full and offer it up to Geralt. After a tough life of fighting for survival, Geralt was a rather opportunistic eater, and so he always took advantage of Jaskier's leftovers. It was … strange, but Geralt could not say he exactly minded it. He did like going to bed warm and satiated rather than starving, tossing and turning and kept awake by his growling stomach. The only thing that really puzzled Geralt was the staring. Jaskier would look at him like Geralt was the most fascinating thing on the Continent whenever they sat down together to eat, but as Geralt had recently discovered, Jaskier would always quickly look away the moment Geralt met his eye.

Jaskier gaped and sputtered for a moment, eyes wide and hand settled over his chest as though Geralt had just viciously insulted him.

"Ill? Geralt, you wound me. I will have you know that I'm positively glowing with good health," Jaskier huffed.

Geralt grunted. Eyes narrowed, he examined Jaskier for just a brief moment longer, then bowed his head again to continue eating. Out of the edge of his vision, he could see Jaskier watching him.

Geralt had been willing to ignore the odd behavior up until his trousers started feeling tight. He still was not quite upset. It was not an overly drastic change, just a slight layer of padding over top of his muscles, making him look more like he did after he had been settled for a while over the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen, but there was a definite difference. Jaskier seemed to be noticing, too. Though he had not said anything about it, he still stared, and whenever he and Geralt fell into bed together, the bard's hands smoothed all over him, wordlessly worshiping Geralt's fuller frame.

Geralt enjoyed it, too. He had always been broader than Jaskier, but putting on a bit of weight had only highlighted that contrast. The day before, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his reflection looming behind Jaskier's in the mirror as the bard stood there checking over his own outfit for the evening's performance, and he had looked almost … delicate in comparison to Geralt. The sight had ignited something deep and primal and exciting in his core, and he wanted to chase that thrill.

No, he was far from upset. He was curious, though. While he had pieced together what was happening, there was still one more question: Was Jaskier doing it on purpose? Geralt supposed he could simply ask, but the thought of setting himself up for vulnerability like that was horrific. He had to find some other way to weasel out the truth. He had to beat Jaskier at his own game.

"Do I look different to you?" Geralt dared to ask that evening while they waited for the barmaid to come back with their dinner order. Jaskier looked anxious for just a brief second, but then he relaxed again and hummed inquisitively as he scanned Geralt's face.

"Is that a new doublet? Oh! Have you trimmed your beard?" Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed. By trade, Jaskier was a performer, but Geralt knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying -- or 'acting,' as Jaskier often corrected him. Two could play that game. Feigning ignorance, Geralt nodded and falsely agreed that he had gone to a barber, and he watched Jaskier decompress with relief. When the barmaid returned and set a full plate down in front of each of them, Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I want another," he said, pointing to his own plate.

"Ah … Another leg of chicken?" The barmaid looked a bit confused, like she was hesitant to believe that Geralt had been referring to the entire meal.

"No. Another plate," Geralt insisted. A brief pause, and he tacked on, "Please."

The barmaid blinked, but she chose not to argue. Rather, she nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. When Geralt looked back towards Jaskier, the bard was staring. Again.

"... Hungry, are you?" Jaskier questioned.

"Very."

Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment longer and watched as just a hint of color began creeping over the bard's cheeks. Without another word, Geralt began to eat. He tore into the half chicken and the hearty portion of roast vegetables he had in front of him, and each time he glanced up, he found Jaskier trying and ultimately failing to be subtle about the fact that he was watching Geralt like a hawk. Geralt thought that he would have wanted to shy away before he managed to get his questions answered, but that was not the case. In reality, he actually liked the attention, those enraptured eyes fixed on him making him feel alight with a strange mixture of pleasure and shame. The barmaid came back with the rest of the food Geralt had requested, and she set it down quickly almost as though afraid of getting bitten if she ventured too close. Geralt grunted his thanks around a full mouth. Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time, all the way up until Geralt finally broke for air and a drink of ale.

“Are you … sure you’re going to be able to finish all of that?” Jaskier sounded both tentative and almost laughably eager.

“Yes,” Geralt answered.

He met Jaskier’s eye again, his gaze dark and smoldering. The bard’s throat bobbed enticingly when he swallowed, and Geralt only barely held back a smirk. Whether or not Jaskier had been feeding Geralt up on purpose, it was obvious that he enjoyed the show, and it was always fun for Geralt to try and get him flustered.

“Ah, yes, well … I suppose you have had quite a healthy appetite lately,” Jaskier said. He spoke hesitantly, testing his luck. Geralt pushed right back.

“Someone has to eat all your leftovers.”

“Mm, yes. You are rather good for that.”

Geralt made it about halfway through his second plate before Jaskier was getting restless again. The bard still had some food remaining on his own plate, and judging from the way he kept glancing between it and Geralt and tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, he was hoping to see the witcher finish it off for him.

“Going to eat that?” Geralt spoke around a mouthful of chicken.

He had inched past satisfied a few bites ago, but he could keep going comfortably enough, and he so desperately wanted to see how Jaskier was going to react to his more deliberate goading. Geralt watched while Jaskier blushed and tried his best to act as though he had not been hoping to hear that exact question. It had been painfully obvious. Their many years together had given Geralt the ability to be able to read Jaskier like an open book. Sometimes, it was useful, likely saving Jaskier from some fights when Geralt was able to pick up on the body language that meant foolish determination or rising anger, but other times, like in that moment, it was simply amusing.

“Come now, love, you can’t possibly still be hungry,” Jaskier teased. Somewhat unexpectedly, it sent a jolt down Geralt’s spine. The witcher made a noise somewhat like a little growl, and his pupils widened. Jaskier did a much poorer job of veiling his own smirk. Perfect. Geralt was baiting him, and he was falling for it so easily. “I know you’ve been eating a great deal lately, but honestly … you’re getting greedy.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nearly as quickly as a human’s as Jaskier scraped the rest of his food onto Geralt’s plate. By then, Jaskier seemed to have accepted that it was useless to hide his interest. He sat with his elbows braced against the table and his jaw cradled in his palms, alluring blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Geralt. Near the end of his meal, Geralt was at last starting to struggle, the fact that his armor clung to him a bit more than he would have preferred only keeping it pinned in the forefront of his mind just how full he was. Jaskier’s reddened cheeks had only grown more vivid, the color even dusting the tips of his ears. Geralt rarely saw the bard so silent, so unwaveringly focused, usually only when he was in the middle of a fit of intense writing inspiration, and while Geralt felt scrutinized, he was actually enjoying it. Feeling bold, he grunted around his last mouthful and then reclined back in his chair, hoping to give Jaskier a glimpse of his distended belly where it strained against his clothes. Judging from the look on the bard’s face, it had worked.

“Are you finally satisfied, then?” Jaskier asked, and something about his tone of voice had something hot and exciting churning in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He sounded almost condescending, but in the most deliciously arousing way possible.

“Mhm.” It was little more than a grunt.

Jaskier evidently had very little regard for how sluggish Geralt was looking. Lithe fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist and tugged insistently, and although Geralt easily could have kept himself planted in place if he had truly wanted to, he allowed Jaskier to haul him up onto his feet and lead him upstairs. Such a short trip normally would never have affected him, but with a full stomach weighing him down, Geralt found himself panting softly by the time he and Jaskier had reached their room. Distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of his trousers digging into his skin so tightly that it was almost painful, Geralt had little time to react before he was suddenly backed up against the closed door and drawn into a heated kiss.

“Jask --” Geralt breathed, cut off abruptly by yet another kiss.

Clearly, he had guessed right. Jaskier did enjoy that display, even more than Geralt had been anticipating. Soon, Geralt gave up on speaking, and he yielded to the kiss, lips parting for a teasing swipe of Jaskier’s tongue through his mouth. There was a pleasant warmth against Geralt’s middle that he soon recognized as Jaskier’s hands, kneading gently through stiff leather.

“Look at you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt bit back a dry remark about how it was difficult to do that with the bard plastered up against him. “You’re getting so big.”

A thrill ran through Geralt at that. He curled his hands around Jaskier’s slender hips and squeezed, drawing him in closer, and Jaskier gasped against his lips. In truth, Geralt did not look too terribly different than he usually did, but there had been a little tone of hopefulness in Jaskier’s voice, a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted more. The next few seconds seemed to blur together, but somehow, Geralt had ended up spread out on the bed, staring up into Jaskier’s darkened eyes where he had perched himself on Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s usually agile fingers trembled with anticipation as he worked Geralt out of his armor, putting him on blatant display. Where he had once been all sharp angles and overly defined muscles, he had accumulated a small layer of padding, and most noticeable of all at the moment was the rounded curve of his belly, warm and full and demanding Jaskier’s complete attention. His hands smoothed over it, rubbing and exploring, interspersed with little appreciative pats and scratches.

“Knew you were doing it on purpose,” Geralt said. Much to his amusement, Jaskier actually looked shocked. “Weren’t very subtle about it.”

“Yes, well --” Jaskier paused, seeming to be struggling to decide on what to say. Eventually, he just huffed, then decided to deflect and taunted, “Are you sure you aren’t just a glutton?”

Geralt smirked. Without any warning, he rolled over, pinning Jaskier beneath him. He heard Jaskier’s pulse flutter. A heated fantasy sped through Geralt’s mind, thoughts of how easily he could subdue Jaskier, how much stronger and bigger Geralt was, how much deep trust it took for Jaskier to lay himself out so vulnerable for a witcher, a predator. Jaskier’s arms snaked around him, and his hands splayed out over Geralt’s shoulder blades. Geralt laid heavier against him and growled in his ear just to feel Jaskier squirm. Jaskier would be unable to get away even if he wanted to with Geralt’s full weight holding him down. Oddly, that was a deeply pleasurable thought, and Geralt had very quickly decided that he would take no issue with it if Jaskier wanted to keep feeding him, making him broader and heavier still, only further exaggerating that contrast between the two of them. If the way Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hardening cock digging into his thigh was any indication, they were in agreement on that.

“Going to get me something good for breakfast tomorrow?” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier groaned, hooked his legs around Geralt’s waist to grind their hips together, and moved one hand to tangle into the witcher’s hair. His opposite hand snuck downwards, and he pinched at the slight, growing plushness at Geralt’s hip.

“Certainly. You’re just wasting away.”

Geralt’s mouth was far too busy then for any proper response.

[dapandapod]

Real housewives of Kaer Morhen

So Witcher but as Real Houswives of Kaer Morhen. Because I can’t get it out of my head. But as a headcanon thingy.

Imagine. 

(On Ao3 now because why the heck not I dont wana lose it xD)

Outside of the big town of Cintra there is block after block of fancy houses. This one is named Kaer Morhen. 

Yennefer and Geralt are married, but in the house next to theirs moves this little boytoy.

Aiden works as the blocks pool boy, and he quickly becomes Jaksiers best friend.

Eskel and Triss are having a bad marrige, struggling real hard behind the scenes, but they show nothing.

So Triss seduces Yennefer.

And Geralt is very much trying not to spy on the very cute neighbour.

Lambert is Jaskiers gardner, and he hates Aiden with a passion. Until he doesn’t.

Vesemir and Tissia live together, they are not married nor in a relationship, but they are like a foster family? They have adoptive children and children who lives with them from time to time to get support from their regular chaotic life.

Yennefer is really mad abou the children, her lawn is in danger for crying out loud. But then she meets Ciri. and she is absolutely melting for her.

Slowly, Triss and Yennefer realize that there is more than sex going on. They are falling in love with each other.

Geralt sees it. He sees his wife falling in love with Triss and out of love with him, and he is so kind about it. They have a very tough conversation and they end up splitting up. They are still friends.

It doesn’t go as well for Triss and Eskel. They have a huge blow out, yelling and screaming. Triss and Yennefer ends up moving in together, and Eskel is alone in their big house. As revenge, he buys a hoard of goats and lets them live in the garden.

The children are playing a new game; “where are the goats today”, and Eskel might be encouraging some of them to uh… move the goats to get them where they are not supposed to be.

Eskel gets offered to take care of a little one that lost her mother. She is small and weak, and he makes her sweaters and names her Lil Bleater.

But she really isn’t well, and in the middle of the night he is forced to let go of his anger and pride and he runs to Triss and Yennefer's door.

Triss opens, and Eskel is crying with the little goat in his arms, begging to see Yennefer, who used to be a vet.

She does help him, and Eskel sits in their kitchen, head in his hand, being a wreck.

But Lil bleater gets better, and in the morning she eats from the bottle she refused before. 

They are all three reluctantly somewhat friends again.

But the goats are still everywhere. Because he can.

And now Geralt is free to deal with… whatever it is he feels for the boytoy Jaskier. Lambert and Jaskier started out as having a thing, and Geralt being his closest neighbour sees them making out everywhere.

Jaskier is of course interested in Geralt from the moment he lays eyes on him, but he doesn’t seem to realize Jaskier is hitting on him.

Geralt only realizes men are allowed to love men when he sees Lambert and Jaskier kiss real tenderly the first time.

It makes him feel things he can’t really place, but he does some googling and he lears a ton of new things. After that, he starts to see that Jaskier is flirting with him, and Jaskier is absolutely delighted when Geralt gets flustered.

(at some point there is a block festival with a pride theme that Jaskier makes them arrange. Eskel makes sweaters for all the goats with all the flags. The children loves it, and it is very chaotic. Ciri especially, who is crushing hard on Cerys, Lamberts niece. (and Crach is Lamberts brother, because we can) and Geralt and Ciri are bonding because they don’t know how to deal with their crushes)

Lambert and Jaskier start out as a fling, but it becomes clear to them both that this is more or less to make someone else jealous. For Jaskier, it is to tease Geralt, to show him what he could have, now that he is single. And for Lambert, well. It is to show Aiden that… he doesn’t know what, but that will teach him. 

And Aiden keeps smirking at him knowingly, and it drives Lambert out of his mind. 

Until it drives him into the pool shed, on his knees, doing what he absolutely haven't been thinking about for months. 

Jaskier finally gets Geralt, but it is by pure accident. It was raining? And he somehow got locked out of his house, thanks to the goats most likely, and Geralt let him sleep in his house. 

Jaskiers pretty hair was sticking to his face, his fancy shirt ruined. Jaskier barely even flirted with him, but when he was warm again, dressed in one of Geralt's shirts and swept in a warm blanket on the couch, Geralt reached in and kissed him. 

It was so gentle and sweet that Jaskier ached, their eyes searched each other before they were leaning in again. They fell asleep wrapped around each other, and for the first time in a long time, Jaskier felt like someone wanted to keep him. 

At some point before Eskel and Triss breaks it off, there is a BBQ where Jaskier is big time flirting with Geralt, and Yen and Triss are sneaking off. Regis, the “head of the block” and his two wards/sons, Valdo and Detlaff are also there, stiff and in full fancy garb. Valdo hates Jaskier with a passion because of his freedom, and they might end up friends at some point?

Philippa is there too, she lives next to Regis on the outskirts of town, she works with wildlife restoration. She is very very taken with a wonderful lady no one has ever seen. 

Detlaff is a real brat and doesn’t want her noisy, smelly house in their block, but Regis is adamant she stays. The nature around them has never looked better, and that is thanks to her and the goats.

Sabrina and Istred are married, and Sabrina is the biggest Karen you have ever seen. Almost bigger than her boobs. Istred work all the time (and is smitten with Yennefer, everybody knows, and Sabrina gets sooo passive agressive around her) and is rarely home, and Sabrina is just the biggest gossip around.

Letho is the milk man.

And he loves goats...... 

:)

[funkylittlebard]

No Think, Only Panic

So this is my fic for the bog exchange, and it's for @dani-dandelino ! Hope you like it, hehe

Ao3 Link

CWs: I swear a lot, therefore they swear a lot. Think that's it.

Geraskier fake dating, (idiots who happen to be) friends to lovers, modern au

Knock knock.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with a groan. The knocking on the door continued- he huffed and pulled a pillow over his head, muffling the noise.

“Go away, Geralt,”

For a moment, there was blessed silence and Jaskier thought he might be able to return to his afternoon nap. He stretched out a little further across the bed, a sleepy smile spread across his face.

