#i was thinking of someone to pair with vesemir and it got out of hand

[bambirex]

Maybe Loving Is Sharing: Chapter 8

Pairings: Geraskefer, Geraskier, Yenralt, Yennskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold, Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel, Coen

Additional tags: genderbending, alternate universe - modern setting, polyamory, matchmaking, pining, unrequited love, or is it?, mutual pining, friends to lovers, awkwardness, fem!Geralt, fem!Jaskier, bunch of helpless sapphics, everyone is confused, crushes, disability, emotionally constipated Yennefer of Vengerberg, oblivious Geralt of Rivia, oblivious Yennefer of Vengerberg, oblivious Jaskier, everyone is fucking oblivious, insecurities

Full word count: 13,329 words

Chapter word count: 1,925 words

Chapters: 8/?

Summary: The plan is simple: help your best friend get together with the girl of her dreams. What could go wrong?

Well, when everyone is confused and pining but also very oblivious, pretty much everything.

Chapter summary: Geraldine needs a push from her family, Yennefer reveals her doubts to a confidante, and Jaskier has a lovely dream that leaves her with not so lovely thoughts.

Author's notes: I am separating the trio for a little bit to delve into their deepest fears.

Read on Ao3

*

"So, what brought you all the way here, my wayward daughter?"

Geraldine snorted. Her father, Vesemir, grinned at her across the counter where he was chopping onions and meat for their lunch.

"The free food, probably," Geraldine's younger brother, Lambert grinned, gently elbowing her in the side. Geraldine shoved at him lightly, satisfied to see she could still make him tumble.

"In a way, yes," Geraldine chuckled. She scratched at the back of her neck awkwardly as she added, "and I need advice."

"Our sister asking for advice?" Eskel gasped, pretending to be shocked. Or, maybe he wasn't actually pretending, considering Geraldine truly rarely asked for help.

Coen sat next to Geraldine and lay a gentle hand on his sister's back. "What's the matter, Geraldine?"

Geraldine sighed deeply. She didn't even know where she should start. So many confusing emotions swirled inside her in the past month, and they got worse with each passing day. She couldn't keep it bottled up inside anymore; she needed to talk to someone.

"Do you think you can be in love with two people at the same time?"

Long silence and several confused blinks followed her question. Geraldine's cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

Vesemir put down the knife and pulled out a chair, sitting down in front of his daughter. He rubbed at his beard deeply in thought for a couple seconds before he started speaking.

"I have never experienced something like this," he admitted, "doesn't mean it's impossible, though."

"Are you sure it's love and not just infatuation?" Eskel asked. "It's easy to confuse the two."

"No," Geraldine replied. She recalled every single moment that led to this admittance: the way her heart beat so fast, the way she couldn't stop thinking about the two women. The way that no matter what she did, she couldn't imagine her life without either of them.

"I tried to will these feelings to go away, but I couldn't. I promised myself I wouldn't fall in love, that I don't need a relationship because I'm not built for them, but when I imagine my future... I see these two women, with me."

Lambert hummed. "So, Jaskier, and the other...?"

Geraldine raised her head so quickly, her neck nearly snapped.

"What... how...?"

"Oh, come on," Coen laughed, "It's obvious. You've been in love with Jaskier since the moment you two met. The only person who couldn't tell for years was you."

Geraldine bit her lip. Shit. Was she really this oblivious to her own feelings? She loved Jaskier, of course she did, and she did know it was different from a friendship, but... maybe she's spent so many years convincing herself that her and Jaskier wouldn't work out, that in the end, she believed it. But those feelings kept nagging her at the back of her mind, those moments where the lines seemed to blur, when she started wondering that maybe, just maybe, her and Jaskier could have been more. And that kiss... Geraldine has replayed it countless times in her head. They promised each other it wouldn't interfere with their friendship, but the thing was, Geraldine kind of wanted it to. And she managed to pretend Jaskier was just her gal pal for years, but now it felt like her heart couldn't take it anymore.

"There's a doctor," Geraldine continued quietly, "Yennefer. Her office is right next to mine. I... I guess I developed a crush on her. And I asked Jaskier to play matchmaker a little bit, and it worked so well that now I think I love them both. And I don't know what to do."

"Well, how about communication?" Vesemir suggested. "I mean, Jaskier obviously returns your feelings, but..."

Geraldine snorted. "No, she doesn't."

"Jesus," Lambert growled, "you're blind if you think she isn't head over heels for you. The same way you are for her."

"And what about Yennefer?" Eskel chimed in. "Do you think it could work between you?"

"That's a great question," Geraldine admitted with a sigh. "She seems... I don't know. We had a lot of fun on our last date. With the three of us. But then she fled, and... I don't know. I'm just confused. I haven't even wanted an actual relationship for so many years and now I have to face the fact I've been in love with my best friend all this time, and that I also fell for someone else."

"Well, you’re definitely in a pickle," Coen said. "It's tough. But I think Dad is right, the only way to find out who feels what is to talk to them."

"And what if I ruin everything with it? What if Jaskier no longer wants to be my friend, and Yennefer will never want to see me again?"

"Isn't it better to try and risk it, than to spend the rest of your life second-guessing?" Eskel gave her a small smile and squeezed her hands. "You said you had fun together. Maybe they want this to be more than just casual fun, too."

Geraldine stared down at her lap with a sigh. She knew her family was right, she knew she couldn't move on until she talked to them. But fuck, she was famously bad at communicating, hence why she dragged Jaskier into this mess in the first place.

Jaskier... The idea of losing her was terrifying. And so was the idea of losing Yennefer. Geraldine couldn't win in this scenario until she pulled her shit together and took her family's advice.

--

Triss was a very observant person. Yennefer immediately befriended her upon arriving. She was kind and smart, but also wouldn't take anyone's shit. Obviously, she saw right through her when she pretended everything was fine when it really wasn't.

"Okay, okay," Yennefer huffed, raising her hands in defeat, "you're right. Something happened."

"In the romantic department?" Triss smirked, causing Yennefer to roll her eyes.

"Is it that obvious?"

"I'm just assuming, since you spend so much time gushing about the hot vet and her friend."

"I'm not gushing!" Yennefer protested, but her cheeks immediately turned crimson red upon mentioning Geraldine and Jaskier. Triss giggled.

"What seems to be the real problem, doc?"

"God," Yennefer groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This is embarrassing. I hate it."

"What?"

"I... I wasn't supposed to fall in love with either of them," Yennefer squeezed out with great effort. She avoided Triss's eyes, but she could feel her assistant staring at her.

"I wanted to have fun," Yennefer explained, fiddling with the stethoscope around her neck. "Geraldine is so hot, was it such a surprise I wanted to fuck her? And then, her friend came along, so transparently playing matchmaker, and she's so goddamn gorgeous too. My ideal date night involved a threesome."

She closed her eyes and shook her head with another sigh. "But then we spent more time together, and I realized... I have developed feelings for the both of them. That was not how I planned it. It doesn't make any sense."

"Sometimes, it's better when we don't plan ahead," Triss said softly. "Why is it so bad that you caught feelings?"

"Because I promised myself I wouldn't! It's always better when it doesn't involve feelings. That way, no one gets hurt."

"I don't know," Triss hummed, drumming her fingers against the arms of her chair, "it seems like you're hurting plenty already. With this game of avoidance. You can't stop talking about them, but the second things turn serious, you panic and run away."

"I have a reason for that," Yennefer grumbled, "I've learnt the hard way that it's better to fuck and fuck off, then to stay and suffer."

She looked down at the ground. She hated feeling so torn. Her heart knew exactly what it wanted, it probably knew from the first moment, but her mind resisted. Yennefer has been hurt too many times, has seen where feelings could lead. If she gave in, she would risk too much: her own heart, and Jaskier and Geraldine's, as well. There was too much at stake.

"They deserve better," Yennefer whispered, blinking against the sudden, annoying tears in her eyes. "Better than this, better than me."

"Yen..." Triss tried gently, but Yennefer shook her head.

"No, I'm serious. I was playing with them and I can tell they want something more. This wouldn't be fair."

"But you want something more, too."

"I can't give it to them, or myself," Yennefer concluded, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. "It's better for everyone if I stand back."

Triss didn't look convinced, but luckily, she didn't push it any further.

--

Geraldine's big hands were all over her body, gripping her hips and squeezing her bum, pulling Jaskier closer to grind their crotches together. Jaskier moaned, her own hands tangling in Geraldine's hair, pulling on silver locks.

"I've always wanted you," Geraldine drawled as she kissed down Jaskier's neck, her lips searing hot on her skin.

"Took you way too long to admit," Jaskier huffed out a laugh. She brought her hand to Geraldine's chest, cheekily cupping one of her breasts. Geraldine moaned softly.

Jaskier felt another pair of lips on her bare shoulder, making her tremble with want. One hand still gripping onto Geraldine, she reached back to feel soft lace under her fingers.

"I can't believe we all waited so long," Yennefer purred from behind her. Her hands traveled up on Jaskier's torso, fondling her breasts unashamedly. "It was really time we admitted it."

"Admitted what," Jaskier breathed. Geraldine smirked against her neck, one of her hands dipping inside Jaskier's pants.

"That we love each other," she whispered as her fingers entered Jaskier, making her let out a needy whine, "and that we cannot live without each other."

"Accept it," Yennefer gasped into her neck, "accept that we belong together."

Jaskier was so willing to do that, until she woke up.

For a couple of moments, she felt disoriented and unsure of whether she actually dreamt this- it felt real, much more real than the usual jumbled mess she dreamt about.

Jaskier threw a hand over her face and groaned. Fuck, this was not good. She had a couple of dreams like that before about Geraldine - which always left her feel extremely guilty -, but now Yennefer joined, too. And what was that about accepting that they belonged together?