Then the knocking started again. He groaned into his pillow before throwing it stroppily at the door.

“Geralt! What do you want, for God's sake?”

The door inched open and Geralt peeked in sheepishly, biting his lip.

“I might have fucked up a tiny bit,” he said as he stared at Jaskier, who sighed and rubbed his eyes. He waved Geralt over and the other man scrambled to sit on the edge of the bed, full of uncharacteristically nervous energy. He couldn't quite look Jaskier in the eye, so he peered down at the clothes littering his friend’s floor and started picking at his jeans. Jaskier watched him, and waited. Geralt swallowed, opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He winced and went to try again, cringing when all that came out was “hmm.” Jaskier smiled at him fondly and snuggled further back into the bed.

“Take your time.”

Waiting for his friend to continue, he realised something.

“How was Vesemir? You met him for lunch, right?” Geralt’s fidgeting instantly stilled. Jaskier frowned, all thoughts of going back to sleep forgotten. “Did something happen?” Geralt started to shake his head, then nod, then stopped altogether.

“Fuck. Sort of.”

Jaskier leant forward and reached out to run his fingers in a gentle caress over Geralt's forearm.

“Is he alright?”

Geralt grumbled and buried his head in his hands.

“Yeah, yeah he’s fine. It’s just his birthday is coming up soon and…” he trailed off again. Jaskier tilted his head in confusion and noticed that the skin on the back of Geralt’s neck had turned a dark pink. They sat in silence for a moment until Geralt managed to gather his thoughts enough to try again.

“He asked me if I was seeing anyone again.”

Jaskier nodded.

“So? He asks you that pretty much every year, right?”

Geralt winced again, still not looking Jaskier in the eye, even more so than usual.

“Yeah, but this time I said I was.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Well, you've kept that very quiet,” he obstinately ignored the fact that he felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “Who’s the lucky person then?”

He watched as Geralt blushed and looked at the wall above Jaskier’s head.

“I'm not seeing anybody, Jaskier. I just panicked.” Jaskier bit his lip and continued to stroke Geralt's arm, determined not to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already clearly was. He tried to think what else a panicked Geralt might have said.

“Yes, but did you tell Vesemir that you have a special someone?” If possible, Geralt got even redder as he stared resolutely at the wall, hands fidgeting on his lap as if he couldn’t keep them still. He nodded sharply, and Jaskier gazed at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Hmm. Fuck.'' Geralt ducked his head, hair falling over his shoulder to hide his face from view. A sudden, terrible thought occurred to Jaskier. He shuffled closer, brushing the white hair back and behind his friend’s ear.

“Geralt, darling, you sweet idiot, my best of friends. You didn't say we were dating did you?”

Geralt visibly flinched back from Jaskier’s grip and started to climb up from the bed. Jaskier watched, his mouth twisting into a miserable line and his eyes narrowing as Geralt fled the room, door hanging open behind him.

“Geralt?” he called out, listening to the sounds of Geralt throwing himself down into the creaky old armchair they kept in their living room. He heard the jangling of keys and the thud of boots being thrown to the floor. Jaskier’s eyebrows flew into his hairline and he leapt out of bed, blanket trailing behind him like a cape. He entered the room just as Geralt was shrugging his jacket on. He had one hand on the door handle already.

Jaskier drew himself up to his full height, trying very hard to look as imposing as it was possible for a man wrapped in a fluffy blanket to do. He fixed his flatmate with a stern glare and pointed back to the armchair. “Sit down, right now. We need to talk about this.'' Geralt seemed to shrink in on himself before Jaskier’s eyes, but he didn't move away from the door or pull his hand back. Eyes downcast, he slumped against the wall. Jaskier moved over to the sofa and got himself comfortable, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Come sit with me, Geralt,” he held one arm up invitingly, and offered his friend a small, tender smile. Geralt frowned and with a sigh, he pulled himself away from the wall and came and slumped on the sofa. He peeked up at Jaskier through his lashes, begging silently. Jaskier’s heart melted and he pulled his friend closer to his chest. A contented sigh slipped out of Geralt’s mouth as he closed his eyes and snuggled closer.

They had been getting more comfortable sharing each other’s space like this- well, Geralt had- and Jaskier had been enjoying it immensely, pleased at this new closeness between them and trying desperately not to read too much into it. He rubbed circles into Geralt's back as he waited for the other man to start talking.

“He wanted to know if I was seeing anybody. I said no, not really and he just looked so hopeful when he asked me what that meant.” Jaskier had to resist asking as much himself- it wasn't like Geralt to be so vague. Instead he let him carry on. “And then he asked me who I meant and I- I didn't know what to say, and then my phone buzzed because you were texting me, and he saw-” he broke off with an aggravated sigh. It was silent for a moment, and Jaskier could feel heat rising in his cheeks. Geralt groaned, rolling his eyes and glaring up at the ceiling. He folded his arms across his chest.

“He thinks we’re dating. And I didn’t correct him. Sorry.”

Jaskier gaped at him. He was definitely blushing now. He cleared his throat, feeling far too hot all of a sudden.

“He- you- I- well then. That’s, that’s fine.”

He groaned internally- there was no way Geralt wasn’t going to misinterpret that as him hating the idea of them dating. He winced. Geralt was staring down at the carpet again, shuffling awkwardly in Jaskier’s arms.

“I can ring him and explain?” His voice was barely audible, the tension obvious in his shoulders.

“No, sorry, I was just surprised. You don’t have to do that. What do you need from me?” Leaning over him, he managed to catch Geralt’s gaze. Geralt bit his lower lip, worrying it as he thought.

“Come with me to his party? That’s it I swear.” He was still nibbling his lip, sharp white teeth rendering Jaskier unable to focus on replying for a moment. He blinked twice and shook his head to clear his mind.

“Yeah! Yeah of course,” he knew even as he said it that he’d overcompensated for his last response. He resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. “Would you like a cup of tea? We can try and figure out what we’re going to do after that?”

Geralt paused and then nodded.

“Ok.”

----

Two somewhat awkward days later, and Jaskier and Geralt found themselves stood in front of Vesemir’s front door, Geralt’s hand hovering poised to knock. He looked at Jaskier, nodded once, and rapped sharply on the door. It slammed open a moment later and they were greeted with the sight of Lambert’s grinning face.

“At fucking last! I knew it! Eskel!” He wandered back off down the hallway, calling for his eldest brother as he went. Geralt and Jaskier stood open-mouthed and unmoving on the doorstep for a minute. Jaskier recovered first.

“We should go inside, huh?” He reached a hand out to Geralt, and smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. Geralt took it with a shy grin and they walked into the house following the sound of Lambert’s voice together.

They found him on the back steps into the garden, bent over cackling next to Eskel, who was scowling and taking money out of his wallet. Eskel flushed a little as he caught sight of Geralt, and slunk off into the small crowd gathered in the garden. Jaskier tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing in bafflement. He watched as Lambert finally managed to compose himself, walked over, and slapped a hand down on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Come on, I'll help you find Vesemir.” He wandered down the steps towards the main gathering of guests. Jaskier could see a grey head that he thought might be Geralt’s father, but the figure vanished before he could be certain. Shrugging at Geralt, he gripped his hand a little tighter and they stepped down onto the grass.

Lambert’s version of helping them find Vesemir seemed to mainly involve staring at them surreptitiously over his shoulder, winking at Jaskier whenever he caught his eye, and generally not being much help whatsoever. Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt away from Vesemir’s work colleagues and friends and tugged the other man to stand with him over by a small table laid out with drinks. Geralt leant back on it and snatched up two bottles of lemonade. He thrust one in Jaskier’s direction and looked at him expectantly, soft smile still gracing his face.

“I think Lambert’s fucking with us,” Jaskier said bluntly, taking a sip of his drink. Geralt’s eyebrows quirked.

“When is he not?” Jaskier had to laugh- Lambert had always been and probably would always be an absolute bastard. He threw his head back, fringe flying away from his forehead and a broad smile taking over his face. He struggled to contain himself and when he did, he looked back at Geralt and drew in an astonished intake of air. Geralt appeared completely awestruck, mouth gone soft and eyes open wide. He looked- well, to Jaskier he looked like-

“Geralt! You’re here at last!” Jaskier blinked, trying to make sense of what he had just seen as Vesemir strolled over and wrapped his boy in a very tight looking embrace, judging from the way Geralt was spluttering. Jaskier hid his face behind his bottle, still stunned by Geralt’s expression. Did he- was Jaskier not the only- what? As he stood there, astounded by the possibility, he found himself being pulled into a hug. He landed on Vesemir’s chest with an “oof” and had to scramble desperately not to pour lemonade all over him. Pulling back a little, he regarded Vesemir with his most winning smile, attempting to reign in his panicked thoughts.

“Happy birthday, Vesemir!” The man beamed at him.

“Thank you, Jaskier. I hear congratulations are in order for you by the way, this great imbecile-” he wrenched Geralt over by his ear, completely disregarding the resulting yelp- “finally got his act together and asked you out.” Geralt was staring at the floor again as his face turned pink. Jaskier could feel himself beginning to blush, too, but he ignored it valiantly as he nodded in answer to Vesemir’s question.

“Yeah, we got there eventually,” he said with a nervous giggle. Desperate to remove himself from the situation before he was questioned any further about his “boyfriend”, he tried to escape. “But we should let you get back to your party. I need a minute alone with Geralt anyway.” To his simultaneous horror and relief, Vesemir stepped back and threw him a conspiratorial wink and walked off with a wave to Geralt. When Jaskier looked back at the other man, he had his head in his hands.

“Geralt?” He got a grunt in response. Typical. Jaskier peeled his fingers carefully away from his face and moved to cup it with his hands. He smoothed his thumb over Geralt’s cheekbone in soothing motions as the other man kept his eyes scrunched shut and continued not to respond to him. He tried again. “Geralt, sweetheart, what's the matter?”

Another grunt. Jaskier frowned, and poked him in the ribs. Geralt grunted again, but looked up. He held Jaskier's gaze for all of a second, before his eyes widened in horror as he spotted something across the garden. Jaskier, puzzled, swivelled to have a look and the problem was immediately apparent- Eskel staring at them, eyes narrowed and moving in Lambert’s direction.

“Fuck,” Jaskier hissed, “They’re onto us, aren’t they?” Geralt stared at him, wild-eyed. He swallowed. Then, he had a sudden, awful wave of inspiration. “Geralt,” he whispered, “Geralt do you trust me?” The frantic nodding would normally have been answer enough, but Jaskier hesitated. God, if he was wrong, Geralt would hate him for this. “Ger-”

“Yes, fuck, I trust you.”

Jaskier inhaled sharply, grabbed Geralt by the hips and pulled him in close.

“Good, right, ok-” it was terrifying being this close. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Then, before he had time to lean in, Geralt let out a soft chuckle and tilted his head towards him. Jaskier moaned as chapped lips pressed gently against his own. Geralt’s tongue swept across his lip, asking sweetly to deepen the kiss. Jaskier dug his fingers into Geralt's hips, trying to pull him just a little closer. He felt the rumble of Geralt’s answering groan on his lips, and then Geralt was looping his arms around Jaskier’s neck so that they rested on his shoulders. Geralt’s teeth bit teasingly on his bottom lip and tugged it. Jaskier moaned quietly as his tongue moved across it, soothing where he had bitten.

When he felt Geralt inch back, Jaskier realised that he had no idea if Eskel or Lambert had been watching. He had been so lost in the moment that had almost forgotten it wasn't real. His heart dropped into his stomach and he let his eyes slip shut.

“Jask?” a muffled voice questioned. “Umm. They've stopped looking.” Jaskier winced and ducked his head low close to his chest.

“You can let go of me then, I guess.” Even to Jaskier’s ear, he sounded sullen. Yet Geralt didn't move. His arms were still on Jaskier’s shoulders, and his hands on Geralt's hips. He forced himself to glance at Geralt. That raw, starstruck expression from earlier was back. Before he could stop himself the words were out of his mouth. “Why're you staring at me like that, Geralt?”

He watched, fascinated, as the other man flushed and a shy, awkward smile lit up his face. Maybe Geralt felt the same? No, of course not, he would have said something by now, they'd been friends for years. He couldn't think like that, he'd just drive himself mad with what he couldn't have. The sound of Geralt sighing drew him from his thoughts.

“I… I can’t do this with my dad watching, fuck.” Jaskier looked over his shoulder and spotted Vesemir giving him a thumbs up, before laughing into his drink and turning away. “Come on.” Geralt was already dragging him back inside the house- he hoped nobody got the wrong idea. Then again, wasn't that rather the point of this whole scheme? Perhaps it was best if they did.

Geralt brought them into the kitchen and hoisted himself up onto the counter. He ran a hand through his hair before snagging a tie off his wrist and throwing it up into a messy bun. Jaskier stared at his undercut, trying to distract himself from the clawing sensation building in his stomach- it was getting a bit long, a bit scruffy looking, he’d need to get the clippers back at it again. He looked up again at Geralt's rough, delighted chuckle.

“Jaskier. I’m sorry if I went a bit far out there,” he ran his hand over the back of his neck, rubbing it before dropping it back down. “But I… I want to, I need to ask you something.” Jaskier didn't think he'd ever seen Geralt so nervous- his eyebrows were practically in his hairline and his knuckles were a stark white where they gripped the countertop. His gaze was a little shaky and his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on one place, darting around wildly. “I… do you… ah, fuck.” Jaskier couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. He knew Geralt was trying, but watching him stutter out the few words was easing the knot of anxiety in his chest.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Geralt spoke again. “I want to kiss you again.” He froze, with an adorably confused tilt to his eyebrows. Jaskier could feel his heart beating faster. Geralt couldn’t possibly mean it. That would be ridiculous. “No, wait- I mean, I do but-” Jaskier smiled at him, despite the racing of his heart. Truly, no matter what the man tried, Geralt seemed to find expressing himself as difficult as ever. Geralt groaned and hit his head back on the cupboard. He stared at the ceiling a moment. “Jaskier, I… you mean a lot to me. Would you want to go on a real date with me, sometime?”

Jaskier gaped at him, hardly able to breathe for a moment. His hands felt clammy and he set his bottle down heavily on the counter. Geralt really felt the same? He hadn’t imagined it?

“Why didn't you say anything sooner, you idiot?” he sobbed and launched himself across the small tiled space into Geralt’s waiting arms.

“I.. you… Jaskier, you do?” He sounded a bit choked up and Jaskier felt his heart melt even more for him, the absolute idiot.

“Guess we’re both the idiots in this case, huh? Clear communication, who is she?” Jaskier chuckled, feeling a little tearful himself. Geralt nodded against his shoulder. Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so stupid and yet brilliant all at once. Well, it didn't matter. He had a gorgeous man to be kissing.

[jaskiersvalley]

CW: Past child death.

Meeting Cahir had been quite accidental but it was something neither Lambert nor Eskel regretted in the slightest. They were at a party, not quite sure whose though, there were a lot of people there. The invitation had come from Yennefer who'd heard about it from Fringilla who was friends with Letho. It was possibly Letho's birthday but it didn't much matter in a way. A party was a party, that particular one was quite rambunctious, enough so that Lambert and Eskel needed a quick breather. What better way to get away from the noise than to discover Gaetan had brought his husky along and was chilling in the kitchen with someone else. That someone turned out to be Cahir who wasn't really much for parties but had lost a bet against Letho so had to come along and at least pretend to be sociable for a little while.

The first meeting turned into a second and a third hangout session. Over the course of spending time together, Lambert and Eskel learned so much about Cahir yet nothing at all. He didn't drive, had an old as the earth mobile that was near enough indestructible. Technology as a whole seemed to be something Cahir didn't seek out. He worked as an accountant, still preferring to use pen and paper for most situations rather than the computer programs favoured by most accountants. Oddly, it made him quite popular so he had no shortage of clients. However, aside from that all the two knew of Cahir was how he took his coffee (black, four sugars), that he had a preference for sweet things over savoury and that he lived in a house at the edge of town.

As time went on the meeting up became dates which turned into Cahir going over for dinner. Eventually it became Cahir going over for lazy making out session. All too soon Lambert and Eskel knew exactly what Cahir sounded like in bed and also how best to draw those sweet noises from him.

It was all well and good but it felt like Cahir was holding something back, shying away from inviting Lambert and Eskel back to his home. In a way it felt like Cahir keeping them at an arm's length and it hurt. But neither Lambert nor Eskel were very good at words, they didn't know how to ask without it either sounding like they were angry or disappointed. In the end they didn't have to ask. They'd had rough plans to meet up in the evening, Cahir going over to theirs again to probably spend the night in a tangle of limbs. However, he called to say that he couldn't book a taxi because there was some event or other on in town so everyone was already full. Almost shyly, he tacked on, "If you don't mind a bit of a mess, you could come over."

Which was how Lambert and Eskel finally knew his address and eagerly made their way across town, curious to see Cahir's home. Weirdly it was quite anticlimactic. There was nothing strange or unusual about Cahir's home. The tour of the bungalow was quite boring.

"Shoes and coats can be left here." Cahir pointed to the hooks in the hallway. "Bathroom's through that door. That's the kitchen and diner, living room. Door on the left is the bedroom the right it's the spare room." Most doors they could peer through except the spare room, that one Cahir very deliberately didn't open.

"What did you end up doing with the spare room?" Lambert asked curiously.

Sheepish, Cahir ushered them away from the door to the room in question. "What pretty much everyone I know does with a spare room. Filled it up with things."

Not a very satisfactory answer but Lambert let it drop. They had a wonderful evening together, all thoughts of the mysterious spare room gone from his mind. It wasn't the last time Lambert and Eskel visited. In fact, now that they had been once, Cahir seemed to be a bit more brave about inviting them over. Always keen to see their boyfriend, they went whenever invited, even if sometimes weird things seemed to happen in the house. Lambert thought it was some kind of weird practical joke. He knew Cahir had an odd sense of humour from time to time. So finding all the cupboard doors in the kitchen wide open one morning was chalked up to their boyfriend trying to be playful. It didn't stop there though. They stayed over enough times that they ended up with toothbrushes by the sink, a few changes of clothes in the wardrobe and their favourite snacks in the fridge. However, sometimes Eskel would find his clothes and toothbrush near the door. Which was odd because he didn't wake up to either Cahir or Lambert leaving the bed at night which was something he usually would do.

The other strange thing was that, despite being repeatedly told that the spare room wasn't exciting at all, Cahir sure seemed to spend a fair amount of time in there, sometimes even talking by the sounds of it, maybe even singing on one occasion. But it was brushed off. So Lambert and Eskel ignored the odd little things that happened around Cahir's house, misplacing phones, keys and remotes seemed to be the norm. His kitchen doors seemed determined to open at inopportune times despite there being magnets to hold them in place.

"Maybe he's got a lodger?" The various ideas Lambert and Eskel had were starting to get a little more outlandish as time went on.

Eskel shook his head. "I still think a secret child. It would explain the little girl's laughter I swear I heard."

"And the music box playing randomly on his mantlepiece in the middle of the night."

They had no firm ideas about what Cahir could be hiding or why but they agreed it wasn't worth the risk of barging into the spare room to find answers for themselves. If their boyfriend wanted to have his secrets, he was entitled to them.

Answers had a way of coming about in the least expected of ways. The phone call from Geralt was a surprising start.

"We fucked up." He sounded beyond tired and stressed. "Could you come over?"

Of course Lambert and Eskel hopped in the car and race round. Geralt was a lifelong friend and he'd had so much shit thrown at him throughout the years. The worst was probably the death of his and Yennefer's daughter, Ciri. They had taken it hard, quite understandably. She had been the light of their lives, cruelly taken at the age of five. It just wasn't fair. Arriving at their house, Lambert and Eskel knocked. An exhausted looking Yennefer opened the door.

The house was a tip, like a small hurricane had gone through it, things strewn on the ground, broken and ruined. In the living room Geralt sat on the sofa, head in his hands, looking no better than Yennefer.

"What the fuck happened?" Lambert was never one to beat around the bush.

Sad eyes turned to him as Geralt looked up. "We just missed her so much."

Which was no explanation until Geralt gestured to the bookshelf. There sat a doll, like a miniature version of Ciri, obviously custom made.

"You got a doll?"

"She's haunting us." Matter of fact, Yennefer didn't mince her words. "We couldn't let her go and now she won't leave."

Scoffing, Lambert shook his head. He'd heard of many stupid things, knew that Yennefer had frequently explored some occult things but this was taking it too far. A haunted doll? Ridiculous. Even more stupid to think that it was Ciri. Even if the mess left behind did look like one of her more infamous temper tantrums.

"It's okay," Geralt said. "Someone's coming to look at the doll, possibly to buy it."

That was something Lambert had to see, who in their right mind would buy an allegedly haunted doll? He settled on the sofa with Eskel and they took in the destruction around the room. It was quite extensive, whatever Geralt and Yennefer had done, it was a thoroughly done job. They didn't have to wait long before the doorbell went. Yennefer went to answer and an oddly familiar voice struck up conversation with her. Sure enough, Cahir rounded the door in Yennefer's wake. He froze when he saw Lambert and Eskel.

"Is this a joke?" he asked, taking a step back.

At the same time Eskel asked, "Cahir, what are you doing here?"

An awkward silence descended on the room until Geralt cleared his throat. "You still want the doll?"

Hesitant, Cahir cast Lambert and Eskel a glance, cheeks rapidly flushing. However, he gave a tight nod at Geralt's question. Immediately Yennefer was handing the doll over and Cahir looked at it with a small frown. His eyes looked a little unfocused for a moment before he smiled.

"Hello Ciri," he murmured.

"How the fuck did you know her name?" Yennefer growled. "Did you search for us before you came here? Look up the tragedy of our lives just to play some sick game?"

Cahir held a hand up to placate, eyes wide. "No! The doll's haunted, like you said. She's been struggling to let go for some reason." At that Yennefer looked guilty. Thankfully, Cahir didn't let her dwell on it, "I'm happy to take her off your hands. She won't cause you any more trouble."

A frankly ridiculous amount of cash was passed over for what was a porcelain doll that looked somewhat like Ciri. Lambert wanted to ridicule and mock but somehow couldn't find it in himself, too stunned by this revelation.

"Did you get a taxi here?" Eskel asked in the end and Cahir nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. "We'll give you a lift home."

It was obvious that Cahir thought he was going to be interrogated and maybe even dumped. His shoulders sagged, even as he held the doll in one arm like it was a baby.

"Thank you," he murmured. Goodbyes were exchanged with Geralt and Yennefer before they trooped out of the house and piled into the car.

Silence stretched for more than half the ride until Lambert couldn't contain himself anymore. "So, haunted dolls?" When Cahir didn't reply with anything other than a shrug, Lambert pressed on. "What do you get out of them? Is it a weird fetish?"

At least that drew a look of offended horror to Cahir's face. "No! They just need some love, space and understanding. Most people don't care for them properly, so someone needs to."

Which was weird as hell, if Lambert had to give an opinion. Dolls, haunted or not, were still dolls that could be played with or disfigured or binned as the owner saw fit. The haunted aspect was something only idiots tended to believe. And his boyfriend. But it was best not to think about it.

"You might as well come in," Cahir said softly when they pulled up outside his home.

Finally, Lambert and Eskel were allowed into the spare room. Despite their expectations and theories, nothing could compare to the reality. The walls were lined with shelves, on them sat who knew how many dolls, each one with a little card next to it with a name, date and a few notes such as "doesn't like biscuits" and "needs daily brushing".

"What the-?!" Lambert stared, Eskel was similarly astounded.

Looking at them, Cahir shrugged. "As I said, someone needs to care for them as needed."

The door slammed shut to the room, making Lambert jump. Cahir only chuffed out a soft laugh and settled the Ciri doll on a gap in the shelf. He pulled a card and pen from the draw, jotting down the name and date. As the card was put next to the doll, Cahir quietly spoke. "You'll be welcome here, Isobel is your neighbour, she'll help you get settled in."

A saucer crashed to the ground, the plastic clattering. Clicking his tongue in displeasure, Cahir only moved to pick it up. "Honestly, Dara. That's no way to greet a new arrival. We'll be out of your space soon. But Lambert and Eskel wanted to meet you all."

An exaggeration by far but the warning glance Cahir shot them stilled Lambert's tongue. Even if he thought this was all a crock of shit, there was no denying that Cahir took it seriously. Given the way Eskel was staring around, he was having doubts as well. Leaving the room, they settled in the kitchen while Cahir boiled some water for a tea.

"Do you really think they're haunted?" Eskel finally asked, incredulous.

"Yes." Cahir shrugged. "Not all dolls are haunted, some people just say they are for the wow and the money factor. But I don't take those, they don't need me."

"How can you tell which ones are haunted?"

With great simplicity, Cahir said, "I see them."

Which was beyond any rational argument but Lambert didn't know how to refute it without it descending into name calling. In the end, he let out a long breath through his nose and pinched the bridge of it.

"Okay." It was easier than arguing. "I'm glad you have such conviction in your beliefs."

Right on cue the television came on without anyone near it. It cycled through the channels before turning off again. There was an indulgent look on Cahir's face.

"Sometimes Sasha likes to explore."

Determined to prove him wrong, Lambert vowed to check the wirings in the whole house and have a long look at the TV. And fix the cupboard doors so they didn't pop open anymore. And install cameras to prove that the clothes, toothbrushes, and shoes moving around was either done purposefully or through sleep walking. In the end, Lambert didn't know what was worse, that he found nothing wrong with the TV, the cupboard doors were beyond fixing and there was nothing wrong with the wiring or the TV. Or that Cahir gave him a knowing look before his eyes seemed to go a little unfocused and to the left of Lambert before the sound of a child's laughter rang through the air.

[imnotwolverine]

The Wolves Return - Part 2

< Part 1  | Part 3 >

Summary: Evil is meddling in the woods and bad news hangs in the air.    

Word count: 2649 (9,5 min. reading) 

Disclaimer: 16+ - Thrilling, monster hunting and gore, minor injuries and a smidge of Geralt being a soft!dad 

--

And then the White Wolf came. Fighting till his knees gave out and weakened did he bleat; Shit, Fuck, Almighty! Is death worth this good deed?

--

It was a terrible idea to go out of Kaer Morhen’s gates in this weather, with his leg feeling like a lug. But Geralt was a man of principle. And evil was evil. Greater, lesser, meddling. It stopped him from having a quiet night in, and he wasn’t having it. 

Stepping out of the gate that crashed back in its lock, Geralt squinted into the flurry of snow. The footsteps he had seen here had faded as the stormy weather raged on. 

Removing the long silver steel from its scabbard, he let his golden eyes roam over the dangerous pines. Instinctively his free hand shot out to his medallion. The magical pendant was still warm from the firepit inside and it thrummed restlessly into his palm, indicating that a source of magic was near.  

‘Come out then.’ He demanded. But nothing came. A new flurry of snow came in instead and it was almost hard to believe that hours earlier the world had been green and somewhat peaceful. 

Unfortunately for Geralt it wasn’t just snow that had arrived. A heavy gust made him stagger. It was like someone had tried to push him over, the strength so odd that perhaps he had already found his magical perpetrator. 

Raising his sword, his free hand casted Yrden. The spell lit purplish blue fires in a circle around him, illuminating the radiant storm. That storm seemed to calm somewhat within the boundaries of his spell. It confirmed his assumptions that something strange was afoot, and yet he couldn’t place whom or what it was. Was it the woman? If so, were there more? Was this an ambush? 

What a way to die that would be. 

Looking left and right he sniffed the air. That same mixture of fresh pine sap and blood hung in the air. 

A scream. 

In a rush of whirling wind that crushed a tree branch up ahead, the woman came hurling at Geralt. Her skirts were ripped and somewhere in the past minutes she had lost her cape. 

Geralt steadied his breath, ready to strike. But as the woman came near he noticed that the winds around her were off. They were irregular, like a wall of mists chasing her down. 

‘RUN!’ She belted, eyes wide. 

Geralt did not run. He only raised his sword a little higher, head twitching to the side to take that ever important decision; attack or defend. 

The woman was a few footsteps away as he made his call. With a twirl he slashed down, hacking straight through succulent flesh. 

The woman froze, gulping as a frosted grey creature fell apart by her feet. 

‘Ah!’ 

‘QUIET.’ Geralt growled, eyes focused. The Yrden flames now cast a purplish hue over his pale features. Keeping his sword in one hand, his other was held out, ready to cast another spell if needed. 

The woman nodded. With her arms grasping around some undefined wooden object in her arms she looked around skittishly. The wall of magical winds was now encircling them, causing the temperature to drop even further. Icy breaths broke from their mouths and the pinetrees above their heads went berzerkers. Whipping wildly to and fro it felt like they would soon pick up their root systems and fly off. 

‘We’re gonna die.’ The woman cried. 

‘The fuck we aren’t.’ 

The woman stepped back to get her back closer to the Witcher. Geralt snarled. 

‘Don’t make this any harder woman.’ 

She let out a little breath but kept her complaints to herself. ‘Ha..typical this is.’ She whispered. 

The winds were now inching closer, investigating the curious sign that was losing its force. Without hesitation Geralt called upon it again. The purple blue flames rose higher and as they did another creature was caught in their wake. A demon-esque, mangled face without eyes or nose reached out its claws, howling. 

‘Foglet.’ Geralt growled, shoving the woman aside to make a clear path for his sword. With a fine sweep he mowed down the creature, slashing straight through its narrow body. 

What Geralt didn’t notice was the launch of two more creatures that came from behind. And unlike their fellow packmember, they weren’t quite so distressed by the magical barrier that Yrden cast. Howling in pain they lunged forward, taking both the woman and Geralt by surprise. 

Yrden’s light flickered as the woman was thrown to the ground, taking Geralt with her. Though the ghostly lights did not harm them, they did feel the cold return as they tumbled over the circle’s border. In moments another wave of slim limbs materialized, turning the blue-hued night into a true nightmare. 

Geralt struggled to get the monsters away from them. Claws raked through supple skin and in moments the fresh white snow beneath them started to fleck with drops of blood. And not just his. The woman screamed bloody murder as one of the grey creatures found purchase on her neck. 

Not that Geralt could care. 

Swinging his sword in wild abandon he pushed away the aggressors that were toppling over him. The white world became a blood soaked nightmare. Greyish limbs went flying and though cold on his skin, Geralt felt warm blood thrum in his ears as the thrill of the fight returned. Practised stances echoed through his limbs as he cut through the foggy air. Though he did have to admit that even the adrenaline couldn’t qualm the ache in his leg. With a protective stance he kept the weight on his good leg, hoping the creatures weren’t smart enough to topple him over again. 

A new windy cloud of snow came his way and he started hacking. 

It was enough occupation to move his attention away from the dying light of Yrden. A few flickers of blue lit the trees and swirling snow before all went terribly dark. 

The woman cried out again, though this time there didn’t seem to be terror within her. A snarl came from her vicinity, closely followed by a few damp thuds. 

Bones cracked. Monsters howled. And as the foglets fell dead by Geralt’s feet, so did the howls behind him. 

The woman panted. ‘So far for a warm welcome.’ 

Geralt turned, feeling the ache in his leg worsen by the second. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to make it back to his chair without making a complete fool of himself. In the dark stood the woman, the object that she had kept in her arms now falling apart in misery. A lute, that’s what it must have been. The strings curled broken around her bloodied hands. Her eyes were bewildered as she looked around in what must be pitchblack darkness for her. 

‘Hello?’ She stopped panting to swallow deeply. 

She couldn’t see him. 

Geralt felt his lip curl up, though he wasn’t sure whether he was smiling or grimacing. The thrill of the fight was slowly seeping away with the blood that was gushing from his shallow wounds. He had to take care of that soon. 

‘We don’t have visitors here.’ He finally said, allerting the woman. She held her breath and held her broken lute a little higher. The poor instrument was beyond repair. 

‘I’ve learned otherwise good Sir.’ She shuffled nervously, still not able to see him. 

Around them the storm had returned to a quiet snowfall. No stars were to be seen and little flecks of snow were starting to stack back onto the tree branches. In a few hours the paths to Kaer Morhen would become near impossible to cross by normal footfolk. And that was all fair and game, until you have a visitor at the wrong side of the tracks. 