Jaskier wasn't a spiritual person, and she certainly never believed someone could have prophetic dreams, but for some reason, she was sure that this time, it was her subconscious trying to send her a sign... a warning, perhaps? A warning that she was in too deep, that she failed as a friend on both ends, because she couldn't fall out of love with Geraldine, and she even managed to fall for the woman that was supposed to be Geraldine's future girlfriend?

So pathetic, Jaskier thought bitterly. She curled up on her side, ignoring the wet heat between her legs. No, she didn't deserve to touch herself, not after this. She should have never thought about either of them this way.

She gritted her teeth and fisted her hands in the sheets, trying to hold back a scream. Why did she have to agree to help Geraldine? If she hadn't, now she wouldn't be in this mess.

It was not the fact that they "belonged together" that Jaskier needed to accept. It was the fact that she was just a useless, pathetic third wheel in this scenario, and the faster she made peace with that, the better.

[darlingimabard]

jaskier and geralt both have tired adoptive dads au

professor alfred pankratz finds a kid passed out on the side of the road when he’s returning to oxenfurt

and he is absolutely not father material he tells himself as he rushes home with the kid, pays the healer, purchases new child sized clothes and rearranges his rooms

he’s talking to the healer about jaskier (after the buttercup that was found tucked in the boys hair, isn’t that cute?) when she raises an amused eyebrow 

“you’ve named him?”

fuck, he’s named him

alfred sighs as he mentally rearranges his plans for the next decade or two

jaskier pankratz grows up the darling of oxenfurt academy, sitting in on whatever lessons interest him and charming the socks off staff and students alike

the staff are very amused as they watch alfred turn from 27 year old flighty poetry professor into tired, i-probably-should-have-read-a-book-on parenting-am-i-doing-this-right-no-the-kid-stays-kayla-fuck-off, spiritually like fucking 60 year old, single dad

then just as alfred thinks he’s settling into this parenting thing, finally getting a grip on how to raise the bundle of sunshine, charm and viciousness that is jaskier, the kid tries to help with dinner one night

he grabs the cast iron pot then screams as his hand comes away burnt

what the fuck

alfred puts salve on the wound, bandages it up before hurrying jaskier into bed and telling him not to worry about it

alfred worries about it all night, then he pours himself the strongest drink he owns at 4am in the morning as he puts the pieces together

mysterious kid on the edge of a forest, flower in his hair, charming with a mean streak and hurt by iron

his kid is fae

the parenting books he didn’t read never had a chapter on this

“why was professor pankratz screaming at the forest this morning?” “oh, he’s a poet”

he tells his son the next day who is scared and confused because he can’t remember anything before alfred found him, he doesn’t know how to be fae

“you’ll always be my son jaskier, never doubt that i love you, am proud of you, no matter what”

then in the blink of an eye, alfred waves goodbye to his 18 year old son who’s off to seek adventure and absolutely does not spend the next few years worrying 

“dad! i’m friends with a witcher now” sounds about right

“dad! i’m trying to sleep with the witcher now but he’s incredibly thick” god this really is his kid isn’t it

jaskier returns home broken hearted and has to talk his father down from finding and punching his witcher 

when a portal opens up and a sexy dark haired lady steps out into alfred’s living room he doesn’t even blink 

the sorceress is saying something about nilfgard and child surprises and bounties on their heads as associates of the witcher

alfred just sighs and goes to write a letter informing the academy of his indefinite leave of absence before packing his bags

then he accompanies his son to the hideout of the witchers due to the fact that his son is in love with one of them and is thus being hunted by an empire because they managed to acquire a child surprise

because that’s a sentence that is now normal in his life, somehow

they get to kaer morhen and he does end up punching the witcher, even if he breaks a couple fingers

“ two humans in kaer morhen, this will be interesting” “one human” “what?” “jaskier isn’t human” “WHAT?”

jaskier, my son, i know you said your witcher was thick but not this thick

he leaves the kids to their dramatics and heads towards the keep

[cardierreh15]

Phoenix: Story of the Lost Fire Princess

Y’all are going to be getting a lot more Geralt content because our baby won’t be playing him anymore. I’m only trying to help keep dreams alive. Happy Halloween Everyone 🎃

**I do not give anyone the permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Sparring . (Innocent, no bloodshed)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Phoenix (Curvy African American Woman)

Description: Just a friendly sparring match 😈

Word Count: 2.0K

Chapter 5: The formidable Opponent.

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!’ The repetitive sounds and the forced grunts caused Phoenix to toss and turn all morning. Thankfully, she had gotten plenty of sleep last night and it felt so good to be sleeping on something other than the ground for once. She sat up, groaning a little bit as she felt the sting in her hip. It had been sometime since the werewolf attack, but she was still human at the end of the day and if she wasn’t careful enough— it would never truly heal properly. So she carefully pulled herself from the bed and stretched out her body. Relaxing her muscles and bones so she could go about her did with little to no straining.

After she was done, she looked up at the chest that was by the door. There was a brush sitting on top of what had seem to be trousers and a blouse. She reached behind herself pulled at one of the corset strings and untied it. She then quickly got dressed. The button down blouse was a crème colored with flared, ruffled wrists. A tad bit tight at the waist to define her curves, and it had flared, ruffles at the hem. The trousers, were made of fine leather. Slightly scuffed from the previous wearer, but she was grateful for how comfortable they were. These gave her a nice contour to her thighs, hips and rump. Hmph, she’d have to come shop at Motel Kaer Morhen a lot more.

Phoenix walked out of her chambers, pulling her hair back into a sleek curly ponytail that fell down her back like waterfalls. Her boots clicked down the hall happily as she approached the gruff mumbling of Vesemir’s voice.

As she walked into the dining hall, she took notice how the men didn’t take notice of her this morning. That was kind of refreshing to say the least. They were talking amongst themselves, chuckling and sharing witty jokes. But Geralt was no where to be found. She walked over to Vesemir who was stirring something in the cauldron, ‘Good Morning Vesemir.’ Her voice slightly tired but still liberating and pleasing to the ears.

‘Good Morning, Phoenix. I trust you slept well!’ He didn’t turn to look at her, he just kept his eye on that food. ‘Yes. Someone told me before that if there are in rats around… it’s warm enough.’ She giggled and glanced down at the pot. ‘I slept fine, thank you. Where are Geralt and Ciri?’

To be frank, this was probably the first time in weeks that she hadn’t awakened to the sight of Geralt’s face. It was like her routine was disturbed! Finally, Vesemir turned to look at her, ‘They’re outside in the training yard. You should go with them? There’s no such thing as too much training. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to have you.’

Phoenix nodded and gave him a soft smile, ‘Sure. Thank You.’ She gave him a simple bow and walked towards the back doors, that opened to a world of mysterious contraptions and training tactics.

She stood there on top of the stairs as tiny snowflakes fell on top of her and instantly melted. She watched as Ciri stabbed and swung at that dummy over and over again. Well, that’s where the tapping and grunting came from. ‘What a relief.’ She thought. ‘Again, Ciri.’ Geralt called out, leaning against a destroyed statue with his arms folded across his chest. ‘Yah! Hugh! Urgh!’ She grunted out, swinging and stabbing harder, faster.

The woman glanced at Geralt for a brief moment then back at Ciri. She was starting to notice how frustrated Ciri had become, so she spoke up. ‘I think that’s enough!’ She raised her hand as she descended from the few stone steps. Geralt looked over his shoulder and Ciri turned around. She smiled at the sight of her new friend. And her eyes clearly thanked her for cutting a training session that was going nowhere. ‘I think the girl is tired of the doll. I think she will learn better if she had another moving part.’ She placed her hands on hips as she stood next to him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, looking down at her, ‘you’re suggesting her go against me?’

‘No. Of course not. Sure you have your patience, Witcher but you Witcher’s are—‘ she walked over to the wooden swords, ‘Sloppy.’ She teased with a smirk. Cirilla tried to hide her giggle from her father by looking away. But he’d caught it anyway.

‘Come Cirilla. Let’s see what the old man had taught you hmm?’ And she stepped forward.

Cirilla looked up at Geralt with pleading eyes, ‘May I?’

Geralt looked down at her and then back up at Phoenix. He didn’t say a word, instead he just jerked his over. And Ciri flashed the happiest grin anyone had ever seen, then she skipped over to Phoenix.

Phoenix took a second to look her over. She stood in a protective yet, striking stance, ready to attack or shield. ‘Hmm, good stance Ciri.’ She complimented and took a chance to swing the wooden sword. But Ciri was fast! She blocked the attack then parried it with a push back.

Stumbling back, ‘Oof!’ Phoenix caught her balance and raised a brow. ‘Not bad, Cirilla!’ Could she really say she was surprised? Geralt smirked in pride.

Phoenix stood up straight before she took her stance. ‘OK, I won’t be stopping this time. Try to fend me off ya?’ Ciri nodded, taking a deep breath, ‘OK.’ And she took her stance as well.

Phoenix swung at her side and she blocked it beautifully. This time, the girls didn’t stop. They pushed one another. Swinging harder and faster, trying to simply keep up with one another. But it wasn’t until Ciri found herself getting too comfortable. She took her eyes off of Phoenix for a mere two seconds and Phoenix was able to kick at her wrist to disarm her, and point the tip of the wooden sword at the side of her neck. The girls stared at one another, breathing heavily. ‘Never. Get too comfortable. Complacency can become a weakness. And your opposer won’t hesitate to gut you if you aren’t quick enough.’

Phoenix glanced over at Geralt. He had stared; intrigued about what he had just saw. But then, Ciri quickly smacked the sword out of her hand and pulled her dagger off her hip. She then rested the blade right beneath Phoenix’s chin. ‘Sorry, you were open and distracted.’