Geralt sighed. ‘Visitor or not. Claim your business here.’ 

The woman huffed. ‘You’re my business.’ 

‘I am your business?’ 

‘The Butcher of Blaviken? The White Wolf of Rivia?! The--’ 

Geralt started walking off. Or better said: limping off. His leg was smarting so terribly that he already felt his head whirl after just a few steps. That, or it was the blood loss in combination with the biting cold. 

‘Hey!’ The woman heard his dragging feet and followed.

Every few steps Geralt could hear her slip and slide, but she was not one so easily dissuaded. 

‘I don’t do visitors.’ He growled, clenching his teeth. His vision was starting to swim as he laid eyes on the gates up ahead. 

‘Well then count me as an old-new friend.’ 

Geralt halted, but as he wished to tell the woman off he could feel the world starting to blur. The sharp jolts of pain from his leg were starting to numb -- bad sign. 

‘I don’t even know y--’ 

--

[In perhaps a dream] 

‘Now you take good care of him, okay?’ Ciri whispered to Roach. The horse wiggled her ears as they both kept a mischievous eye on Geralt. The spring sun was streaming warm light over Kaer Morhen’s courtyard as all inhabitants stood around to wish the young woman farewell. 

Meanwhile Geralt kept a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t really feeling happy, but he had to quell the less desirable feelings that were bubbling up inside him. Ciri was leaving. She was a grown woman now. This was a good thing. This was supposed to happen, right? 

He eyed Vesemir who seemed far more relaxed. Arms folded and hip leaning into the stair balustrade, he winked at Geralt. 

‘Hmmpf.’ Geralt huffed through smiling lips.

‘Now, now. You start sounding like me there, young man.’ Vesemir grinned. 

‘It’s not the same.’ 

‘Oh I think it is.’ Vesemir raised up as Ciri skirted up the stairs to jump-hug him. He chuckled merrily as he patted the back of her shoulder. 

‘Uncle Vesemir.’ Ciri swallowed, smiling and fighting back tears. 

‘Goodbye Cirilla. Return to us soon.’ 

‘I will.’ She turned and readied herself for the poorly kept tempest that was Geralt. 

Geralt awkwardly tried to keep his lips in a smile, but looked far more malicious and mad than happy. 

‘Geralt.’ Ciri mumbled, stepping in to press her head under his chin. Like old times their arms folded around one another, their noses turned to take in each other's scents. 

‘Cir-.’ Geralt’s voice cracked and he chose silence instead. Unsure where to look he looked at the blurry cascade of mousy blond hair that Ciri had started growing out the past year. She kept it braided most of the time and it would always snag with small twigs and branches as they roamed around the grounds and forests of Kaer Morhen. 

Her time of training was over. It was time for her to set out on The Trail and carry on the knowledge and skills he had taught her. It felt odd after all these years together. 

‘Hang in there old man.’ Ciri whispered, hugging him a little tighter. The sun burned hot on their skin and Geralt wondered if he was feeling her sweat or her tears. Either which it was, he held on tight just a moment longer. 

‘And tell Jaskier he cannot, I repeat CANNOT use my flute. Don’t want his spit all over.’ 

Geralt huffed. ‘Of all the things..’ 

‘What?’ Ciri leaned back and quickly dried a tear on her cheek. 

Geralt smiled. This time a real smile. Squeezing her back into his embrace once more he pressed a kiss on top of her head. ‘Come back whenever.’ 

--

A melody. Too happy for the way Geralt was feeling. Squinting hard against the ray of light that fell exactly on his face, he woke up from a fitful dream. The melody hadn’t been part of the dream though. As he looked around he found himself laying on a wooden bench with some animal skins propped up under his head. 

The music continued to flow through the large hall where the first light had arrived some hours ago. The air was fresh with the snow from outside -- the door had been opened recently. And there was a fire. Well-kept, warm, smelling of just a tinge of lacquer. 

A figure sat there, wrapped in a worn blanket, naked feet dangling from the bench. The woman. It all came back to Geralt as he pushed himself up with a grunt. His leg was feeling terrible, but his wounds were bound. His shirt had been removed, he noted, and replaced by a simple blanket. His arms and shoulders were wrapped in blood speckled bandages and he could smell the heady aroma of some herbs peaking through. 

‘Fuck.’ He groaned, sitting up completely. 

The music stopped and the woman looked over her shoulder. 

‘Look who’s alive.’ She said, getting up. 

Geralt’s eyes shot daggers at her. ‘You could’ve killed us.’ 

It was the first time since he saw her well and true. She had dirty blonde locks, which fell away from a messy braid. And her eyes were a striking cornflower blue. Her clothes, once quite expensive, were torn to pieces. Her face. Hmm her face. He was sure he didn’t know the woman and yet she tingled a familiar sense in him. 

Grunting Geralt got up from the bench. His body was aching like he had been pummeled in a fistfight with Eskel, and he couldn’t wait to dip into his stash of potions. Potions.. With a weary eye on the strange woman he moved his attention to the cellar door in the far back. It was open. 

The woman squeaked in delight. ‘Quite a collection you have here! Are there others? There are other Witchers right? My father always --’

‘WOMAN.’ 

The woman quieted, biting her lip. ‘Actually my name is --’

Geralt stepped forward with all the power he could muster, willing the strange woman to be gone as soon as possible. He could lock her up somewhere. He could throw her out. He could.. He clenched his jaw as he realised how rapid his heart was beating in his chest. Little beads of sweat were falling down his brow and before he could utter another retort at the woman he felt the clammy cold of unconsciousness crawl back over him. 

‘Geralt..?’ 

Her voice swam like a breeze through his mind. 

--

‘I’m going to be a father.’ Jaskier sighed, staring out at the dipping sun. The sausages they had roasted on the campfire were almost all eaten by him. 

Geralt sighed. ‘You don’t know the trouble you’re getting yourself into Jaskier.’ 

Jaskier smiled dreamily. ‘And yet we wouldn’t have it any other way.’ 

--

Part 3 > 

--

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[yandere-sins]

Since your request's open, I was wondering if you could do a geralt yandere where he's in a village with darling, when the pair sees a pregnant couple. Darling makes the mistake of gushing over how lovely couple looks and how their child would look just as lovely. Geralt then takes this as darling wanting a child of their own. Since witchers can't technically have children, this frustrates him and makes him go a little feral back at home and just breeds darling into oblivion.

Thank you for requesting! Hope you enjoy ^-^

Rated Lemon

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««     

You were no newbie to the topic of sex. And surely no rookie to the feeling of Geralt’s cock buried inside you.

Still, he usually wasn’t as ferocious as he was that night. You two barely made it back to a tavern, his hands constantly all over you, grasping at what his gloved fingers could reach. Throwing you over his shoulder and navigating Roach into a designated spot, he only grunted, “Room,” at the innkeeper, throwing way too many coins into his direction before staggering upstairs in the next best private room with an open door.

Geralt was many things. A witcher most of the time, murderer to some. You’re always doting, a little possessive partner usually, and on some nights a lover. He’d never let you become what he was, but you were thankful for the guidance that he gave you after you traveled so long to meet him. To you, he was a legend, somewhat of a hero - even if other people didn’t see in him what you saw.

Perhaps, you were a little blinded by the holiness of traveling with the person you were praising to the heavens and back. Maybe it would have done you good to see the truth more clearly, realize what really was going on. It’s not like the love and admiration you felt was something you expected him to reciprocate, but you liked to imagine that the hints he showed you were his form of affection only for you. He cared, always keeping other people who gave you lecherous sideglances a good scare. And despite you being a burden and sometimes too rowdy for the companion of a witcher, he did his best to keep you around.

Surely you could do without getting strapped to Roach ever so often, so that he could keep you where you were and not follow him into dangerous areas. And admittedly, he took your words a bit too serious sometimes, buying you whatever you deemed ‘fancy’ and taking more than the usual odd job to pay for it. You also really couldn’t remember a night anymore without him watching you falling asleep, laying on top of you all night, and then greeting you even before you opened your eyes. It was intense some nights, where you insisted on sleeping on the floor or at least as far away as the bed allowed, Geralt just sighing and pulling you closer again. A war of tug that only ended with you back in his arms, suffocating by his embrace, standing no chance against muscles and knowledge of what would make you subdue to his strength.

Geralt also tended to misunderstand you - a lot. That morning you had sighed longingly at a small family of three, so happy as they taught the little toddler to walk. Not like you wanted a child or a to settle down, but you might have joked about how cute it would be if the two of you did build a family of your own someday. Had you known it would have caused the pressure in his pants, your hips grinding against his as he turned around and urged Roach back to a city with an inn, you would have worded it more carefully for sure.

But this way, you were out of options other than complying. Geralt always had a need for efficiency, and he usually did not waste time on minor things. While he still worked to strip himself out of gear and armor, his fingers were already tugged under your undies, freeing one leg of any hindrance like clothes. Part of you was well aware of what was happening, but it felt different than usual. Latest by the force he tugged at your ankle as you tried to move up the bed and make some space for him, you knew this wasn’t what you could expect from laying with him.

Parting your legs, this clearly wasn’t the love-making you were used to, glove barely off his fingers as he pushed his digits in to test the waters. You flinched, self-lubrication being a wonder of nature, but not always the most reliable form of self-help. Reaching for his wrist, you tried to pry him out again when his second hand snaked behind your neck, pushing you forward and against his lips, rough and demanding.

He at least changed the number of fingers to one as he pumped it in and out of you, trying to arouse his hole. Still wearing more clothes than usual, the fabric brushing up against your thighs with the harshness of worn-out cotton, sending stings of pleasure up your nerves. His hair fell in your face, and before you knew it, you were breathing him in more than you were getting air to supply your body with, falling victim to the man.

When he finally laid you down, you were enticed with his touches, seduced by the feeling of his lips and tongue crawling down your skin from your lips to your collarbones, nipping at your shoulder. Hands came up to caress your nipples, pushing the annoyance that was your shirt aside for access. You couldn’t notice the goosebumps that appeared on his skin when your first moan escaped you, no one else but you bringing this kind of tickle over him these days. It was a desirable sound, urging him on, telling him that what he was doing was right, and he was quick to free his stiff member from his trousers, having waited long for the meal you were to his troubled desires.

Because truth be told, after all this time, you were only the fourth person ever to bring quite this joy into his life. And Geralt was planning to taste as much as possible from it. His rational brain told him that the idea you had put into his head was absurd, but maybe the faintest hint of hope came from his heart, that, perhaps, he might get you pregnant if he tried hard enough.

When his hips approached yours, your legs willingly parted further, though the feeling of his tip entering you still forced you to whine. Luckily, he was well-endowed, but with your body calling out that something wasn’t right, you weren’t quite ready to accept him yet. Most of the time, you were at least a bit drunker than that night. One time you two did it to get rid of an awful spell when one of his potions broke. There was always something to relax you - just this time, you were bareback and well aware.

Not heeding your ragged breaths, he forced himself inside, groaning over the tightness of your cunt as he spread your walls. You bit your lip in the weirdest feeling of pain and pleasure, legs flinching as if they were ready to kick him off. This feeling was new, and you weren’t all to sure you liked just how little he seemed to care as he began to pull out and push in right away. Hands pushing against his chest, you pleaded for him to give you a moment, his movements hurting you internally. “H-Hold on, give me a moment!”

But no matter how hard you gripped the shirt he was wearing, Geralt didn’t slow down, much less stopped. Forced to fold your arm, the witcher leaned down, bodies rubbing together, and stealing your breath as he kissed you again, tongue slipping in. It only got more unbearable as he caged you in between his arms on both sides, stinging eyes looking down at you, showing you your miserable reflection, an expression on your face that clearly wasn’t as willing as it sounded when you did a half-moan, half-sob.

However, no matter your attempts to stop him, he wasn’t one to stray away, too deep in it, and in you, to stop anymore. In an inefficient wiggle to get free, you heard the low rumble of a groan in his chest, followed by a couple pulsating pushes into you. Before you knew it, he shifted, pushing himself even deeper inside of you. Warm spurts of hot cum shot right into insides, coating your walls, adding some fake lubrications to the already irritated flesh.

You were relieved once he took a few breaths and proceeding to sit up again, thinking it was over. But the sudden grip on your thighs was something you did expect, and you struggled as he pushed your legs back, never having excited your pussy completely. Legs over his shoulders, he used them to continue to fuck you, holding on to them roughly with his fingers digging into your skin.

Geralt’s cock slit in and out easier of you now, cum bubbling on your entrance and spurting out with every hard thrust he did. Altering his technique a little, he started to grind his cock into you, his tip pushing up against your abdomen and low into your bowels, making you squeal whenever he managed to hit a new and sensitive spot.

“W-Wait, at least give me a break!” you demanded, but his answer was an inaudible mutter, followed by his grunts and the smacking sound of your hips. You were given no break as you couldn’t help a toe-curling orgasm as his member forced it’s way up to your cervix, kissing the entrance with force upon every push into you.

In the blink of an eye, Geralt spun you around, a moan escaping you as he gripped your asscheeks hard, pulling your entrance smack against the end of his shaft. With force and diligence, he wiggled his way forward into you, knowing that if he wanted to make any difference, he had to bring his semen as far as he could. Your body too recognized the breeding position, but you were to weak to resist under him, victim to his hips smacking and grinding into you, cock threatening to burst its way into your womb. And at least the hot strings of cum managed to get inside, despite if they’d impregnate you or not.

“Don’t say you didn’t want this,” he mumbled into your ear as he hovered over you, giving you little personal space or time before he resumed his grinding. Lips pressed down your shoulders, smothering them in pecks and kisses while you rode the waves of pleasure. “You know I’d do anything for you. You shouldn’t test me by saying you want a family.”

All he needed to do was pull you up by your arm to turn you onto your back again, satisfied eyes watching him through the shine of tears. “Next time, just be honest if you want to be bred so badly, no need to hide it behind the idea of a family that you know we can’t have.”

It was a low effort to slip into you again, your walls instantly clenching down hard on the overstimulation. “I-” he grunted, pulling your hips onto his, not minding the bruises his hands will leave on your skin. “-would do anything for you. Just say the word.”

And with his final orgasm, Geralt finally pulled out, having to watch all his effort slowly beginning to drip out and stain the rented bedsheets. Maybe, so he thought, plugging you up and hoping for a wonder would do well, your abdomen lovingly swollen under the multiple cumshots he had put into you. Reaching for an empty glass bottle for his potions, he pulled out the cork in it, opening up your hole with two fingers before slipping it inside under the weak protest of your mouth that ended in a sigh.

You were pulled snug against his body as he settled down next to you, taking a sip of wine he found at the bedside table, and making a mental note to give another tip to the innkeeper later just so you two wouldn’t be damned for all eternity. But with a sense of satisfaction did he watch the little swelling under your tummy, caressing it with his hand under your shallow gasps. Kissing your temple, he pulled a blanket over you, happy with just holding you in his arms that night while you lost conscience. You were unable to think for yourself anymore as you sighed in his hold, just relieved to have someone to lean on after going through such a carousel of emotions, unsure how you two would be able to proceed after experiencing this.

Unsure if he had other plans with you, once you woke up again even.

[piceuscelus]

The witchers buy a teenage omega (Jaskier) so that they can augment their dwindling population. The Witchers treat their slave like little more than a walking womb, stuffing him full with a half dozen or more pups each year and using him during their ruts even if he's already knocked up. I know birth isn't your thing but if you could focus on how big Jaskier is and how little the witchers care about his comfort as he gets more and more swollen with their young, that would be great :))

hhhhhh anon this is just - hhhhhnnnngggggg jesus christ

i had so many ideas for this and like,,, so many specific things i wanted to try and do but it was just Too Much. i might have to write more if the inspo strikes me tbh.

non-con, breeding, and pregnancy below. (no birth, only vague mentions of babies.)

It’s somewhat rare that an omega is compatible with Witchers, but when they do find one – well.

Jaskier is his name – at least, that’s what the slave trader had told them. What his name is doesn’t really matter, overall; he’s a breeder. The world needs more Witchers, and the easiest way to make them is to find a compatible omega, and he’s a compatible omega. Past that, none of them really care.

When they first buy him, he’s a tiny thing, thin and just barely coming in to his purpose as a womb; his breasts are tiny, his hips barely wide enough for birth, but that’ll change soon enough. It always does. After the first pup, an omega’s body gets the message and adjusts.

And they’ll be giving him much more than just one pup.

– – – – – 

“Present,” Vesemir orders, and the omega squeaks but does as he’s told. Either because he’s been trained or because omegas always do what Alphas say, none of them know, but like his name, it doesn’t matter enough to think on.

Jaskier goes to hands and knees first. Eskel kicks his wrist out from under him. He squeaks again at the kick, but doesn’t protest; instead, he just shifts his arms back and drops his chest to the floor, turning his head so he can press nearly flat. The motion raises his hips higher, but Geralt nudges at his waist to make him lift them even more, until he’s nearly unbalanced on his knees.

“Hands,” Vesemir says, and Jaskier wobbles a little but manages to stretch his hands out behind him so he can grasp at his asscheeks and pull himself open, baring his cunt and his asshole. His cock is just barely long enough to see it past the curve of his pussy, probably a bit longer if he gets hard, but none of them care much about that. It’s not the important part of him, after all.

Vesemir bends and prods at the omega’s asshole, then his cunt, spreading the folds and testing the automatic production of slick by shoving two fingers inside him with no preamble. Jasker makes a sound, shocked, but there’s no pain in his scent and no blood on Vesemir’s fingers, just the first thin, watery beginnings of slick. It’s a good sign, means they’ll be able to fuck him full properly once his body gets the message that he’s being bred. 

“Never had a pup, have you?”

“N-no,” Jaskier mumbles. Vesemir tuts and smacks the tender join of ass and thigh. Jaskier shouts, but quickly tacks on, “Alpha, no, Alpha, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Vesemir says. “Well, you will with us. More than one. Probably more than a dozen.”

Lambert snorts. “More than that,” he says. “Between the four of us…. Never mind if any of the others join in.”

Vesemir chuckles. “True. Alright, up, omega.” 

Jaskier grunts and scrambles to his feet, shivering when he’s finally standing. He does look good, even with as thin as he is, and he smells like a dream – he’s probably the most fuckable omega they’ve ever found. Just means they’ll be putting a lot of pups into him.

Vesemir reaches out and adjusts the omega’s collar so that the decorated ring is at the front. “We’ll have to get you some matching cuffs,” he muses. “Be easier to get you on the bench if we have something to anchor to.”

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at the floor.

“When’s your heat due?” Vesemir asks.

Jaskier makes a little, thoughtful sound, and there’s a moment’s pause where he clearly does the math in his head. “Two months, Alpha,” he declares, and Vesemir hums.

“Lambert, your rut is closest, right?”

“Two weeks.”

“Right, then you’ll pair with him first. That should trigger his heat, and that way we have a better chance to get him bred with a litter the first time around.”

“What if his heat doesn’t trigger?” Eskel asks. Ever the pragmatist, he’s been the most concerned about the logistics of such a young omega as a breeder since the moment they bought him. “Lambert’s an unfamiliar Alpha.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll use the potion,” Vesemir says. “It’ll increase fertility anyway.”

Geralt hums. “Lambert’s pairing first,” he says, “but are we joining?”

“After the first two days, sure,” Lambert says. “I’ll be too possessive before that.”

“Fair enough.”

“A-Alpha,” Jaskier mumbles, quiet and shaky.

“What, omega?” Vesemir answers, even though they all turn when he says Alpha.

“Can I – will I have any clothes?”

Vesemir chuckles. “No, omega,” he says. “You’re a breeder. If you’re not pregnant, we’ll be breeding you to get you there. If you are pregnant, we’ll be breeding you to give you a litter. And if we can’t give you any more, well, we’ll be breeding you for the stress relief. Got it?”

Jaskier makes a small noise. “I – y-yes. Alpha.”

“Good, omega. Now, come on. We’ll need to measure you for those extra cuffs.”

– – – – – 

They end up lucky; Jaskier is even more fertile than expected. 

They can all smell it when he catches the first time, when Lambert’s rut starts and he takes Jaskier to the floor without preamble. Jaskier cries out and struggles, but only for a split second before Lambert’s cock is sinking into him and he’s going pliant, instincts much louder than any of his conscious thoughts. He catches on that first knot, which makes Lambert preen like an arrogant knothead.

Never mind that when Jaskier catches again the first time he takes Geralt’s knot, and then again on Eskel’s turn, they both preen the same damn way.

Three for a first pregnancy is a lot, but it’s fine. Omegas are built for birth, for breeding; and if he doesn’t survive it, well – omegas are plentiful. It’ll be harder to find a compatible one, but if they spend a season searching all the slave auctions, it shouldn’t be too hard.

And really, Lambert’s rut is more likely to kill him than the pregnancy.

“Alpha,” Jaskier whines, clearly overwhelmed as Lambert knots him for the fifth time in as many hours. “Alpha.”

Lambert chuckles. “Feel full yet, omega?” he asks, rubbing a large hand over Jaskier’s belly. “You’ve caught three times now – you’re gonna be bedridden, you’ll be so big.”

Jaskier squirms and sobs, thighs trembling as his body milks the knot settled deep in his guts even though it hurts. “Alpha, please.”

“Please what?” Lambert asks. “I’m already giving you more than you could ever want, omega. Got you all nice and knocked up, and you’ll never be empty again. Not if we have any say in it.”

“Too much,” Jaskier pleads, and Lambert snorts.

“Should probably get that phrase out of your vocabulary,” he says. “Oh well. We’ll train you up soon enough.”

– – – – – 

Since Jaskier’s heat had triggered with Lambert’s rut, it means they spend even more time breeding him. Even with him already caught, the heat is vicious, as if his body thinks it can take more.

They’re definitely not complaining. Jaskier makes the sweetest noises strung out on their knots, pained and desperately wanting all at once, and he’s so full of their seed that his belly is swollen no matter how long they leave him to leak. 

“Hell of a claim,” Eskel says, petting over the curve of it as he shoves his knot into Jaskier’s abused hole. The omega gives a choked scream, but his hips jerk back into the pressure all the same, eyes hazy with the heat. “Wonder if he’ll go into heat again like normal after this.”

“Shouldn’t, since he’s caught,” Geralt points out, shoving three fingers into Jaskier’s mouth to muffle his sounds. He sucks at them, sloppy wet and obscene, and Geralt’s cock twitches slowly back to life between his thighs. As soon as Eskel’s knot goes back down, Jaskier will get Geralt’s again.

“Yeah, but this heat is pretty brutal considering he’s already caught. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen if he still cycles as usual.”

Geralt hums. “Gods, that’ll be something – knotting him when he’s really swollen. Three pups already – he’s already shaping up to be the best breeder we’ve ever had.”

Eskel grunts and grinds his knot further into Jaskier’s body, making the omega choke on Geralt’s fingers. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Lambert mumbles sleepily where he’s still recovering from his rut. “Still need to train him, too,” he says. “Think it’ll be easier or harder with him carrying?”

“Easier,” Geralt guesses. “He’s already pretty suggestible. Obedient, too. All hopped up on pregnancy hormones and surrounded by alphas I think he’ll be easy to mold.”

“Hope so,” Eskel sighs, giving one more grinding thrust before his knot deflates and he shoves Jaskier’s hips toward Geralt’s lap. It’s easy to turn him, he’s so small and light, and slide right into his hole, gaping wide from the constant use over the last week. 

Jaskier melts into him with a high, pained little noise. “Alpha.”

“You can sleep,” Geralt offers. “We’re not going to stop, but you don’t need to be awake for it.”

Jaskier sucks in a trembling breath. “Oh – oh...okay.”

Geralt snorts and grinds his cock deeper just to feel the way Jaskier’s body spasms around him. 

– – – – – 

“Witcher pups don’t need milk as long,” Vesemir informs Jaskier, as he’s lying bedridden and so round with three pups that he almost looks comical. “You’ll birth, breast feed for two weeks, wean them off for one, and then we’ll give you more.”

Jaskier groans, clearly upset, but doesn’t protest. “Yes, Alpha,” he mumbles. “I – oh.” He jolts and reaches up to rub at his side. “Kicking,” he explains, when Vesemir raises a brow.

“Hm. Well, it’ll be over soon,” he says. “Get some rest. You’re due to go into labor in a handful of days, if that.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Jaskier says.

– – – – – 

The timing of the birth ends up great. Vesemir ends up going into rut almost as soon as Jaskier is ready to be bred again, the triplets weaned. 

He’s exhausted, clearly, bags under his eyes and a frown etched on his face, but none of them care. And he’s obedient, well-trained after an entire pregnancy of being fucked whenever they wanted; when Geralt gets him out of bed just to drag him downstairs and strap him to the breeding bench, he only grunts his discomfort at the pressure on his still-sagging belly.

“Don’t worry,” Geralt reassures him. “It’ll be swollen and full again soon.”

Jaskier mumbles something unintelligible, but when Geralt pets over his cunt, he’s already wet. 

“Good omega,” he praises, chuckling when Jaskier shivers clearly against his will. “Vesemir’s probably gonna give you another three all by himself. Wonder how many we could get you to carry, hm?”

Jaskier just makes more unintelligible noises, but then Vesemir is striding into the room, eyes bright with rut-fever, and Geralt backs up quickly.

Vesemir is mostly silent for his rut, no teasing or humiliating words like the others. For some reason it’s almost worse for Jaskier, being treated entirely like an object.

His cunt is still wet, though, and the more cum Vesemir pumps into him, until the pressure of the bench on his belly is more painful because of the swell, the wetter he gets.

“Look at that,” Lambert whistles, coming in to watch near the end of Vesemir’s rut. “Fucked you all through your pregnancy and you’re still desperate for it. What’s that rule we taught you, omega? Repeat it for me.”

“Whenever, wherever, however,” Jaskier repeats, voice breaking with each of Vesemir’s brutal thrusts. His knot is forming and against his will, Jaskier wants it.

“Again.”

“Whenever, wherever, however,” Jaskier says. Before Lambert can even ask again, though, he’s doing it again, and again, and again, until Vesemir’s knot slams into him and he’s taken in an orgasm he can’t control, body shaking hard enough to rattle his restraints on the bench.

“Good little bitch,” Vesemir growls, and Jaskier just clenches harder onto his knot to milk it.

“Think I’ll have a go when Vesemir’s done,” Lambert muses. “After all, you’re already on the bench. No reason to waste the position, is there?”

Jaskier moans tiredly. “Whenever, wherever, however,” he repeats. 

“Exactly. Good little breeder.”

– – – – –

Jaskier gives them nine pups in his first three years as a breeder. In his fourth year, between Geralt and Eskel’s ruts hitting at the same time alongside Jaskier’s heat, and several fertility treatments, they manage to give him seven at once.

It barely takes two months of that pregnancy for Jaskier to be bedridden and beside himself with the intensity of it. That doesn’t mean they stop using him, though.

Why would it?

Lambert’s rut hits just after Jaskier becomes bed bound. He spends the whole week of it in the same bed as Jaskier, forcing Jaskier to hold his own weight up on hands and knees so Lambert can take his pleasure, filling Jaskier even more full with cum.

“Look at you,” Lambert growls, grinding his knot into Jaskier’s body just to yank it out and then do it again. Jaskier screams with it, arms trembling where he can barely hold himself up, belly heavy and painful as it sways below him with each of Lambert’s movements. “All fucked full with our pups and still so fucking wet for it, like your cunt doesn’t know it’s done it’s job. We got seven this time, think we could get you to nine at once?”

Jaskier sobs. “Alpha,” he pleads. “Alpha, please.”

“Hush, omega,” Lambert orders. “Take your knotting like a good little bitch. What’s your rule?”

“When – ah – whenever, wherever – h-h – ow, however.” 

“Exactly. We get to decide when you’re done being a nice little hole to fuck, not you. Gods, you squeeze so fucking tight when you hurt, fuck.”

Jaskier sobs again, and hears as well as smells Vesemir’s approach. “Alpha,” he mumbles, head dropping. He’s so tired and everything hurts and – oh.

“Yeah, just like that,” Lambert coos. “You always do come on our knots. Such a good little omega. You do know your purpose, don’t you? You just get a little forgetful, sometimes.”

Vesemir chuckles. “Think we should bring the other two in here again? Make him remember for real?”

Lambert laughs, too. “Oh yeah,” he grunts. “Fuck, he feels so fucking good when he’s all sloppy and tense at once like this.”

“Oh, I know,” Vesemir agrees, and a hand cups Jaskier’s jaw. He lifts his head with the pull to find a cock in his face, and he takes it into his mouth with ease, not bothering to repress his gagging or choking as Vesemir slowly fucks his face. They’ve knotted his mouth so he passed out, before; a little gagging is hardly enough to put them off using his body. “Best breeder we’ve ever gotten. Think we’ll keep him once he can’t pop out pups anymore, even. He’s already such a good toy – may as well keep him for it.”

[clevermonkey93]

Mr Frilly part 2

Part 1

Jaskier makes pizza with Geralt and Ciri. It’s cute and fluffy. Oh and they flirt.

also on ao3

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

Jaskier wasn’t nervous. He absolutely wasn’t nervous. Except he was. He totally was because he had a dinner date – was it even a date? It’s just dinner, come on Jask – with a gorgeous hunk of a complete dork of a dad that was utterly besotted with his angelic little gremlin. And Jaskier had just met him. Just met Geralt and Ciri and already he was determined not to blow it. Frankly, Jaskier didn’t care if Geralt wasn’t interested – he's probably ten years older than me, he’s got a kid, he might be straight-straight not just kinda straight – but he so desperately wanted to spend more time with them both and get to know them.

God knows he could use some more friends. Valdo seemed to have left their relationship with all their mutual friends, but I suppose that’s what happens when you date a guy from university for four years and just make friends with all his music friends and –

Jaskier wanted so badly to get this right.

Which is why he stood outside the Rivia house – a beautiful old tall town house which Jaskier would have bet has one of those gorgeous long winding gardens – with a distinctly not-rubbish film and some flowers. A simple but beautiful bunch of wildflowers that Jaskier had stared at for at least fifteen minutes at the shop after he’d left Geralt and Ciri in confectionary. He’d decided to risk it but they’re white and delicate so if he's read the vibe completely wrong they’re obviously for Ciri.

He knocked. Geralt said not to ring the doorbell because next door has a baby.

Oh God I should have changed. Why am I still wearing my shopping clothes and this dumb scarf –

“Hey, Jaskier.”

Jaskier looked up to see Geralt at the doorway, long white hair tied up now and an apron at his waist – oh man why is that sexy?

He had a flour smudge on his cheek and his shirt was covered in flecks. Jaskier was about to tease him and ask why he’s only got a tiny apron when he's wearing a black shirt when he heard footsteps behind the man.

“Mr Frilly!” Ciri cheered as she joined them in the doorway. She was wearing a full-size apron which on a child should look utterly ridiculous but she was also wearing an expression that said she was in charge.

“Already started on dinner I see!” Jaskier said with a grin.

Geralt looked down at his shirt and gave a very sweet shrug before standing to the side and gesturing for Jaskier to join them inside.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he offered. Ciri had already bounded back down the hallway so Jaskier shuffled in and started to wiggle his shoes off with his feet. This inadvertently drew attention to the flowers in his hand.

“Uh, I brought these,” Jaskier started, studying Geralt’s face carefully. Beneath the white smudge of flour there was a distinct pink blush. He didn’t think Geralt looked uncomfortable but oh God it’s so hard to tell. “I brought these.” He repeated quietly.

Jaskier inched the flowers forward to Geralt and thank God he took them. Geralt smiled. No doubt there, that was a proper nice smile.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” he said softly. Jaskier felt Geralt's hand on his shoulder and he was about to say something when –

“Daddy, the dough has gotten SO big!”

Jaskier and Geralt shared a little laugh before Geralt lead him further into the house.

The kitchen was in surprising order considering the state of the chefs, and Jaskier and Geralt walked in to find Ciri proudly holding up a bowl of proofing dough.