Phoenix stared at her for a little bit until a giggle had left her lips. Then Ciri had joined her, placing her dagger back into her holster. ‘Good Job, sweet heart,’ she placed her warm hands on Ciri’s cheeks, ‘I am proud of you.’ She then dropped her hands, ‘Go inside. Quench your thirst, you must be dying by now!’

‘I will,’ she sighed heavily, ‘Are you coming inside?’

‘Shortly darling, shortly.’ And she gave Ciri and slight bow before the girl turned away and walked back inside of the miniature castle.

Letting out a shudder of air, she looked over at Geralt who had finally pushed himself up from the wall and started to approach her. ‘You’ve got your hands full with that one. I thought the twins would give me more hell.’ She joked around and picked up both of the wooden swords.

‘Care to have a sparring match with me?’ He asked.

Phoenix paused for a second and then a smirk curled on her lips, ‘I thought you’d never ask, Witcher. Here—‘ ‘No,’ he glanced down at the wooden cravings and then back at her, ‘The real things. These are lighter, easier to move with. Let’s see how you work.’ He gently took them away from her and walked over to the training rack.

She raised a brow, ‘You’ve seen me work. Was it not real enough for you?’ She scuffed and rolled her eyes.

‘Of course it was Princess,’ he grabbed two regular swords and started to walk back over to her. ‘But you’ve never fought a Witcher.’ He smirked and handed her the handle. ‘We both have the same swords. No advantages, no enhancements. Just steel.’ He gently clinked his blade against hers before he stood across from her.

Phoenix lifted her chin, with her lips pressed together. ‘Fine.’

‘Don’t worry. I promise not to hurt you.’ It sounded reassuring yet, cunning and malicious.

Geralt swing first, leaving Phoenix no choice but to block the attack and strike back. He’d given her no choice now. It was like once they’ve started, they couldn’t stop! It was like dancing and it was fun— all until Phoenix decided to turn up the heat.

(Not Phoenix, just depictions of what happened lol)

Geralt had swung his sword at her chest, and not only had it been sliced open, the first few buttons had popped and be scattered across the snow. She looked down, quickly noticing the breeze at her chest, she looked down and then back up at him. ‘Ugh, you know— I liked this shirt!’ She frowned and allowed the heat to travel from her hand to the metal. The sword glowed bright as the sun. And her beautiful brown eyes had turned crimson.

Phoenix swung this time, play time was done and now they were fighting as if they were trying to kill one another. Step after step. Swing after swing. Every time Geralt’s sword hit hers sparks flew all around. And when he finally knocked her back some, he placed his hand over his own blade, using the Witcher sign, Igni, to ignite flames upon his sword as well.

‘Grrrrr!’ Phoenix growled.

‘Hmmm.’ Geralt hummed in anger.

They both ran towards one another, both of their hearts ramming in their chests. And when their swords finally made contact, they instantly shattered!

Now they were left with just destroyed swords.

Phoenix quickly tossed hers to the side, being that she was still in a heated mood, she leaped on top of him, tackling him right to the ground. ‘Ugh!’ Geralt grunted when he hit the ground, immediately dropping the broken sword.

She grabbed his wrists and pinned him there. ‘There! Was that enough for you?!’ Her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch up with her breath.

Geralt looked up at her for a moment before quickly pulling his wrists downward so hard that she had to let go in order to keep her face from eating the snow. He then flipped them over and grabbed her wrists. ‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed as her head hit the ground. And since he was much stronger than she was, there was no way she could get out of this. Her legs were spread so he hovered between them comfortably. His breathe through his nose, ‘Do you surrender.’

Phoenix glared up at him, her bright crimson eyes returning to their beautiful hazel state. ‘Never.’

He looked down at her, their warm breaths hitting one another. They got lost in one another’s eyes. Staring past those windows and searching each other’s souls. Damn, this feeling. Phoenix hadn’t felt this— open and vulnerable in a long time. Geralt leaned in, his lips gently parted and ready for her warmth. But then—

Bang, bang, bang!

Geralt and Phoenix looked up at the windows to see Lambert, Coën, and a few others cheering him on!

Geralt rolled his eyes and quickly pulled himself up to his feet and held his hand out so he could help her up. ‘You did great,’ he said softly as she stood to her feet and dusted off her now destroyed blouse. ‘You must control your emotions in fighting though. When you don’t show emotion, you leave them clueless. You’d be unpredictable.’

‘Right.’ She smirked and took a deep breath, ‘We should get back inside. Your brothers have lost their minds.’ She giggled and started towards the doors first. ‘You are the formidable swordsman, Witcher. I give you that.’

‘Hmph.’ Geralt huffed with a smirk as they walked inside together.

‘Still sloppy though.’ Phoenix shrugged.

‘Sloppy is in my nature.’ He chuckled.

[queenxxxsupreme]

He Comes With The Storm (Lambert x reader)

A/N: Hi babes! I know it’s been a while, but my summer has yet to be a chill and relaxed one. But I will continue to write what I can, when I can :)

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, 

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Lambert comes home.

***

A clap of thunder made you jump, your hand coming to cover your heart. 

Your cat, Bread, meowed loudly and weaved between your legs. 

“It’s just a little thunderstorm, handsome boy.” You leaned down to pet his head. 

You returned to the soup you were making, stirring a few bay leaves into the pot. 

Even though it was late in the evening and the sun had long since set, you were just getting around to making dinner for yourself. Time had escaped you earlier in the day. You found a rather intriguing book and dived into it, losing all sense of time as the day went by quickly.

The next thing you knew, it was nighttime and a thunderstorm had rolled in. 

Bread meowed again, rubbing against your calf. 

“You’ve already had your dinner, silly.” You smiled down at him. 

A sudden echoing thud against the front down made you jolt, a squeak of surprise escaping your lips. Your hand slapped over your mouth as you listened for the noise again. 

Your heart began to race in your chest at the possibilities of what could have caused the noise. A fallen branch? Debris the heavy wind could have stirred up? A person even?

The thud came again. 

Goosebumps began to rise on your skin. There was no way the wind caused that noise. It had to be someone. 

Who the hell would be at your door at such a time of night and in the middle of a storm?

Worries began to swarm your mind. They mustn’t be here for anything good.

You picked up Bread and began to take slow, quiet steps towards the hall that led to your room. 

“Y/N– Fuck!” A familiar voice shouted. “I can hear you in there! It’s just me!”

You put Bread down on to a chair and hurried to the door. You pulled it open, then quickly pulled Lambert into your home. 

He was soaked to the bone and his red ringlets were disheveled from the wind and the rain. 

He let the satchel over his shoulder fall to the floor, then he took the sheath for his swords off. 

“I didn’t know you’d be coming so early in the spring.” You picked up his satchel and placed it on the table.

As you turned to face him, his arms suddenly embraced you and he kissed your lips. You were pleasantly surprised by the kiss. Your hands came to hold his shoulder and his cheek, fingertips brushing over his scruffy jaw. 

“Missed you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing. 

“I missed you too.” You smiled. “And as much as I love your hugs, I am not a fan of getting my clothes wet.”

He stepped back, looking down at his attire. 

“All my shit’s drenched from the fuckin’ rain.” Lambert moved to his satchel. 

“I think I have one or two pairs of your trousers from last autumn.” You turned to go to your room.

Lambert followed behind you. 

“How are Vesemir and your brothers doing?” 

“Vesemir’s good. Old bastard’s still runnin’ around annoyin’ the piss outta whoever he comes across.”

“He only annoys you.” You grinned a little. 

Once you were in your room, you began to search the wardrobe for the trousers you had folded away months ago. 

“What of Eskel, Coen, and Geralt? Anything exciting with those boys?”

“Geralt brought his bard. He was annoying too, like a little gnat always yapping.”

“Who doesn’t annoy you?” You paused your search to look over to your witcher, a teasing grin playing on your lips. “Me?”

“Nah. Everyone annoys me.” He grinned. 

“Hmm. I’ll keep that one in mind.” 

“Coen got himself a new nasty scar just across his collarbone. Said a pair of griffins did it to him.”

“Oh, you boys worry me– Aha!” You found the trousers and pulled them out. “There. You can change into that and then come out to the kitchen. Dinner should be done momentarily.”

“You made me dinner? How sweet of you.” The witcher teased, taking the trousers from you. 

In truth, you had just made enough soup for a couple days, so there was plenty for him. 

“Get out of your wet clothes. We’ll string a line up in the front room so your clothes can dry quicker.” You smiled at him, your hand lingering on his arm before you began to make your way towards the door. 

But Lambert caught your hand, ushering you to stay for just a moment. 

“I really did miss you, bug.” His voice was quiet. He squeezed your fingers gently. 

“Missed you too, Lambert.” You smiled. 

Taglist:  @samuraigrl89 @burningcoffeetimetravel @open--till--midnight @beautifulsweetschaos @gm_abbo @thefirelordm @here4thespice @many-fandoms-lover @one-eyed-captain-kinky @sparrowsparadise @bluscryn @blushingskywalker @buckysxgal @lady-of-glass-and-bone @super-calithehamm @invelda @eddyofthetruth @hc-geralt-23 @persephonehemingway @adhdhufflepuff @Purple-Tsuki

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[seidenbros]

Hello darling may I request ‘“I love you” “who doesn’t”’ or “you deserve a fairytale romance” for geraskier please? 💛

My dearest, loveliest Faye 💚 Oh did I have something in mind already when I read this, and I immediately decided to take both of these into account and combine them in this little story. Did I intend to make it a little spicy at the end? Not originally, but it somehow happened. So I hope you like this one 💚

(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: angst and fluff, but a little bit of spice at the end, nothing graphic, though

Word count: 1561

______________

A Fairytale Romance

It had been months since their first kiss, weeks since they'd taken it further when they'd stayed in a comfortable inn and had the time to explore each other's body. They'd watched each other before, had seen the other one naked, but that night had been special for both of them. They'd taken their time, had spent the whole night together, and Jaskier had told Geralt that he loved him that night. Only when he'd thought that Geralt had already been asleep. It had made Geralt's heart pound, but not so that Jaskier would have realised it.