“I’ll show you how to make a base,” Ciri said excitedly.

“Wash your hands, Ciri,” Geralt reminded her and Jaskier also took his turn at the sink. As he dried his hands, we watched Geralt dig around a cupboard for a vase, as though he hadn’t used one in a long time, before carefully arranging the flowers to sit in the middle of the kitchen table.

It was a wonderfully sweet evening. Jaskier and Ciri both managed to get covered in flour as they tried to shape pizza crusts while Geralt seemed to be able to do it blind and helping them at the same time.

Jaskier had figured they’d be using tomato puree (he won’t admit to how many years at university he’d lived on pasta and tomato puree) but Geralt brought over a pan of homemade tomato sauce that smelled so good. Even better was the proud little smile he made when Jaskier told him how good it smelled. Best yet was the blush and sudden inhale Geralt didn’t manage to hide when Jaskier couldn’t resist sticking a finger in to try a lick.

“Toppings!” Ciri exclaimed as she carried what Jaskier assumed was a stack of everything from the fridge. Cheese quickly went absolutely everywhere as they each assembled a pizza and it turned out the pair had a tradition of making an extra Frankenstein pizza with every topping.

They loaded them into the oven – “Daddy's going to build a pizza oven in the garden next spring,” Ciri excitedly informed Jaskier. “But they’re still good in the oven.”

Geralt started to clear up while the pizzas cooked, and Ciri immediately vanished. Jaskier stood next to him at the sink to dry things up.

“Thank you for asking me over,” Jaskier said, even though it was clearly Ciri that asked. “I'm really glad I’m here.”

Geralt Hmmed at that, and Jaskier had started to notice it might be his default setting but it sounded like a happy Hmm at least. “What would your Saturday night have been otherwise?” Geralt asked.

“Oh, um,” Jaskier hesitated and dammit he knew he was blushing but he’s going to think I'm so naive and just struggling and – “Well, I’m usually performing at some venue or another, if I’ve managed to get any bookings.” He looked over at Geralt and he seemed interested, not like he suddenly regretted inviting a hipster over, so, “I sing and, uh, play guitar. Among other things.”

Geralt nodded, and definitely didn’t look at Jaskier's mouth when he bit his lip nervously, except Jaskier definitely saw his eyes dart down.

Jaskier shrugged. “But nobody knows me around here. Not yet anyway,” Jaskier laughed quietly. “I’m on at the open mic night this week at Posada's –”

“The live night at The Mandrake is pretty good,” Geralt cut in. Jaskier couldn’t have contained his smile even if he’d tried. Honestly, so many people laughed at him for still trying and –

Breathe, Jask.

“Yeah? What kind of music do they usually have? I mean, well, a lot of my covers usually go down really well, but I also play a lot of my own songs,” Jaskier asked as he dried up the last bowl. Damn it, he was starting to ramble. But he looked over again at Geralt and the man was nodding, and Jaskier thought he might have Hmmed again. Silently though. Jaskier got a little distracted again watching Geralt dry his hands on Jaskier's dish towel and then start to put things away.

“Hmm? What sort of things do you write?” Geralt finally asked, and he definitely stood closer than he needed to as he reached around Jaskier to pick crockery up from the counter.

Jaskier was absolutely not about to reply something like meeting hot dads at the supermarket when the oven timer beeped loudly.

“Pizza!!”

Jaskier jumped a little at Ciri's sudden – immediate – reappearance and although he had no real reason to blush, his cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Geralt laughed ever so quietly. Jaskier eyed him carefully as the man's mouth turned up in the slightest smirk. Oh, Geralt was teasing him.

Jaskier flicked the dish towel at Geralt before joining Ciri at the oven, taking the mitts from her before she could try to hurt herself carrying too many hot pizzas. They took the pizzas to the lounge and before Jaskier could worry about where he should sit, Ciri sat him in the middle of the sofa because that’s where guests sit, Mr. Frilly.

“What film are we watching?” Ciri asked, sat on the floor in front of the telly to get to the DVD player.

“Oh!” Jaskier popped up again and went to his bag. “Have you guys seen The Princess Bride?”

Ciri had not and Gert agreed it was a not-rubbish film. Not that Jaskier would have judged him too harshly if he didn’t liked his favourite film.

He sat between Geralt and Ciri as they ate pizza, and Jaskier definitely agreed it was at least the best pizza in town and quite frankly until he tried ‘Papa Vesemir's’ pizza, he was willing to say best ever. They watched the film, Geralt and Jaskier both half watching Ciri watch it for the first time. When Geralt took his hair out from its bun, Jaskier couldn’t help but reach over to tuck a stray lock behind his ear before Geralt tied half of it back anyway.

Away from the warm kitchen, it cooled down quickly in the lounge so Geralt pulled the throw blanket over them from the back of the sofa. He laughed softly when Jaskier stole the opportunity to tuck in closer as his arms were raised, and then laughed properly when Ciri used Jaskier's distraction to steal his frilly scarf.

Jaskier must have dozed off towards the end of the film because he woke up to Geralt carefully easing him up from leaning against his chest as the credits rolled. “Just putting Ciri to bed.”

Ah, yes, parenting to be done. Jaskier blinked himself awake somewhat while Geralt followed Ciri upstairs. As he listened to muffled arguments about whether she'd brushed her teeth for long enough and how many stories she needed before sleep, Jaskier took their cleared plates back to the kitchen.

He was putting the last of the clean dishes away when Geralt reappeared.

“The princess sleeps?” Jaskier asked softly. Geralt Hmmed at him, leaning against the door frame in a way that looked far too good for him to not be aware.

“Are you awake now?” Geralt teased, and Jaskier admirably resisted sticking his tongue out. Really though, he only resisted because he finally closed the distance between them and leaned up, hopeful, towards Geralt. He was pretty sure, but Oh god what if he really had misread things –

Geralt kissed him. He kissed him softly, steadily and with a firm hand holding Jaskier's hip to his waist.

Jaskier sighed, only loud enough for Geralt to just hear. “Yeah, I'm awake.”

[oliverwxod]

The hardest part is letting go (Part 2) - Geralt imagine

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex. 

Summary: Part 2 to this 

"Another day, another slay" Jaskier mumbled under his breath, strumming a small musical tune , "wait no... Another day... Another... Another..."

 "You okay?" Y/n chuckled to herself, throwing Jaskier a look. "You've been mumbling for the past 10 minutes"

 Jaskier looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a sigh. 

 "I need some inspiration" he huffed. 

 "Things got too boring for you?" Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow up at him. 

 "Oh- no - that's not what I meant I just-" y/n laugh at his stuttering. 

 "I'm not offended" she laughed "it's fine, I'm bored too".

"You should be glad" Geralts voice came from the trees, the two of them squinting to see him appear out of the mist that had not cleared due to the early morning sun that was still trying to rise and cut through the clouds so a new day could begin. 

 "Glad for what?" Y/n questioned, staring at the Witcher. He looked like he hadn't even slept last night. Y/n guessed that he didn't, not when he had paid to spend the night with a woman. 

 "That you're bored" he spoke, staring at her briefly before looking away. 

 "But being bored is so- boring" she complained, stretching her arms out and yawning just to make her point stronger. 

 Jaskier let out a laugh, Geralt once again hated how Jaskier was looking at Y/n. Like she had hung the moon and the stars, he'll even all the other planets that existed up their. Geralt scoffed under his breath.

 "Lets move" he grunted, swinging himself on to his horse with ease, whereas Y/n and Jaskier both struggled with theirs. 

 "Where to?" Jaskier spoke "another great Witcher adventure, maybe I'll get my inspiration" 

 "Why don't you write a song about me" Y/n spoke, a teasing gleam in her eyes that spoke trouble. She flashed a quick grin to Geralt who glared at her. 

 "What makes you think that I haven't already?" Jaskier teased back. He hadn't ever had the confidence to ever come up with a comeback to her teasing before. A spark lightening up in Y/n's eyes that had Geralt grunting again in distaste.

 "Can I hear it?" She asked, smirking at the bard. 

 "Nope". 

"What? Why not?" She whined "please Jaskier" 

 "I'm going to save it" he spoke proudly.

 "Save it for what?" She asked, confusion closing over her face and curiously running through her. She was eager to hear it, a song written about her by a bard. A talented one at that.

 "For when the times right for others to hear it, for they will all fall in love with the mighty Y/n once they do. And I don't think you're ready for all the people to love you" Y/n let out a laugh. 

"Well now I really want to hear it".

 "Would you two stop this wanton talk, " Geralt spoke harshly. He hated it. Couldn't deal with the bards constant talking and Y/n's teasingly. He knew she was only doing it because she was bored. 

 "Just because you barely speak doesn't mean we can't. It's just teasing Geralt" she spoke, her voice didn't hold any kind of annoyance though.

 "Watch it" he glared in response to her first comment. 

 "Oh mysterious Wicther, why do though not speak" y/n spoke exaggeratedly, calling out to the Forrest, arms spread open in exclamation. "Why does though not laugh or play" 

 Jaskier started to strum a tune making her laugh, before he carried on, turning her words into a song.

 "Very funny" Geralt huffed, glaring once again at the two of them who had both broken out into fits of giggles. "The two of you are children" he spoke gruffly, turning his nose up at them.

 Y/n rolled her eyes when she met Jaskiers eyes, the two of them sharing a smile as Geralt had ridden ahead, now leading them. 

 "Soooo" Jaskier spoke, it had been quiet for nearing an hour as they all rode, the pathways were widening suggesting they would probably be reaching a village soon. 

"Has anybody ever been in love?" Y/n coughed, a laugh spluttering from her lips at the question. 

 "Why does that amuse you dear Y/n?" Jaskier asked, smirking slightly at her .

 "Just wasn't expecting such an - outrageous question" 

 "You think love is outrageous?" Jaskier asked shocked. Geralt found himself actually listening to their conversation with interest this time. 

 "Of course it is" she spoke. 

 "What makes you say that?" The bard asked, slowing down. 

 "Because I imagine it to hurt, a lot" she said quietly. "Because there's going to be a point where the person you love is going to love someone else"

 "That's a depressing way to look at it" Jaskier stated. Silence falling over the trio. 

Geralt was a little shocked by her words, y/n seemed to be a joyful soul, much like Jaskier, he thought she would easily be the kind of person who believed in love, the kind of girl that would want to get married and have a family. The conversation died there, the only sounds being those of the silence in the forest and the chirping of birds and distant chatter from a nearby village.

 "There was once a man" y/n spoke gaining the attention of the two men and breaking the silence. "He wanted to prove his love to his wife. So he went on an adventure, He climbed the highest mountain, swam the deepest seas and slayed a silver dragon. Do you know what his wife did?" She left the question open, neither Geralt or Jaskier knowing but staring at her curiously. 

 "She left him" she said, her voice quietening "she left him because he was never there." 

 Geralt stared at her, figuring out what she was trying to say. The way her posture had changed and the way she had cowered in on herself allowed him to understand.

 "Your parents" he said out loud. Y/n's head whipped round to his direction, meeting his eyes. 

 "Yes. My mother left my god forsaken awful Father" she said "and me"

 "I'm sorry-" Jaskier started. "Don't be" she glared at him. 

"She was a coward and he was an asshole" Geralt was unsure for the first time ever what to say. He wasn't good with emotions especially other people's emotions. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and upset her. 

 "I met her" he spoke up. Y/n stared at him once again, speechless. "She paid me" 

 "For what? To kill a monster because once again she was too much of a coward?" Y/n spat a new spiteful side revealing itself. 

 "No. To take you away from there." He said plainly. This was the explanation y/n had been waiting for since she had been traveling with the Wicther after he turned up one day stating he had to protect her. 

 She had always assumed it was her Father who had given him the job of getting her out of the kingdom when the war started. Her father had said it was no place for a princess to be, one of the only good thing he had ever done was letting her leave win the Witcher. 

 She never knew it was because of her mother that the Witcher was actually there "Oh" she replied, in somewhat shock. 

 "She wanted you out of there, war or no war." Geralt said. 

"Wait, you're a princess?" Jaskier spoke in shock. Both Y/n and Geralt momentarily forgot he was there, turning to see Jaskier jaw dropped open in surprise. "I've been- I've been travelling with a princess- talking to a princess-"

 "Jaskier" Geralt spoke "not so loud out here in the open." Conscious of their surrounding he scanned the area briefly. 

 "Let's just keep moving" y/n spoke "we can talk about it later". 

 "So we established that Y/n will never fall in love but has the mighty Witcher or Rivia ever fallen in love" Jaskier asked changing the subject only a little. Geralt gave him a stern look before answering quickly and shortly. 

 "No" 

 "Not even once in your whole entire life time?" Jaskier asked. 

 "No" Geralt spoke again, clearly bored with the conversation. 

 "Witchers don't feel anything" y/n spoke. "Can confirm that" she whispered the last part under her breath but Gedalt still heard, but turned a blind eye to it.

 "Well if neither of you don't believe in love than you sound perfect for each other" Jaskier said, oblivious to the silence and roaming thoughts he had created inside both of their heads with his simple words. 

 The two of them dared not to look at each other, awkwardness falling upon them as they silently follow Jaskier. A cloud of thought running through Y/n's mind.

 Would she be sad if she ever had to leave Geralt? Yes. Would she be sad if Geralt fell in love with someone who was not herself? Yes. It was all starting to make sense. The way she felt under his stare, his brief touches. How she always felt queasy when Geralt spent the night with a woman in a inn room and she was left by herself. Shit. It was all falling into perfect sense. She liked him.

 She liked the Wicther who did not feel anything. The man who barely spoke to her. The person who never seemed to care. 

 Similar thoughts were going through Geralts mind. Why he always felt so angry when Jaskier would talk to y/n, taking all her attention with him. How he would always feel that little bit more protective over her when anything or anyone even came near her. If explained why his heart skipped every time she mentioned that she didn't want to be traveling around all her life, a hint at the fact she would have to leave at some point. Maybe even return to her kingdom if the war was won. 

 "A village" Jaskier spoke excitedly. Geralt looked up, briefly glancing at Y/n, seeing she was already looking at him in question. He looked away quickly before getting off his horse and walking further into the village. 

 People stared. Villagers stopped still, pointing, gossiping, watching them with caution and hostile glances. An inn was up ahead of them, not too far into the village. They could get some food and drink their, maybe even a bed each for the night.

 ----------------------------

  "Do you have three beds for the night?" Jaskier asked the inn keeper politely. "We've been travelling a while" The inn keeper stared at them before his eyes landed on Geralts, eyes narrowing slightly. 

 "Two" the inn keeper spoke cautiously. "We have two beds" 

 "That's fine"y/n spoke as Jaskier began to protest. 

"Thank you Sir" No one spoke about the bed situation, leaving it for a later problem. Instead they were all too focused on getting food, sitting in a corner of the inn waiting with baited breaths and silence. 

"So, Jaskier" y/n spoke. "Have you ever been in love?" She threw his question back at him, watching as the bard blushed. 

 "Uh- well" 

 "He falls in love every night he spends with a different woman" Geralt spoke. Y/n let out a laugh as Jaskier glared at the Witcher. 

 "I do not" he defended himself. He looked at the two of them seeing how neither of them seemed to believe him. "Okay, so maybe sometimes i do. But not all of them" he admitted. 

 "A bard that gets around. So how many?" Y/n asked in curiosity. She watched as he blushed once again. 

 "I'm not telling you that-" 

 "7" Geralt spoke. 

 "Actually it's 8 but- hey!" Jaskier said realising what just happened. 

"Okay mr Witcher what about you"

 "Too many to count Bard" he huffed, smirking at him. 

 "So like a hundred?" Jaskier asked, but only received a look. "More than that!" He exclaimed, his jaw dropping again. Y/n was silent hoping the question wouldn't turn to her.

 But of course Jaskier being the curious person he was asked her. 

 "What about you?" Jaskier said, meeting her eyes. She frowned at him, before looking to Geralt for help, but she found he was looking at her too, his stare intense. 

 "Well- I've lived in a castle, surrounded by guards for my whole life so that would be zero".