The next day, Geralt didn't address it, because these words hadn't been meant for his own ears, and in addition, he didn't know how he would have reacted had Jaskier said it straight to his face. Jaskier, though, knew that he couldn't rush this along, overwhelm Geralt with what he felt for him formed into these three words. He'd take his time and put his feelings into song like he usually did. After all, love made for the best songs, right?

By now, Geralt was a little on edge, not really sure what to do, what to say. Over the last weeks, they'd had a little bit of time to themselves, to just enjoy themselves, because Geralt wasn't on a hunt every other day. Of course, there was something to do for him, but not as much as usual, so they got to spend more time alone, more time just lying in the grass talking, kissing – things Geralt had never thought possible for himself.

Along the way, he found himself falling even more in love with Jaskier. It was about time, he told him, or his chest would burst. But he was nervous. Nervous to say these words out loud, even though he'd heard them in secret from Jaskier already. There weren't a lot of people that Geralt had told that he loved them. Of course, he'd shown it to his brothers, to Vesemir, had maybe said it a time or two, but not to a partner. Not to someone who hadn't been in his life as long as he could think, that he loved as family. It was a new sensation, a completely new feeling. Like his lungs were on fire and that fire could only be put out by telling Jaskier how he felt.

“I love you,” he pretty much blurted out when they were back in their room after Jaskier had just finished his performance. If Jaskier had looked at Geralt who was sitting on the edge of the bed, he would have seen how nervous the poor Witcher was, but he was busy taking off his boots, still grinning to himself from the affirmation he'd gotten from his listeners downstairs.

“Who doesn't?” Jaskier said with a laugh, putting his boots aside and draping his doublet over the chair in the corner. Great, Geralt had just said the words that didn't come over his lips so easily and Jaskier was taking it as a fucking joke?

“Jaskier... I mean it. This is not some kind of joke!”

There was an edge in his voice that hadn't been there before, and that was what made Jaskier finally turn to Geralt. He could see how serious the Witcher was, so he kneeled down in front of him, taking Geralt's hands in his own.

“I'm sorry, I didn't want to make fun of you. I never would.” At least not when it was about something this serious. “But you already said that you love me. I mean, you were asleep, but I take what I can get.” Jaskier let out a laugh, which quickly died down when Geralt's grip on his hands tightened. “I know this is not easy for you to say.” He reached out one hand to cradle Geralt's cheek. When the Witcher leaned into his touch, Jaskier smiled. “And I love you. I've just been afraid to tell you before, because I didn't want to put you under pressure.”

“You did tell me, you just thought I was asleep.”

Jaskier froze, and now it was Geralt's turn to chuckle.

“I was still awake, just dozing off when you said that. I knew why you'd done that, Jaskier and I really appreciate that you're so considerate.”

“Of course I am, I love you!”

“Now that it's out there, you're gonna say it as often as you can, am I right?”

“And that won't be nearly enough. You need to hear that at least once a day from now on.”

Jaskier pushed himself up on his knees to kiss Geralt. He ran his fingers up from Geralt's cheek to his hair, gently massaging his scalp while his tongue slipped into Geralt's mouth, exploring the other even more.

Geralt had to break the kiss, because he knew where this was going – and he was not opposed to this, since he couldn't get enough of Jaskier – and there was still something he had to say to the man he loved.

“Jaskier,” he said, pulling the other up so that they were on eye level. Jaskier being Jaskier, though, climbed up on Geralt's lap and straddled him. “I love you.” There, he'd said it again, and this time, he could actually see the genuine smile on Jaskier's lips. “But you deserve a fairytale romance, and I can't give you that.”

Now that he'd told Jaskier how he felt, he was a little insecure. In addition, he didn't want to bind Jaskier to him, wanted to give him his freedom and let him choose. He deserved all the love and happiness in the world, and Geralt wasn't sure whether he was the right one to give him that.

“You are my fairytale.” Jaskier couldn't help but smile, cupped Geralt's cheek again and ran his thumb over the Witcher's bottom lip. “Do you even know how the fairy tales really end? All the stories people get told are the glorified version of fairy tales.”

Geralt shook his head. Granted, he'd never heard that many fairy tales, just when he was still a little boy, every now and then in one of the towns he was passing through. He wasn't surprised that Jaskier knew that, though.

“They always end badly... In pain and death. They do not have a happy ending for everyone like people are made to believe. It's no use to search for something like that, because in the end, you'll get hurt. It's better to create your own fairy tale.”

Geralt sighed. Trust Jaskier to find the right words, to make him smile again and forget about his worries at least for a moment.

“I know what I have with you. I know the bad things and I know the good things. I know how angry you can get, how irritated, but I also know just how much you can love, Geralt.” Jaskier placed his hand on top of Geralt's heart. “And I love you. I love all of you, so I would never want to be with anyone else.”

“Okay, okay... That's enough now.” Geralt smiled softly at Jaskier, before he got all sappy as well, even though he usually wasn't the one for many words. Jaskier had enough for both of them. “Will you shut up now?”

“Ohh, I think you'll have to make me,” Jaskier winked at him, lightening the mood with that, but he also managed to get Geralt to kiss him, which was just what he wanted. This and so much more, because now that their feelings were out like this – he'd already known that before, but it was still a meaningful conversation they'd just had, one that really changed their dynamic – he wanted Geralt even more than he'd done before, and he'd already been eager to jump his bones as soon as they'd been alone in here.

Still straddling Geralt, he ground down against him, making Geralt groan into the kiss. His grip tightened on Jaskier's hips. When their lips parted, Jaskier could see just how wide Geralt's pupils were blown from lust. In a matter of seconds, Geralt's lips were on Jaskier's throat, slowly kissing down, nibbling here and there, teasing the skin.

“That won't shut me up, Geralt,” Jaskier teased, before a low moan escaped his lips when Geralt flicked his tongue against his pulse-point.

“Maybe not... but you make the most delicious noises, and that's even better.”

Geralt seized that moment to tug Jaskier's shirt over his head, only to treat the freed skin to some more kisses, circling around his left nipple. Jaskier in turn moved his hips against Geralt's again, the friction making both of them moan again. Geralt's hands moved from Jaskier's hips to his butt, pressing him flush against him, before he wrapped one arm around him to turn them both around so that Jaskier was lying flat on his back.

“I love you more than words could ever describe,” Jaskier said with another smile, tugging on Geralt's tunic. He followed suit and took that thing off, let it drop to the floor where Jaskier's shirt was already lying.

“I hope that once we're finished here, you won't even remember any of these words.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting.”

[flowercrown-bard]

I was today years old when I found out that cornflowers can also be white/purple and pink.

My first instinct was to never refer to Jaskier’s eyes as being the colour of cornflowers again. My second instinct was to write this instead:

Soulmate AU

word count: ~3k

pairing: Geraskier

Content warnings: blood, injuries

The Colour of Cornflowers

Jaskier’s eyes were the colour of the sky, of the sea, of sapphires. At least that was what people said, when they tried and often succeeded in wooing Jaskier. People who had been lucky enough to have found their soulmates and foolish enough to risk that happiness for a bard who would leave them come the morning.

Geralt would never understand those people. They had something so precious, so special and they were willing to throw it away for a pretty pair of eyes.

Geralt never understood those comparisons to sky, sea and sapphire either, and not only just because he had never seen the colour of either of those things. They just sounded so… cliché. As if someone tried painfully hard to sound like a poet. And didn’t the sky change colour during the dawn or at night? Did every body of water have the same colour? And didn’t some lord or another once proudly present his differently coloured sapphires, knowing full well that Geralt wasn’t able to distinguish between them anyway?

And he never would. It wasn’t uncommon for people to never see the world in colour – soulmates were rare and it wasn’t unheard of that some people lost all sight of colour after rejecting their soulmates for whatever reason.

But all of those people could at least still hope to have the world burst into colour at some point in their lives. Unlike Geralt.

“It is a mercy,” Vesemir had said when he had explained to the frightened boys that would become witchers or die in the trials that they would lose the ability to ever find their soulmates, “that you won’t have to go through that. You won’t get distracted by searching for them. And you won’t get your hearts broken.”

Because even then, Vesemir hadn’t made them believe what everyone else accepted as fact: That witchers didn’t feel, didn’t love.

Vesemir had known better. And he had known that that didn’t change a damn thing. A witcher would fall in love all he wanted, no one would ever accept a witcher’s love.

When Geralt had been younger, he had told himself he would be different. He had thought himself a knight that would one day rescue a damsel or meet a stable boy who loved horses as much as he did. He had thought they might fall in love – for who wouldn’t want to love a hero? – and they would be happy together, Destiny and soulmates be damned.

And then he had saved his first damsel. When she had seen his face, she had screamed and vomited and passed out. And Geralt for the first time understood what Vesemir had meant when he had said it was a mercy not knowing one’s soulmate.

Whoever was cursed to be a witcher’s soulmate, they would draw back in horror once they saw the sickly yellow of their eyes – at least that was how Geralt’s eyes had been described to him – and they would reek of fear rather than of love when they realised just whom Destiny had bound them to.

No human should have to get punished with such a fate. And Geralt knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from shattering if he ever saw disgust on his soulmate’s face.

So it was better that he would never know if he ever met them. It was better that he would never see the colour of Jaskier’s eyes.

He didn’t need to anyway. People never shut up about them, after all.

Between all of those descriptions that made Geralt want to roll his eyes, there was one that somehow got stuck in his mind, no matter how he wanted to shake it off.