 "What!" Came Jaskiers reply first "you mean, you mean you've never?" She glared at him for bringing attention to it. Shaking her head through the blush that coated her cheeks, gaze flickering to stare at the table. She could feel his stare still on her, but she dared not to meet his eyes. 

 "Sorry y/n" Jaskier spoke "I shouldn't have asked you, I didn't mean to make you feel-" 

 "It's fine, I asked you first" she said. They were silent, no one knowing what to say. It was broken when the inn keeper came over, bring 3 bowls of hot stew and rolls of bread, the three of them thanking him gratefully. 

 They finished their food quickly, relishing in the warmth of the meal. It was only when they were finished that Y/n finally spared a look at Geralt, meeting his eyes and finding he was already watching her, his lip caught between his teeth. He didn't look away, not backing down from her gaze. 

 Y/n gave in, quickly looking away and engaging in conversation with Jaskier.

 "I'm going to sleep" Geralt spoke standing up. "Jaskier, you take the other room" he spoke chucking him the key on the table. “Y/n you share my room, I'll take the floor".   

"She can share mine-" Jaskier spoke. 

 "No" he said bluntly as he turned to leave. The two of them watched him retreat away to the door, silent for a quick moment before Jaskier turned to her with a shit eating grin.

 "You don't see the way he looks at you do you?" Jaskier asked. 

 "What do you mean by that?" Y/n replied, confused.

 "He wants you." he spoke, voice teasing him, y/n lightly hit his arm.

 "Stop playing" she said. 

 "I'm not. That man” he spoke gesturing to where Geralt had disappeared to “wants to fuck you" Jaskier smirked.

Y/n was staring at the door the Witcher had gone through just moments ago, Jaskiers words burning into her head. How was she meant to face him now?

TAGS: @sdavid09​ @c-s-stars @bitcheswithbrokenhearts​ @fandomhell97​ @flowercrownsandmetallicarms​ @tdntu0​ @soulmatelove96​ @saelwen-the-shy-elf​ @momc95​ @kingniazx​ @diab1a​ @whatanicepanohthatsjustme​ @marvels-gurl​

[restmyheadatnightcontent]

febuwhump day 17 - field surgery

a bit of hurt jaskier and family worrying (also i will stop making nilfgaard the baddies soon they’re just really convienient) 

geraskefer | 1035 words | cw: injury, blood, referenced violence, surgery without painkillers (just a bad time all round for the bard)

_________________________

He curses the gods again as he pushes down, wishing there was something, anything he could do to make this better, to take away his pain but he just has to wait until it’s over.

Jaskier arches from the ground again with a muffled scream as he tries to shout around the leather in his mouth. Yennefer winces in sympathy as her hands still over the wound, and Ciri leans down to  murmur more soothing words into the bards ear. Once Jaskier has settled again, Yennefer gets back to work. They weren’t sure how many fragments there were still in the wound, Geral prays that they are almost finished. He isn’t sure how much longer his heart will last, breaking more and more with every scream that rips from Jaskier’s throat. He presses his weight down again, one of his hands  braced on the bards shoulder the other on his hip, until he stills and shifts his gaze up towards the other mans face.

Jaskier’s head is resting in Ciri’s lap, his face is pale from blood-loss and there are tears plastering his cheeks. His blue eyes are bright with pain, tears clinging to his long lashes as he looks up but Geralt knows that he is seeing straight through them. The pain has taken over him, his mind has drifted away he is muttering nonsense, calling out for people Geralt has never heard him mention before. There is one particularly desperate plea that sounds an awful lot like mother  as his head thrashes from side to side, and Geralt feels his heart drop. He wishes that Jaskier would pass out, so that at least he would not suffer any more. Geralt could use Axii, but he does not know the state of Jaskiers mind right now, to send him under could mean losing him forever, and Geralt isn’t ready to take that risk. He keeps praying that the blue eyes will slip close, and Jaskier can have some peace, but the bard has always been a stubborn bastard.

He looks up and tries to give Ciri what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but it does nothing to remove the scared look from her face or to stop the tears from flowing. Geralt guesses that she has probably not seen anything this bad, not since she fled Cintra. She is running her fingers through Jaskiers hair somewhat frantically, trying to give him whatever comfort she can. Geralt wishes he could do something to comfort her, but as Jaskier writhes beneath him again his attention is pulled back towards trying to stop him moving and undoing Yennefers work.

Once Jaskier is settled again, he glances towards Yennefer. Her arms are covered in blood, as her hands dig around in the wound. She had set her jaw and her gaze was determined. She hadn’t said a word since she had begun, but Geralt can see the slight tremor in her hands as she works. The fight took what little strength she had gained, and the exhaustion was beginning to set in. They would all need a rest after this, but he wasn’t sure how or when they would get one.

He is not sure how much more time passes, Jaskier slowly growing weaker beneath him but he continues to struggle and fight. It has been a while since Yennefer had pulled out a shard and after further probing she sits back on her heels.

“I think that’s all of it. I can’t find any more,”

Geralt moves around and rests his hand on her shoulder. “Well done,” he murmurs and then takes her position so that he can begin stitching the wound. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her shuffle round and take a seat up by Jaskiers head. She reaches out one arm to pull Ciri into a half hug, letting the girl bury her head into her shoulder and cry, whilst the other reaches down so that she can run her fingers through Jaskiers hair.

Jaskier seems to have finally succumb to sleep, the pain and blood-loss finally becoming too much for him.  They descend into silence, the only noise is the movement of the needle and the shallow breaths dragging themselves from Jaskiers throat. Soon Geralt is finished, and with Yennefer and Ciri’s help, he gets Jaskier upright so that they can wrap a bandage around his torso. As soon as they have lain him back down, Ciri is cuddling into him, resting her head on his shoulder and placing her arm across him so that she is avoiding his injury. Jaskier must sense this, even in his unconscious state, as his head turns so that his chin is resting on her head, his nose brushing her hair. Geralt smiles down at them as Yen comes round and sits next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He presses a kiss into her hair as she lets out a long exhale.

“Idiot,” she sighs. “Going and getting himself stabbed.”

“In his defence, I don’t think he wanted it to happen either.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him. The bastard probably just wanted an excuse to sleep in a real bed.”

“There are less dramatic ways to do that.”

“Have you met him?”

“True,” he snorts and they settle back into silence. They should probably think about moving on, findsomewhere safe, somewhere where Nilfgaard won’t be able to find them, so they can set up and Jaskier can recover easily. But looking at the bards pale face and Ciri’s tearstained cheeks, he cannot bear to move them just yet.

He can feel the tension running through her body and he pulls away slightly to look into her eyes, which are glistening with unshed tears.

“He’ll be alright,” he reassures.

“I know,” she says, blinking hurriedly and turning away from him.

He just hums and pulls her back into him, kissing her temple then reaching out to take Jaskiers hand in his. It is cold and Geralt can feel the tremble that is now running through the other man. Soon, they will move on soon, he tells himself.

But right now, he is going to sit and keep watch over his family.

[mypoisonedvine]

In Between - Geralt x (fem)reader x Jaskier

Summary: After travelling with Geralt and Jaskier for a few weeks, you have found yourself attracted to both of them, perhaps in different ways, but both getting stronger and harder to ignore.  Simultaneously, you find yourself questioning the nature of their relationship, wishing that there was some way to have both of them…

Word Count: 3k

Rating: E (PWP lol)

They retired from the bar early, leaving you to drink alone.  You were suspicious but decided it was really none of your business.  Two drinks later, you found yourself glancing up the stairs they had taken to the room, wondering if you should go to your own room, or even better, accidentally stumble into theirs.  You didn't know what you expected to find, or wanted to find, and yet you were already halfway up the stairs- how did that happen?

You walked in to find them both in a state of half-undress, Geralt sitting on the bed and Jaskier straddling him as they kissed each other with a passion you felt hit you all the way across the room.

Your stomach dropped, but also something deep inside you began to ache.  You weren’t sure where to look: logic told you to look away, since this was something you surely weren’t supposed to be seeing, but you couldn’t stop yourself from appreciating their bodies, and the wonderful ways in which they met.

Geralt stopped to look at you first, and you realised that he must have heard you coming with his powerful senses… that or he was so focused on Jaskier that he didn’t notice.  Both options left you with more questions than answers.

You didn’t want to leave, if you were being honest with yourself.  Geralt’s stare, noticeably lacking in anger or shock, made you think that maybe there was a good reason to stay.

Jaskier turned to look at you as well, his expression a lot easier to read: curiosity.

“You haven’t run out,” he observed.

“I thought about it,” you replied, a noticeable nervousness tainting your voice.

“That look… jealousy, perhaps?” Jaskier teased, standing up from the bed and crossing his arms as he looked you up and down.

You didn’t respond.

“Geralt figured you had developed an interest in him, so did I.  Do you wish to take my place?” he interrogated.

“That’s part of it,” you said hoarsely.

Now he seemed genuinely surprised, his expression softening.

“What’s the rest of it?” he asked quietly.

“Jealousy of Geralt,” you answered, surprising yourself with your honesty.  Maybe you needed to drink less of this foreign liquor, it made you say questionable things.

Jaskier dashed across the room, pulling you suddenly into a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your body into his.  You gasped but relaxed into his grip, your eyes fluttering shut.  

You needed to drink more of this foreign liquor, it made wonderful things happen.

Jaskier’s tongue slid against yours, exploring you as his fingers pushed into your hair.  You weren’t sure you’d ever been kissed with this much intensity.  To think that you were tasting some portion of Jaskier and some portion of Geralt on the bard’s lips was intoxicating.

You felt him pull back and instinctively you leaned forward, chasing the kiss.  You heard him chuckle lightly and you opened your eyes.  He was looking at you with bemusement, but it didn’t feel insulting.  You had longed for this to happen and yet it was nothing like you imagined.

“Now I know Geralt is jealous of me,” he said quietly, both of you turning to look at Geralt, still sitting on the bed.  His expression was somewhat blank, but his stare was certainly intense.

“Is… is that true?” you asked Geralt shakily.  

“Hmm,” was his only reply.

“If you want something, you have to go for it, Geralt,” Jaskier explained, running his fingers through your hair absent-mindedly.  

He stood from his seat on the bed, and you watched him intently and he stepped towards you.  He stopped just in front of you, and you were sure that you’d never stood so close to him.  He lifted your chin with his finger, and you closed your eyes as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.  The tenderness didn’t last long, though, as you felt him pull you closer and deepen the kiss almost instantly.  Just as you processed how much more greedy and fervent Geralt’s kiss was compared to Jaskier’s, you felt lips pressing teasing kisses along your neck and shoulders.  You gasped against Geralt’s mouth, your body alight with the array of sensations and your brain struggling to divide attention between being touched by two men at once.

Jaskier’s nimble fingers were working on the lacing on your bodice, making quick work of the cords.  You were so lost in Geralt’s kiss that you weren’t even properly able to internally freak out because Gods above, this is actually going to happen, isn’t it?

You didn’t even think about how obediently you moved your arms down from where they had been resting on Geralt’s chest so that Jaskier could slip your dress off your shoulders.

Geralt broke the kiss for a moment, looking down to where Jaskier was kneeling over the pool of your dress on the floor.

“You kiss her first, then you undress her for me- you’re spoiling all the fun before I can get around to it,” Geralt scolded.

“You think I undressed her for you?” Jaskier scoffed in reply, standing back up and running his hands all over your body.  You moaned ever so slightly at the feeling, though you tried to hold yourself back a bit.

“And you’ve made her moan first, too.  Bastard,” Geralt growled.  You could feel Jaskier’s smile against your skin as he bit lightly along the back of your neck.

Geralt kissed you again, reaching down to cup and massage your breasts.  At the same time, Jaskier let his fingertips delicately run along your back and sides, which sent shivers all through your body.

Geralt leaned away one last time, taking a moment to study your expression.  He smiled darkly as he moved to your ear and whispered to you.

“I can smell how much you want this,” he growled, his fingers trailing down to the wetness he sensed.  You whimpered, your body tensing up with an emotion that was hard to describe: fear, in a sense, but mostly desire, desperation.

Just as you were preparing for him to touch you, his hand moved away again, and the whine that escaped you in response was louder than you expected.

“Is he toying with you?” Jaskier asked you, though it was clear he was directing a little frustration at Geralt as well. “I’ve been there, it’s awful.  Don’t worry love, I’m not so judicious.”

You felt his fingers, thinner and softer, make their way to the inside of your thigh.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he promised quietly as he kissed the shell of your ear.

Suddenly he pushed two fingers inside of you and you felt your knees get weak.  Geralt caught you, the strength of his grip making you swallow nervously.  He was strong enough to do anything he wanted to you, and here he was patiently waiting as another man pleasured you.  You watched his face, admiring the fire in his eyes.  He looked to be brimming with passion: anger, arousal, maybe both.  More than that, he looked like he was holding himself back, and you wanted more than anything for him to let go.  Jaskier’s fingers twisted inside you and the words just came out of you without much thought.

“It feels so good,” you moaned, not sure which of them you were addressing.  You felt Jaskier smile, but heard Geralt growl.

“So eager for me,” Jaskier purred, his free hand gripping your hips so he could drive his fingers deeper into you.  They pushed into something inside you that made everything feel more powerful and intense.

“Yes,” you gasped, rocking back against his hand.  

“He’s giving us the angry look,” Jaskier whispered with a laugh.  You smiled in response, but it dropped into a gasp when you felt Geralt’s hand wrap around your throat and jaw, pulling you into a punishing kiss.  You moaned against him as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and pulled away, holding you just far enough that you couldn’t meet his lips again.  He seemed to enjoy watching you struggle to taste him again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked suddenly, and you moaned hearing him speak that way to you.

“Yes,” you answered, your voice strained from his grip on your throat.  At the same time, Jaskier’s fingers twisted inside of you and you tried not to react.

“Say it,” Geralt demanded.

“I want you to fuck me,” you repeated.

“Ask nicely,” he growled, his grip tightening on your neck.

You were struggling against his grasp, but tried to answer quickly. “Please fuck me, Geralt, please,” you begged.

Jaskier pulled his fingers from you suddenly, using the freed hand to smack you across the ass, quite hard.  You yelped in pain, but halfway through it developed into a moan.  

“Naughty, naughty,” Jaskier scolded in a way that felt much more encouraging than a proper scolding.

“Hmm,” Geralt grumbled, though it seemed to be a noise of content.  

“See, Geralt here needs to make you beg because it helps with his deep-seated insecurity,” Jaskier analyzed, rubbing his hand over the area which was still stinging from his hit.

“I, on the other hand,” he continued, “don’t need you to tell me straight to my face that you want me to fuck you.  I was just inside you- trust me, it’s obvious.”

"I want you both," you whispered, your face flushing pink even though the time for embarrassment had surely passed.

"You'll have us both, darling, don't worry," Jaskier smiled, "it's just a matter of the order in which you want us."

"Get on the bed," Geralt suddenly demanded, and you did, releasing from his embrace and laying on your back.

"So, who would you like first?" Jaskier prompted, standing beside Geralt so you could size them both up.  You did, but it didn't make your decision any easier.  

"I don't know, arm wrestle for it or something," you shrugged.  Geralt smiled.

"Sounds fair to me," he announced, puffing up his chest.

"No way!" Jaskier protested. "Stone, parchment, dagger," he suggested alternatively.

"That'll do just as well," you agreed.  Geralt's smile dropped. 

After they counted off, Geralt cast blade (of course) and Jaskier must have anticipated it because he went for stone after all.  He smiled, not wasting much time to join you in the bed.

You laughed, and it was comfortable.  Though the tone of the room had shifted more than a few times, you still felt your friendship beneath it all.  After this, certainly it could never be the same, but maybe it didn't have to be entirely different.  To be in the hands of two men you already trusted felt safe.  

"Come here, Geralt, I'll make it up to you while you wait your turn," you enticed with a wink.  He obeyed, kneeling in front of you on the bed as Jaskier flipped you onto your hands and knees.  You worked on the lacing of his trousers just as Jaskier began to do the same to his own, and as more of Geralt’s hardened cock was revealed, the more nervous you were to have it anywhere near you: it was about as big as his personality had led you to suspect.  That said, Jaskier’s cockiness (no pun intended) seemed to have an origin as well, as you felt the tip of him circling your entrance and moaned at the feeling.  Pulling Geralt’s length from the trousers, you instantly wrapped your mouth around the head, mainly just hoping to get as much of it down as could be reasonably expected.  You heard him sigh, just a little, as you ran your tongue along the underside of the head.  Just as you relaxed into Jaskier’s hands which held you up by your hips, you felt him slam into you all at once.  You cried out, the sound trapped as you started to bob up on down on the member stretching your lips.

“You sound so lovely with a cock in your mouth,” Jaskier encouraged, continuing his brutal thrusts: hard, and deep, but not fast.  It made your body ache in the most wonderful ways, and his words only added to the intensity of the energy coursing through you.

“So tight,” you heard him whisper, and you smiled around Geralt, who himself seemed to be falling deeper into his pleasure, his head tilted back as he thrusted into your mouth.  You could take him about halfway, but thankfully you only needed one hand to hold yourself up, and the other was enough to cover the remaining space.  You let your hand twist around him a little, and that made him moan properly.

“Feels good, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, though it seemed to be a bit rhetorical.

“Yes,” was all Geralt could say in response, his voice hoarse and breathy.

“How about you, love?” he asked, stroking your back. “Does it feel good to be so full of cock?” 

You nodded, refusing to stop sucking Geralt so long as he was making such wonderful sounds.

“Do you like pleasuring us both, at the same time?” he pressed.

You nodded again, and moaned a little this time.  He reached around your thigh to rub your swollen clitoris and you would’ve fallen if he hadn’t been holding you up, the intensity of the sensations making your hips give out.  He didn’t stop even as you came, and Geralt took the opportunity to hold your head steady and push himself deeper into your throat.  Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but simply being so overwhelmed by them.  Jaskier pulled out of you unexpectedly, and you felt Geralt follow.  You opened your eyes just in time to see Jaskier sliding down in front of you, and even though you didn’t entirely understand what was happening, you instinctively grabbed him and began to suck him instead.

“Fuck,” he groaned, running his hands through your hair. “Don’t stop, I’m so close,” he encouraged.

“Poor Jaskier, can’t come inside you,” Geralt pitied as he teased you by running his length along your folds. 

“Don’t worry about me, having her swallow my seed is a privilege all its own,” he replied proudly, though you heard the strain in his voice as he neared his orgasm.  You picked up your pace, wanting more than anything to please him if you could.  Turns out, you could: he let out a rapid series of short moans, each gaining in pitch as you took him deeper and deeper, finally able to swallow him to the base.  At the exact moment that he came, Geralt pushed himself into you.  

You tried to moan but you were too busy choking, so all you could do was brace your hands on Jaskier’s thighs.

“Mm,” Geralt hummed quietly, and you felt him push in just a bit further.  You hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t all the way in.  Jaskier cautiously began to lift your head, and you only let a bit of him spill from your lips before you closed your mouth and swallowed the rest.  Jaskier used a finger to wipe up the drops that had run down your chin, bringing it to your lips for you to lick off.  Though it could have come across as a show of dominance, the way he looked at you made it feel much more loving and tender.  He slid down, laying under you, and held you close.  At first you weren’t sure exactly why (not that you were complaining) but then Geralt bottomed out and you cried out and you understood that he was keeping you from lurching forward each time Geralt thrust into you.  You had expected Geralt to take out his apparent jealousy out on you, fuck you like he wanted you to forget Jaskier had ever been there.  Instead, he was slow and thoughtful, savoring every movement and running his hands along your skin.

“Yes,” you whispered, laying your head on Jaskier’s chest as he stroked your hair.

“Fuck,” Geralt growled as he sped up ever so slightly, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still.  He was hitting something deep inside you, and it bordered between pleasure and pain like you had never experienced before.  Your moans almost sounded like sobs, though it was still very clear that you were enjoying yourself.

“You’re doing so well,” Jaskier praised, pulling you into a kiss where the sounds you were making- bordering on screams at this point- were muffled by his tongue.  

"So close already," Geralt mumbled, and although it was vague who he was referring to, you knew that he meant you were close- he could probably feel your walls spasming just as well as you could.  You hadn't realized you could come again so quickly, though it felt like an entirely different kind of orgasm than the last one.  Jaskier continued to whisper praises against your lips, suddenly reaching down to rub your clitoris again.

You encountered a dilemma you’d never had before: you wanted to cry out the names of two men at once.  Since that was impossible, you settled on a semi-coherent string of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘oh gods’ and ‘don’t stop.’  

It felt as if the fire that had been slowly lighting inside your gut had turned into an explosion, and your nails dug into Jaskier’s shoulders.  With each movement of Geralt inside you, and with each circling movement Jaskier’s fingers made, you were sure you had reached the height of your pleasure and yet each time you went a little further, unsure if there was any limit to this feeling.  

“How long can you keep her like this?” you heard Jaskier ask Geralt, everything sounding so far away when all you could focus on was a seemingly unstoppable orgasm.

“I won’t be able to hold myself back for much longer,” he replied, his voice sounding perhaps more strained than you’d ever heard it.

“But it’s the most incredible sound,” he protested.

“Exactly,” Geralt explained, his thrusts gaining speed which only served to make you scream louder.

“Please, I want you to come; I want to make you come,” you called out to him.  You felt his hand grab your hair, giving it a tug which forced your head back.  Jaskier took the opportunity to kiss and suck on your bared neck.

“You will, pet,” he growled, and you whined in pleasure at the possessive name, “you feel so fucking good.”

Jaskier bit down on your neck, eliciting another choked noise from you.

“Beg me for it,” Geralt demanded, and you obeyed immediately.

“Please come inside me, Geralt,” you cried out, “I need it, please.”

You heard him chuckle darkly, the hand in your hair pulling harder.  “You can do better than that.”

“You feel so good, please, I want- ah- need you to come for me,” you continued. “You’re so fucking good, please, I want to be filled with your cum, Geralt, please!”

Apparently that was enough, and apparently he took your demand to be filled quite seriously, because he started coming and didn’t stop for quite some time, at least compared to what you had expected.  You felt him flexing inside you, though you only heard the quietest gasp from him.  You felt Jaskier smile against your neck, and you were overwhelmed with a sense of pride, not something you usually got after sex.

As Geralt pulled out of you it felt like a part of your own body being removed; you’d molded to him so tightly that it nearly hurt for him to leave.  You collapsed onto the bed and onto Jaskier, Geralt laying down beside you two.  You looked up to see them give each other a brief yet passionate kiss.  

“We should do this again sometime,” you murmured weakly, your voice nearly lost from all the screaming and such.

They both laughed, Jaskier giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

“Don’t say that, Geralt will be waking us up in an hour for another round,” he groaned.

“What’s so bad about that?” you asked.  Jaskier’s smile dropped into shock, but Geralt’s only widened.

“I get the feeling that this is the start of a very interesting relationship,” he announced.

[drowningbydegrees]

Witcher Masterpost

You can find my AO3 here if that’s your thing, but here are links to all my Witcher creations.

Fic - One Shots

MUSIC PROMPT LIST FICS Prompt List

A Love Like This | G | 1,009 Words | No Warnings Apply Jaskier does nothing quietly. He is bright colors and endless conversation. He is music and theatrics. He unapologetically takes up space, bold and loud and impossible to ignore. Jaskier does nothing quietly.

Except for this.

Written for the Music Prompt 4. Dolce AO3 | Tumblr

Nothing But the Background Noise | T | 3,385 Words | No Warnings Apply Geralt has always been at home with silence. It’s a quality that lends itself well to the life of a witcher, this ability to find peace instead of loneliness in the quiet of his own company. But they spend that night in their room’s single bed and Geralt lies awake wondering when the warm press of Jaskier’s face tucked against his neck became such a welcome thing, when his fingers tangling in the bard’s hair got to be so instinctive. When did Jaskier’s get to be so wrapped up in his life as to leave Geralt dreading the absence?

In which Geralt realizes that sometimes you don't discover how much of a fixture something is in your life until you're forced to contemplate not having it.

Written for the Music Prompt 8. Incidental Music AO3 | Tumblr 

Call Me a Casualty | T | 1,670 Words | No Warnings Apply He has a plan.

Okay, admittedly calling it a plan is somewhat of an exaggeration. What Geralt has is an overwhelming sense of grief that floods the empty spaces left behind as his temper ebbs, and the horrifying realization that while it all hurts, it’s Jaskier’s departure that leaves his heart aching. What he has is an urgent need to set things right, and only a nebulous idea of how to do so. For starters though, he needs to catch up to Jaskier. That’s a straightforward task to set his mind to, and Geralt assumes he’ll figure out the rest on the road.Written for the Music Prompt 16. Mosso  AO3 | Tumblr

This Too Is Ours | E | 1,919 Words | No Warnings Apply

They fit like they were made for basking, tangled up with each other in the comfort of a warm bed while the snow falls outside He could go back to sleep, Jaskier thinks. It’s winter. He might be teaching, but it’s still a break of sorts. If he can’t sleep in now, then when can he?

Idly, he drags his palm down Geralt’s flank. There’s comfort in the familiar topography of the witcher’s body, and isn’t that a heady thought? Geralt is - has allowed himself to be - familiar territory. It seems a silly thing to be so giddy over, but Jaskier smiles as he nuzzles against the nape of Geralt’s neck.

AO3 | Tumblr

OTHER ONE SHOTS

Something To Hold Onto | T | 11,146 Words | No Warnings Apply

“Is it some kind of prank, do you think?” Jaskier asks, squinting at the noticeboard.

It’s littered with contracts, each more peculiar than the last. Missing people, haunted houses, someone convinced his sister is possessed because she’s acting strangely. The last is vague, giving no indication of what “strangely” even means. It would be weird for a sizable city like Novigrad, but it’s completely nonsensical in a village as small as Hillcrest, which is barely large enough to support an inn. The notices are all quite new, so normally Geralt would be tempted to write it off as someone being a menace. But the writing is different, the paper is different, all of it is different enough that it’s probably not one person.

As it turns out, there is no prank, leaving Geralt to try to fix things before whatever is wrong with Hillcrest consumes them all.

AO3 | Tumblr

We Break Like Waves | T | 3,469 Words | No Warnings Apply

For three days, they are happy. It matters less that Geralt struggles to put to words what Jaskier means to him when it’s all right there, neatly conveyed in the simple band wrapped around the bard’s finger. Jaskier holds his hand out to admire it for what must be the hundredth time, smiling as the candlelight catches facets of the solitary ruby set in gold.

What begins as a long overdue honeymoon ends, as things so often do in Geralt's life, in disaster.

AO3 | Tumblr

Noonwraiths and Other Woodland Forest Creatures | T | 3,716 Words | No Warnings Apply

Jaskier is used to his favorite customer, who is possibly some sort of cryptid, showing up at odd hours. What he's not used to is said customer showing up injured.

A modern AU featuring 24 hour diner server Jaskier and Geralt who is... still a witcher.

AO3 | Tumblr

If You Say It Again | T | 4,243 Words | No Warnings Apply

Geralt is what Jaskier cheerfully describes as "forever years old" when he discovers that okay, maybe he is just the littlest bit affected by… actually he’s not sure what one would call this. He’s not even sure if it’s specifically what was said or just the act of being spoken to like a person in a vulnerable moment. Either way, it’s more than a little unexpected, but that’s not actually the problem. After all, everyone finds themselves unraveled by something a little unorthodox now and again, and in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really all that weird. 

AO3 | Tumblr

Left All the Lights Burning (But Nobody's Home) | M | 3,739 Words | No Warnings Apply Geralt is quiet, but he’s always quiet, so that really doesn’t mean much. When he can’t hear the witcher, Jaskier squints at the dark room, wishing his friend didn’t absolutely insist on wearing black all the time. “I don’t suppose you can do that magicky thing you do and break us out of here?”

No answer comes.

Written for Whumptober prompt 26. concussion AO3 | Tumblr

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2,021 Words | No Warnings Apply As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after. AO3 | Tumblr

Rosetta Stone | G | 1,408 Words | No Warnings Apply It’s not a seduction that the bard settles on, at least not in any traditional sense. There’s no lack of attraction (really, Jaskier is continuously baffled by how anyone could look at Geralt and not want him), but it’s background noise. He thinks of this more like finagling the two of them into some sort of harmony.

In which Jaskier realizes that while his affection for Geralt is almost certainly returned, they say it in entirely different ways, and takes it upon himself to translate.

AO3 | Tumblr

Untitled | G | 517 Words | No Warnings Apply Reply to the prompt:  What about when Geralt first realizes he's in love with Jaskier? Tumblr

Something is Bound to Give | T | 2,754 Words | No Warnings Apply For the space of a single breath Geralt concedes. He almost melts into Jaskier’s painstakingly careful touch, the soothing way the bard invites him to take refuge in someone else for a little while, but then Geralt’s mind catches up with the rest of him.  AO3 

Where You and I Collide | T | 1,388 Words | No Warnings Apply The words don’t pass his lips. At first Jaskier thinks this is too new, too fragile a thing that’s come into being between them. Then, he fears that perhaps they don’t mean the same thing by any of this, that perhaps he’s offered up his heart to someone who has no use for it. Based on a prompt asking for something about Jaskier and Geralt struggling with feelings. AO3 | Tumblr

Fill in the Blanks | G | 1,438 Words | No Warnings Apply “I want nothing.”

The thing is, it’s not a lie. Not really. It’s just that it’s an incomplete sentence.. AO3  | Tumblr

I’ll Wish Upon Embers | E | 9,128 Words | No Warnings Apply

“But allow me to raise this one point for your consideration.” There it is, accompanied by Jaskier’s expression scrunching in a way that Geralt is exasperated to realize he finds rather endearing. “Have you ever tried?” --- Geralt lets Jaskier talk him into sticking around for a village's midsummer festival. He assumes they're staying for Jaskier's benefit, but somewhere between the flower crowns and the bonfire, Geralt realizes it was a gift meant for him all along.

AO3 | Tumblr

Fic - Multi-part

Though I Try Not To | E | 16,120 Words | No Warnings Apply “You didn’t come back,” Geralt murmurs as if that somehow covers everything.

AO3

Even in the Dark I Know You | M | 8,196 Words | No Warnings Apply The thing is, he’s seen Geralt in a bad way. Even the witcher can’t always avoid injury in his line of work, and so Jaskier has plenty of practice patching him up. But this is new, and it makes something awful and anxious twist in Jaskier’s stomach.

A contract goes wrong leaving Geralt captive and stripped of most of his senses by the time Jaskier gets to him. Part one is based on the Geralt Whump Week day four prompt of betrayal and part two is based on the day five prompt of loneliness

AO3 | Tumblr 1 | 2 | 3

Even if it Hurts (Even if it Makes Me Bleed) | E | 25,074 Words | No Warnings Apply

Is that a pickup line? Maybe. It’s the worst one Geralt has ever heard in his very long life, but that isn’t the problem. The problem races, red hot down the length of his forearm, pooling uncomfortably around his soulmark. The scrawled out writing on the underside of his wrist had told Geralt the first thing his soulmate was going to say to him as soon as he could read. Silly as it had sounded, it’s even more ridiculous out loud.

To say Geralt is not a fan of destiny is a monumental understatement. Given the fact that the soul mark scrawled out on his wrist is the worst pickup line he's ever heard, he doesn't anticipate his soulmate being any more welcome than anything else that life has saddled him with. But the longer he spends with Jaskier, the harder his soulmate is to resist, and somewhere along the way Geralt knows he'll have to reckon with whether his feelings are manufactured by kismet or truly his own.

AO3 | Tumblr

Once Written in the Stars | E | 15,512 Words (WIP) | No Warnings Apply When Geralt accidentally trespasses on a fae forest, only the unexpected kindness of one of the forest's inhabitants saves him. Unfortunately, it also leaves him saddled with a travel companion who has never really met a human, let alone thought about how to play at being one. It goes about as well as you'd think. AO3 | Tumblr 1 | 2 | 3

Art Stuff

Geraskier Gif Set Set to Stray Italian Greyhound by Vienna Teng 

Geraskier Image Set  Set to Civil War by @sincerelyjoanna-blog-blog

Geraskier Watercolor Edit