Cornflowers.

For some reason it sounded right. Geralt was sure a poet, or even just about any man who was better with words than him, would be able to create a beautiful and meaningful connection between Jaskier and the preciousness of gems, the ever-moving sea or the freedom of the sky or other such sappy nonsense.

But cornflowers…Jaskier had named himself after a flower, hadn’t he? And cornflowers weren’t so different from buttercups. He had heard farmers complain about them, about how difficult they were to get rid of once they had started sprouting in their fields.

Geralt’s lips had twitched upwards when he had heard that and looked at Jaskier who had returned his side-eye with a cheeky wink, as if he knew exactly that Geralt was thinking about the way Jaskier had attached himself to Geralt no matter how hard he had tried to prevent that.

He tried no longer.

He had grown used to Jaskier’s presence. No, it was more than that. He had gotten to appreciate it. To enjoy the humming and chattering. To relish in the feeling of Jaskier running his fingers through Geralt’s hair. To feel his stomach twist in anticipation when he saw Jaskier again after months spent apart.

And when they were apart, Geralt found himself looking at cornflowers, unable to stop his lips from twitching into a soft smile. He might not be able to see their colour and never would, but that didn’t change the fact that they reminded him of Jaskier and of how he hadn’t drawn back in disgust or flinch from his touch even once.

Of course it helped that Jaskier had never seen his eyes in colour either. He couldn’t have. Because if he did, then surely he would have reacted in some way. No one, not even Jaskier was that good an actor.

True, his songs about Geralt often featured descriptions of his eyes – of honey, gold and sunflowers – but Geralt didn’t need to see colours to know that those descriptions were ludicrous. Predatory, sickly, creepy. That was how his eyes were normally described. Jaskier must have just heard the word ‘yellow’ and then asked other people for other, more pleasant things of the same colour. For surely, no one who had ever seen his eyes as they really were would think of something so kind that the first time Geralt had heard it, he had to leave the room for he was sure that he wasn’t able to keep the fondness and admiration he felt in that moment out of his eyes.

Fleeing hadn’t helped, of course. Jaskier didn’t need to sing of honey-eyes or silver moonlight-hair to make Geralt’s chest clench and his fingers itch to reach out and pull Jaskier close.

A single smile from him was enough. A quiet moment shared by a fire. Laughter and bad jokes as they travelled side by side.

Witchers could love and in those moments, Geralt was more thankful that fact than he had ever been for anything else. Loving Jaskier was beautiful.

And it was the most painful and terrifying thing Geralt could imagine.

Never in his life had Geralt been as scared as he had been when he had seen Jaskier run towards him while he was in the middle of a fight. For a terrifying moment, when the griffin’s talons had hit their mark and torn deep gashes into Jaskier’s chest, he had thought this was it. This was how Jaskier died. Because of him.

But as Geralt had dropped to his knees next to him, pressing his hands against the wounds and pleading with Jaskier to stay with him, Jaskier hadn’t blamed him, hadn’t yelled at him or tried to evade his touch. Instead he had lifted one of Geralt’s hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against it, heedless of the blood sticking to them.

Jaskier’s eyes had fallen shut and Geralt’s blood had run cold.

His eyes had opened again, later, when Geralt had bandaged up his wounds and brushed his hair out of his forehead tenderly, the same way Jaskier sometimes did with Geralt’s hair when he woke up, drenched in sweat and with his heart racing from a nightmare about the trials, about the day he had lost all hope of ever finding his soulmate.

When Jaskier’s eyes had fluttered open and his face had broken into a smile so soft as if Geralt was the most beautiful sight Jaskier could imagine, Geralt had known. He could never let something like this happen again. As long as Jaskier was with Geralt, he was in danger.

But Geralt had also known that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of Jaskier – neither would he be strong enough to push him away, nor would Jaskier ever willingly go.

Not until Geralt did the unthinkable. Through friendship, through deadly injuries and insults being spat at them, Jaskier stayed with Geralt. But even he had his limits. Even he wouldn’t be able to stay with a witcher, knowing he was loved by him. By a mutant, monster, butcher.

Geralt knew it, the world knew it and surely Jaskier himself knew it too: Jaskier deserved better than someone like him, better than being loved by someone like him. Confessing his feelings to Jaskier would be the last straw that would finally make Jaskier act upon this knowledge and go find someone good enough for him. Someone who wouldn’t put him in danger. Perhaps even someone who could tell Jaskier that his eyes looked like cornflowers and see it too.

Geralt knew that saying the words would irrevocably drive Jaskier from his side. He knew the moment of rejection and disgust would forever be branded in his mind. It would be the thing Geralt would remember when he got injured on a hunt while knowing that Jaskier wouldn’t be waiting for him with a worried look and tender touches.

And yet. Geralt couldn’t bring himself to just say it. He only got one chance to tell Jaskier how he felt, and although it would end in Geralt being shattered and alone, he wanted to relish the moment, the chance to let himself believe for even just a moment that Jaskier wouldn’t push himself away.

So Geralt waited and planned. A part of him knew that he was selfish, that he was only drawing this out so that he would get to keep Jaskier by his side a little longer. Another part of him wanted it to be perfect. He wanted Jaskier to think back to Geralt and remember someone who had tried despite everything to give Jaskier a confession that he deserved.

Except, Geralt wouldn’t ever be able to give such a thing to Jaskier. He wasn’t good enough for him and neither would anything he could ever give him be.

He didn’t have poetic words or grand gestures.

A simple gesture would have to be enough. Maybe it would even help to make Jaskier leave.

It was pure coincidence that they passed the field that day. Jaskier’s hair was lighter than normal in the sun and his smile was bright and easy. Geralt let himself look at him like this one last time. Jaskier was beautiful. Too beautiful for someone like Geralt.

Geralt shouldn’t get to keep him. He had to do it. Now.

Taking a shaking breath and clenching his jaw as if that would stop his hands from trembling, he bent down and plucked the cornflowers right out of the field.

To Geralt they were different shades of grey, ranging from almost white to dark grey, but to anyone else, they would be blue. Like Jaskier’s eyes.

As much as Geralt had always told himself that it was a good thing that he wasn’t Jaskier’s soulmate, he now wished more than anything, that he would have gotten to see the colour of Jaskier’s. He didn’t need to see the world in colour. Knowing blue would have been enough.  Then he would have more than grey flowers to remind himself of Jaskier when he was gone.

“Jaskier.” His voice came out slightly hoarse and he had to clear his throat.

It was of no use. As soon as Jaskier turned around and laid eyes on the flowers Geralt held out to him, his throat tightened again.

At the same time, Jaskier’s eyes darted between the flowers and Geralt’s face, searching for something, looking almost achingly hopeful. Though for what, Geralt couldn’t tell. Perhaps Jaskier was for once silently pleading Geralt not to continue talking.

He did it anyway.

“Jaskier, I…these are for you.”

He took a step closer to Jaskier, half-expecting him to draw back. Instead Jaskier too came towards him with hesitant wonder in his eyes and took the flowers from Geralt’s hands. Their fingers brushed and the simple touch sent a jolt through Geralt. This would be the last time he would ever get to feel Jaskier’s skin against his.

“Geralt.” Jaskier sounded choked and there was a watery shine to his eyes that made Geralt’s chest tight and his now empty hands ball helplessly into fists. “Those are beautiful.”

“Like you,” Geralt said, before he had time to think and swallow the words. “Like your eyes. They – cornflowers. They look like your eyes.”

Jaskier stared at him for a long moment but he didn’t move. Geralt knew he had to say more, had to get Jaskier to turn tail and leave Geralt behind, but the words got stuck in his throat and burned like shards of glass cutting into him.

Still, as the moment dragged on, it seemed that Geralt didn’t need to say anything else. Jaskier let out a strangled sound, clearly supressing something else. Not for long, though. Not a heartbeat later, a laugh tumbled from Jaskier’s lips and once that first chuckle was out, he wouldn’t stop himself.

Ice pierced Geralt’s heart and he had to look away. For the first time he couldn’t bear to look at the way Jaskier’s face lit up as he laughed. He should have known. Jaskier was kind, but he was also expressive beyond believe. Geralt had no doubt that he would have tried to let him down gently, but it seemed that the idea of a witcher trying to be romantic was too ridiculous for even Jaskier to keep his composure.

“Oh, oh Geralt,” Jaskier said in between laughs, gasping for air and wiping away tears that had spilt free with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh. You’re being very sweet, it’s just-“

“I know. You don’t need to say it. I know.” Geralt interrupted, suddenly desperate not to have Jaskier say it out loud. Seeing him leave was one thing. He could still pretend that it was no different than when they separated for the winter. But hearing Jaskier outright tell him that Geralt’s feelings were a joke to him – Geralt wouldn’t be able to bear it, to have these words join the ones of hatred and disdain that he remembered whenever he lay awake at night, kept awake by self-doubt and shame.  

“Oh, I don’t think you do,” Jaskier said and his smile didn’t falter, as if he wasn’t tearing Geralt’s heart out with it. “It’s just…Geralt, I know you can’t know this, but…my eyes are blue.”

“I do know.”

“Yes, well, but these flowers aren’t. They are lovely, of course, but this one for example is very clearly pink.” He tilted his head to the side like a bird as he looked at Geralt with mirth in his eyes. “You know, it’s almost the same colour your cheeks get sometimes when I sing about you.”

A painful spike shot through his heart. The flowers weren’t blue. The one thing he had known to do to try his hand at a romantic, albeit simple gesture and he had messed it up. Of course he wouldn’t be able to do even such a simple thing. Of course Jaskier would –

His thoughts came to a screeching halt and his eyes widened as the full meaning of Jaskier’s words came crashing down on him.

The flowers were pink. Jaskier knew, he saw, that they were pink.

“You can see colours.” He had meant for it to be a question, but it came out as a bitter truth.

Jaskier’s cheeks darkened. “I…yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to find out.”

“Why-how long?”

Jaskier swallowed nervously and his eyes darted away for a second, before finding Geralt’s again, pleading and scared. He clutched the flowers to his chest as if he feared Geralt would tear them off his hands.

“You know how long,” he said softly, almost apologetic. “Ever since I first saw you.”

“No.” Geralt shook his head. This wasn’t- this couldn’t be. He had expected Jaskier to flee from him, to tell him that he didn’t feel the same way. He had never expected him to be cruel. “No, you don’t – You can’t be. I can’t be.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology tumbled out of Jaskier’s mouth fast enough to slur the words together and his hand shot out to seize Geralt by the wrist. The touch burned him even through his clothes. “I know you don’t like Destiny. I never should have said… I don’t want you to force you into this. You must believe me.”

Geralt’s mind went blank. It almost sounded…he shouldn’t be foolish enough to believe this. He shouldn’t feel hope burning in his chest, but the way Jaskier said it….it didn’t sound as if he himself hated the idea of being soulmates with a witcher.

“You wanted me to choose you?” Geralt asked bewildered, still unable to comprehend.

Jaskier’s eyes softened and his smile turned into something bittersweet. “That was all I had ever wanted. I always thought you wouldn’t, but now…Please don’t take this back. Don’t tell me this isn’t what you chose, just because it’s the choice Destiny wanted you to make.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “I couldn’t care less what Destiny wants me to do.”

Jaskier’s face fell when Geralt pulled his wrist out of his grip. After a moment of hesitation, Geralt lifted his now free hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier let out a soft gasp, before leaning into the touch with an unknown desperation.

“I choose you,” Geralt said, his fingers caressing Jaskier’s skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jaskier said urgently. “I would choose you time and time again, whether Destiny wanted me to or not.”

Geralt’s throat went tight once more. “You know I can’t see colours. You know I won’t ever be able to compare your eyes to something and know it’s what they look like.” His gaze dropped to the flowers in Jaskier’s hand. “I can’t give you flowers the right colour.”

Jaskier let out a watery laugh. He turned his head and kissed the palm of Geralt’s hand, before taking one of the flowers – perhaps a pink one, perhaps one of a different colour entirely – out of the posy and tucked it behind Geralt’s ear.

“It doesn’t matter. The colour never mattered. They are beautiful. Because they come from you.”

“You are beautiful,” Geralt echoed. “Because you are you. Colour or no.”

His hand trailed down until he was gently holding his chin, titling his head up ever so slightly.

“Jaskier?” he asked, one last hesitation, one last chance for Jaskier to choose to take his words back.

Jaskier made his choice.

He leaned forward and pressed their lips into a soft kiss.

Geralt had always known that loving Jaskier was beautiful, but in this moment Geralt learned for the first time, that nothing, no flowers and no colours could ever be as beautiful as it was being loved by Jaskier.

[jaskiersvalley]

Devil Didn't Bite

Revenge should have helped. Or rather, avenging Aiden’s death because it wasn’t revenge really. Lambert thought that killing the bastards who slayed his partner so mercilessly would bring him some kind of closure. It didn’t. All it did was cover his hands in even more blood but it didn’t bring Aiden back, didn’t help make him feel better. Sure, there were fewer scumbags in the world now but it didn’t change the past.

He dragged himself up to Kaer Morhen with Geralt. The bitter cold of home paired well with his ice covered heart. Nothing could thaw him out, no matter how close to the fire he sat, his brothers around him. Grief gnawed away at him, made Lambert reckless and stupid. He wanted Aiden back, even if just to be able to tell him the truth that had been lurking in his heart. There were three small words Lambert never got to say, never finding the perfect moment, always thinking there would be a better time in the future. It was all well and good until he ran out of time.

Drink, grief and a night alone never served Lambert well before. The combination made him consider the ridiculous, the impossible. He’d heard about a ritual, a summoning of a demon at a crossroad so a deal could be made. It wasn’t like he had much to offer but he’d give his everything to have Aiden back. Doing his best to remember what he’d need, he gathered a small box of necessities and walked out of Kaer Morhen in the dead of the night, heading down the track until he got to the nearest crossing of paths. It would have to be enough, he had to hope it was enough of a crossroad for the ritual to work.

No sooner had he buried the box than there was a laughing hum from behind him.

“And what does a Witcher of all things want from a demon?”

She was pretty in her own way, long faun-like legs covered in a reddish fur. Her skin was dark from the hip up, the circles and spirals painted on barely visible. From her hair protruded two large, curved horns. All in all, if Lambert had been at his peak wit, he would have said she was curvy all over and quite horny too. As it was, he turned, arms held out by his side to put himself on display.

“You can have whatever you want, I just want you to bring Aiden back.”

His request was met with a low chuckle as the demon walked around him, eyeing him up like some choice meat. At least, he hoped that was how she viewed him, as worth something.

“You don’t have a lot to offer,” she purred. “You’ll die eventually and whatever’s left of your soul will be hell-bound anyway.” That had Lambert swallowing thickly. Surely he could offer more. Before he got even as far as opening his mouth, the demon stood in front of him, eyes dark. “Scrap of a thing, aren’t you? You have nothing to offer that I could possibly want. Especially not for something as difficult as resurrecting the dead. Run along pup, don’t bother me again.”

Just like that, she was gone and Lambert was left standing in the cold darkness. His hands shook as he stood, frozen and world shattering to pieces. He always knew he wasn’t worth much but he had hoped that a demon would at least find something worth trading. Alas, not even the lowest of low, a crossroad demon, found anything worthy in him. What Aiden had seen then was beyond him. Perhaps it was best if he stayed dead, that way Lambert could pretend he was valuable in someone’s eyes and Aiden never had the time to realise he was mistaken.

The trudge back to Kaer Morhen was a blur. Lambert numbly stepped back into the kitchen, uncertain what to do now. He didn’t expect Eskel to be sat by the embers, sipping on a warm cider.

“Took a walk?” Lambert only grunted in response. He didn’t miss the way Eskel’s eyes roved over him, assessing his state. It wasn’t like Lambert had dressed up for his attempted deal. No coat, no gloves, his fingers were coated in dirt from where he’d scratched the hard ground open to bury his box. Most telling though were his feet hastily jammed into slippers rather than boots. “You haven’t been messing with Vesemir and digging up his plants, have you?”

Lambert hadn’t done that in years and he snorted half-heartedly. “In your dreams. Since he stopped trying to grow cumin I’ve stopped doing that.”

Heaving a sigh, Eskel stood up and poured another tankard of cider. He passed it to Lambert and gestured for him to sit down. “So what gives?”

Hesitant, Lambert took a sip, allowing the heat to wash through him, even if it never touched his frozen heart. At least his stomach was warming up, spreading heat into his limbs. The silence stretched and Lambert didn’t know how to explain without sounding like a pathetic idiot.

“I tried to bring Aiden back,” he blurted out in the end, Eskel’s patient silence urging him on. Now that he’d started, it was difficult to stop. “Tried to make a deal, trade myself for him with a crossroad demon.” Lambert was so glad he had a tankard in his hands, it hid the way he shook. “She said I wasn’t worth anything, let alone be enough to bring someone back.”

There were many things Lambert expected. To be berated, to be pitied, to be yelled at. What he didn’t expect was for Eskel to set his tankard aside, lean forward with his elbow on his knees and give Lambert a long, soft look. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

Miserably, Lambert nodded. He couldn’t say the words, not when he never got a chance to tell Aiden first. It was just going to have to be another regret in a long list of them that was his life. The pity party he was gearing up for was rudely cut short as Eskel sighed and stood up with a soft groan. Without any preamble he grabbed Lambert by the wrist and started walking. They marched out the door and into the cold. Eskel unerringly led them down the path Lambert had taken, reaching the crossroad. Without hesitation he called out, “Lilia?”

Just the call of her name seemed to summon the demon and Lambert crumbled internally. Throughout his whole encounter with her, the demon had probably been laughing at his stupid, half buried box, knowing it was useless.

Eskel gave the demon a disappointed frown. “What’s this I hear about you being mean to my brother?”

“He wanted a resurrection. You know those are expensive, especially when not under hell's jurisdiction.”

The hand around Lambert’s wrist disappeared and Eskel approached Lila. He could only watch as large hands settled on fuzzy hips and Eskel’s eyes softened into a pleading puppy look.

“Darling? Honeybuns? Snookums?” Lambert didn’t know how Eskel managed to make it look like he was staring up at Lilia despite behind a good head taller than her. He reached to brush a strand of hair from Lilia’s face, fondness dripping from his voice. “Sweetheart? Could you pretty please bring Aiden back?”

There was no denying that Lilia was fighting a smile, softening in Eskel’s hold. The moment Eskel started swinging their hips playfully from side to side, lips curled into a soft smile, Lambert averted his eyes. He still managed to see the fingers tenderly tracing the curve of a horn, far too intimate for his eyes. The murmured “Maybe even add him to the list too?”

A hand smacked a cloth covered shoulder but Lilia was laughing. “You and your list. It was just that darned goat to start with. Then just one other. Only one more. Starting with just one goat. Then your family. And now your brother’s boyfriend?”

“My little mistress of darkness-” Lambert heard enough and clamped hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t see even the shadow of what the two were doing. The bright peal of laughter from Lilia was too much to ignore though and he looked up.

“You’d better hurry, puppy. There’s trouble in your kitchen.” Lilia told him. Not needing any other excuse to escape, Lambert turned. He still cast a glance behind him and regretted it immediately. Eskel had his hands under Lilia’s thighs, her legs around his hips and back against a tree. His lips were pressed against her neck, both of them looking rather happy with the turn of events despite the cold. That was not something he needed to see so Lambert hurried back towards Kaer Morhen.

He could hear the trouble before he saw it.

“This was no portal. How did you get here?” Vesemir’s voice was loud and clear. Rounding the corner, Lambert tried not to think about why Vesemir and Geralt were in the kitchen in the middle of the night. But, more important than that was the fact that Aiden was backed into the corner, clutching a frying pan defensively.

“Aiden!”

“Lamb!”

“You know this Cat?” The question from Vesemir went ignored as Lambert pushed past them, all but colliding with Aiden in his rush.

“You’re back!” Lambert’s words were barely audible as he pulled their foreheads together, taking in Aiden’s familiar scent. “I missed you.” An hand on the back of Aiden’s neck kept him in place as Lambert gathered up the courage. “I lo-”

“The arsehole you avenged isn’t even dead,” Geralt muttered darkly under his breath. “The fuck you make me come along for?”

Lips curling into a snarl, Lambert yanked the frying pan from Aiden’s grip and hurled it at Geralt’s head. He didn’t expect a wet laugh from in front of him.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

Aiden’s now free hand wrapped around Lambert and pulled him in, finally claiming the kiss he had been teased with for so long.

[pillage-and-lute]

Hi, this is a Monday Evening Prompt: How about Jaskier coming to Kaer Morhen and bringing little presents for all the wolves? Could be his first visit or not. Have a nice evening!

Hi Petrificustotaluss! I really did some worldbuilding here.

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Geralt could smell the anxiety rolling off of Jaskier in waves all the way up to Kaer Morhen. The bard was practically vibrating out of his travel cloak. On the few stops on their way up the mountain he didn’t sing, choosing instead to pluck repetitive tunes on his lute. 

Their last stop before the keep was in a cave, long used by witchers returning home. This last haven before home always brought out something deep and maybe even proud in Geralt’s chest. 

The cave was not large, but deep enough that the weather didn’t permeate. Geralt lead Roach to the back, where centuries of hooves had worn a groove, and threw her blanket over her. Jaskier rubbed her nose affectionately, looking around in wonder, despite the fading light.

Geralt began setting a fire in the ring of stones left behind by one of his brothers. Two slashes were carved into the side of a larger stone. Lambert then, a sign left for whichever of his brothers cam behind.

Fire flared and Jaskier gasped. Every witcher who had stayed in the cave, since its presence had been discovered, had carved their name into the wall. Jaskier stepped immediately to the back of the cave, tracing names almost worn away with trembling hands. 

Geralt took his hand and guided his fingertips and his feet closer to the mouth of the cave. Jaskier brushed his thumb over the V in Vesemir. 

“Your name...?”

Geralt found it for him.

“I couldn’t read yet,” he whispered, when he found the marks he sought. “You know how the letters switch in my mind. Eskel told me what to carve.” 

The names were right next to one another and Jaskier pressed one hand against them, as if he was trying to reach into the past. 

“Lambert’s is here,” Geralt said, voice almost a whisper. It felt appropriate here. 

Jaskier traced it gently, too. 

They sat down to eat without much talking, unusual for the bard, but this much history could be oppressive for anyone. There were drawings among the names and Jaskier kept glancing at them. 

After dinner they huddled together, backs against one of the walls.

“That one,” Geralt said, pointing to the back of the cave, “That’s the first version of the wolf on my medallion.” He had smelled the anxiety rising on Jaskier’s scent again, and hoped talking could keep it at bay. 

“There,” he pointed again. “That’s Gawain of Ymlac’s  name, almost faded. He’s famous, bards wrote about his fight with a knight, Bertilak the Green.”

“I know the story,” Jaskier said, eyes wide. “But the way it’s always told, Gawain is a knight.”

Geralt shook his head. “Gawain was considered one of the best of us, but he was no knight. Bertilak visited here too, but he could not write, few could in those days.”

“So his name isn’t here?” Jaskier sounded disappointed.

“It is, the rough carving of the tree, beneath Gawain’s name, is his. It was the sigil on his shield.”

Jaskier’s eyes were so round he looked like a child at Yuletide.

“There,” Geralt pointed, “is the name of another famous visitor. I wonder if you know him.”

Jaskier stood and walked over. “Here?” he asked. “Taliesin, I’ve never heard the name, was he from another witcher school?”

“No,” Geralt said, walking to Jaskier’s side. “A sorceror and a bard. I think you would know him better by another name.” He couldn’t resist the dramatic pause. Jaskier looked up at him, hanging on his words.

“I believe they call him...” Jaskier leaned in. “Merlin.”

“Never!” Jaskier cried, hopping back. “Geralt you’re pulling my leg!”

“I am not,” Geralt said. “He wrote notes in some of the books in the library.”

Jaskier was no longer nervous, hopping about in excitement. 

“Which ones? Do you know? I have to read them all. Geralt can you think of the stories!”

Geralt chuckled. 

“This one,” he said. “Is Aiden’s signature.” It was hard to read, the rock was soft, but carving was still difficult work.

“Lambert’s friend?”

Geralt nodded. “From the cat school. I think you’ll like him.” The pair of them would probably manage to burn the keep down.

Jaskier looked around him with a stunned grin. Geralt pulled out the heavy work knife he kept at his thigh and offered it to Jaskier, hilt first.

“What?”

“Well you need to carve your name, don’t you?”

Jaskier’s eyes filled. “Really?”

“Of course, someday someone will point out the name of Jaskier, the Continent’s famous bard.”

Jaskier grinned bashfully. He sat at the wall of the cave and scratched out his name. It was slow going for a human, without magic or mutant strength, but he did. Then he began a new carving.

Geralt didn’t ask yet, but restocked the fire and waited. 

At last Jaskier pulled back, there was the carving from Geralt’s medallion, a lark, and a flower. 

Geralt felt his chest tighten, but in a warm way. 

That night, beside eachother in their bedrolls, Jaskier tossed and turned.

“Stop,” Geralt said. “Sleep, it will be alright.”

“The ground is hard,” Jaskier said. 

“They’ll like you,” Geralt said. “You’re my-” friend, he wanted to finish. The word couldn’t seem to break from between his lips. 

“Bard,” he finished lamely. “They know that, they’ll respect it.”

Jaskier gave a little twitch that was maybe a shrug under the layers of fabric.

“They’ll see what I see,” Geralt said.

“A fillingless pie?” Jaskier said jokingly. Some of the anxiety had gone, though. 

Geralt huffed. “Everyone knows the crust is the best part, anyway.”

He rolled over and went to sleep. 

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

They arrived at the gates of Kaer Morhen midmorning the next day. Jaskier was looking around in awe, taking in the crumbling architecture. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Geralt was about to respond but was tackled into a snowdrift by his younger brother.

Geralt laughed and tossed Lambert off him, only for Eskel to join the fray, the three of them scrapping and laughing, rolling about the courtyard. 

Vesemir pulled them apart by their collars. Then he nuzzled Geralt before gruffly ruffling his hair. “Welcome back, lad,” he said.

Jaskier was looking on wide-eyed, but Geralt didn’t have time to explain the odd greeting because Eskel was next. 

His brother gave him a rib shaking hug and roughly grated his cheek along Geralt’s, snuffling a little as he took in his brother’s scent. 

Lambert, still a pup, didn’t wait his turn and butted his cheek agains Geralt’s other one, then delivered a bit of a nip to Geralt’s ear. He pulled back looking a little embarrassed, but the brother’s understood, sometimes the wolf instinct was a little strong.

“Um,” Jaskier said. Four pairs of golden eyes turned to look at him.

“I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s bard...should I greet you like a wolf or....?” He stuck out his hand awkwardly.

“A handshake is fine, lad,” Vesemir said, taking the bard’s offered hand. Geralt watched Jaskier almost not wince as his fingers were, accidentally, ground together. “The wolf is just a little stonger in winter for my boys.”

Geralt noticed that Vesemir’s nostrils still flared as he took in Jaskier’s unfamiliar scent, but didn’t say anything.

Eskel and Lambert both somewhat sheepishly shook the bard’s hand. Then the little party unloaded Roach and continued into the great hall.

Jaskier gratefully warmed his hands at the fire before sitting at the table with the rest of the witchers. He began digging in his pack.

“I, uh, I brought gifts,” he said, pulling out packages. “Since I’m your guest and all.”

Vesemir huffed good naturedly “still put you to work, guest or no,” he said.

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He looked around. “I have one for Aiden too? Is he here?”

“Eavesdropping,” Lambert said. A witcher slunk around a doorway and sat next to him, not even bothering to look ashamed. He was of a leaner build than the wolves, more wiry.

Aiden extended a hand to Jaskier, who took it politely. 

“I’ve heard good things,” he purred. 

“Thank you.”

“Heard you’ve tamed Pretty Boy.”

Geralt snarled, mostly playfully.

Jaskier smiled. “I get him to take a bath once in a while, I’m not sure it counts as tame.” It got a chuckle from Aiden, and Geralt felt his sanity slipping away already as he pictured their friendship. 

“Um,” Jaskier said, proffering a package to Vesemir. The old wolf took it with a nod and pulled at the rough twine. 

“Candles,” Vesmir said, looking at the slightly misshapen lumps in front of him. Four of them, in waxed paper, and an odd color, a pale, pale green. Geralt realised it first, but Vesemir said the name before him.

“Strydwen wax,” he said approvingly. “Burns without smoke or heat. Never goes out or melts away. Thank you.” 

The ‘thank you’ was said with a resonance that Geralt had never been able to master. It sort of took up place in your chest and stayed there. Jaskier fairly glowed with it.

“For Eskel,” he said, handing another package over. 

Eskel smiled at him and pulled apart the wrapping to reveal a large, leatherbound book.

“Poetry,” Eskel said delightedly.

“Newly published by a former professor of mine,” Jaskier confirmed. Eskel examined the cover.

“You studied under Rumi?” Eskel looked impressed.

“Six semesters,” Jaskier said ruefully. “He isn’t an easygoing grader.”

The final two gifts were dispensed at the same time, and Lambert and Aiden tore into their packages to find twin daggers, balanced for combat, not throwing. 

Lambert admired the round stone set into the end. Geralt, trained in the same school, figured he was picturing bludgeoning someone with it.

“Twist it,” Jaskier suggested. Lambert gave it a go.

The stone on Aiden’s dagger glowed faintly. 

Aiden twisted his and Lamber’s glowed, both fading after a few seconds.

“To communicate?” Aiden asked.

Jaskier nodded shyly. “I thought...for when you separate on the Path.”

Lambert grinned at him, his smile all teeth. “It’s perfect, I’ll annoy him with it constantly.”

The table descended into cheerful bickering and Jaskier sat back, smiling. He looked at Geralt and a furrow laid itself on his brow.

“I should have given you a gift.”

Geralt looked at his cheerful family, thought of a song that made witchers’ lives easier like a magic spell, a companion. He thought of a cave full of stories, with his and Jaskier’s carved together.

“You have.”

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Some history notes! Because I’m a nerd! Gawain of of Ymlac and Bertilak the Green are of course a reference to the Arthurian legend of Gawain and the Green Knight. 

Taliesin is also a reference to Arthurian legend, being a famous 6th century Welsh bard, one of the first bards we know of who told the tales of Arthur (although many of the stories are based in pagan sun god myth). Over centuries, the name Taliesin sometimes appears in Arthurian legend as another sorcerer, a wise sage, a poet, a demi-godly figure, or another name for Merlin. I picture Jaskier’s story sometime much later becoming something like Taliesin’s on the Continent.

Jaskier’s former professor is  Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, a 13th century Persian poet.

Also, I couldn’t resist having our wolves greet eachother as such. It’s too cute and I’m taking this headcanon as canon. Permanently.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

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

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

---

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

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

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

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

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

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

“Y-Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not… not really.”

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

“Versace!?” 

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, wow.”

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

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

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

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

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

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

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

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

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

“No.”

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

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

---

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

“Nice,” he says.

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

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

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, Pierre!”

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

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

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

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

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

---

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

Okay, focus. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Geralt!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

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

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

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

[thearvariblues]

A Man of Easy Virtues

Just another ‘I’m so sorry but I couldn’t resist’ fics I wrote instead of, you know, doing the important things I should be doing.

This time it’s based on @likecastle‘s post about the kind of pants Jaskier should be wearing (and isn’t wearing, obviously) in the show and all the fanfics.

Warning for almost underage slutty bard (don’t worry, though, he’s eighteen, so definitely not a kid) and no Geralt in sight.

And yes, there will definitely be a part 2.

*

“You don’t understand,” Jaskier sighs and looks down at the tiny, fat tailor in front of him. “I just need a pair of pants that stays up without a hundred tiny ribbons.”

“They aren’t ribbons, young man,” the tailor says. “They are actually called–”

“I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

“How would your pants stay up, then?” the tailor frowns.

“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”

The tailor sighs and lifts his hands to fix Jaskier’s partially unbuttoned doublet.

“Young man. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Jaskier mutters.

“Eighteen,” the man repeats. “Are you aware, young man, that what you’re asking for is very inappropriate?”

“But very practical. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into appropriate clothes when you’re in a hurry?”

“There are things you cannot hurry up, young man. This is one of them.”

“Have you ever tried telling that to an angry cuckold?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier bites his lower lip. “Could you at least consider–”

“No.”

“I will pay you double–”

“Still no. There,” the man smiles, straightening Jaskier’s collar. “Much better now. Your chemise is meant to be hidden. You wouldn’t want people to think that you are a man of easy virtues, would you?”

“Oh, no,” Jaskier mutters. “That would be horrible…”

*

“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier moans as a pair of eager hands slip into his doublet. “Please.”

“Mhmh,” his lover’s deep voice answers, impatiently tugging at Jaskier’s chemise. “More skin. Right fucking now.”

“I actually don’t think,” Jaskier murmurs between the kisses, “that it will be possible to… Oh, yes.”

The hands slip lower and try to get into Jaskier’s pants. They don’t succeed. The man – the Witcher, for fuck’s sake – growls.

Which is fair, Jaskier assumes, because while the young student’s fingers are roaming freely over the scarred torso and firm buttocks, Jaskier is still fully clothed. And it is going to take forever before he’s naked.

“Drowner’s shrunken ball sack,” the Witcher swears, tugging at one of the points holding Jaskier’s clothes together. “I’d sooner get into a noonwraith’s rotting cunt than your asshole!”

“Yeah, it’s a little complicated, but if you let go for a little while–”

“Oh, fuck off,” the man grunts and before Jaskier even blinks, there’s a long knife in the man’s hand. And before Jaskier manages to open his mouth to protest, the man makes short work of all the points and unceremoniously throws Jaskier onto the bed, grinning.

“Well, fuck me,” Jaskier whispers, feeling his blood rush straight to his crotch (well, at least the tiny amount of blood that wasn’t there already).

“That’s the plan,” the man nods, cutting Jaskier’s chemise open. “The name’s Lambert, in case you forgot. Because I expect you to scream it until your voice is fucking raw.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier purrs.

The Witcher smiles.

“Good boy.”

*

“Melitele’s tits!” Jaskier swears, staring at his pants in disbelief.

Lambert lifts his head from the pillow and raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he asks.

“There is, actually. You completely ruined them!” Jaskier growls and throws his currently useless pants at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?”

“Oh, come on. I was careful not to cut anything but those motherfucking tiny ribbons. It’s not the end of the world. What do you need them for, anyway? I mean apart from driving potential lovers insane with lust.”

“Well, for nothing important. Just holding the fucking thing up,” Jaskier sighs and puts on his doublet, which is his only piece of clothing that’s intact. He’s slowly coming to terms with walking home with his ass bare. Again. Third time this week.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lambert frowns. “Shit. Sorry, I guess. Would you like my spare pair?”

“Does it have the points, or did you cut them off when you urgently needed to take a shit?” Jaskier smirks.

“I honestly don’t know what the fuck are you even talking about.” Lambert gets up and after a few seconds of rummaging through his bag he pulls out a pair of worn-out leather pants and throws them to Jaskier. “Here. Take them. Guess what. They stay up on their own.”

“They… do?” Jaskier whispers, his eyes going comically wide.

“Honey, when werewolves attack your camp while your Cat Witcher boyfriend is balls-deep in your ass, you don’t have time to tie some fucking ribbons.”

“Cat Witcher…” Jaskier blinks.

As if on cue, the room’s door open and a lean, long-haired blond man rushes in, slams the door closed behind him and starts dragging a large chest in front of it.

“Oh, you’re done. Good,” he says to Lambert. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Aiden, I swear by Vesemir’s flaccid cock…” Lambert groans. “What did I ask you – no, beg you not to do tonight?!”

“I swear I didn’t cheat this time!” the man says, leaning with his full weight against the chest just as someone starts to bang on the door. “It’s not my fault I’m so fucking good at gwent, is it?”

“Good at gwent my ass. I could beat you drunk if you didn’t have another whole pack stuffed into your sleeves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lambert. It’s not a whole pack. Just like… twenty cards or something, usually.” The man grins at Jaskier. The doorknob rattles. “Hey, Lambert’s fuck of the day. I’d suggest you start getting dressed.”

“Just how many did you manage to piss off this time?” Lambert asks, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Not many. I could deal with them in a matter of seconds, but you always say your brother doesn’t like it when Witchers murder innocent citizens.”

“You mean my brother the fucking Butcher of Blaviken?” Lambert laughs.

Jaskier looks up from fastening his (well, Lambert’s) pants and gapes at the two Witchers.

“Your brother,” he whispers. “Your brother is Geralt of–”

“Not now,” Lambert says. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Tell me, Jaskier, have you ever jumped out of a window before?”

“Four times just this week. Mostly to escape jealous husbands. A jealous wife, in one case.”

“Good,” Aiden nods, letting go of the chest supporting the door and grabbing his bag. “Let’s jump.”

*

The tiny, fat tailor is staring at the pair of worn-out black leather pants laid out in front of him with polite disgust.

“Not possible,” he says for the fifth time.

“Let’s be absolutely clear here,” Jaskier smiles and his voice holds just a hint of a promise of some very unpleasant things that could hypothetically happen to the tiny man. “Do you know my name?”

“No, young man, and I wouldn’t care even if you were–”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier says calmly.

“Oh,” the man replies and he suddenly seems even smaller than before.

“I am willing to pay you twice your usual fee–”

“Sir, what you’re requiring is outrageous–”

“Three times.”

“I couldn’t possibly sully the name of my shop with such an immodest–”

“Four times your usual fee, and an opportunity to start a fashion revolution.”

The man closes his eyes and nods slowly.

“Four times my usual fee. You can keep the revolution. It’s not as if you can find another man willing to wear something so scandalous…”

*

In a month, almost every young man in Oxenfurt (and several young women) wears the same model of pants Jaskier does. It’s much more comfortable, and also much easier to get into if you happen to get caught naked in a bed you shouldn’t be in, making it an instant hit among the students.

When Jaskier jumps, completely dressed, out of yet another window, this time running from a father whose two sons he just fucked into the bed, he thinks that he definitely has to thank Lambert and Aiden properly the next time he sees them.

Or any other Witcher he meets until then.

They basically saved his life, didn’t they?

[crashdevlin]

Opposites Don’t Attract (A Witcher Fic)

Author’s Note: This was written while I was fighting Covid19...so I’m pretty proud of that. I'm aware that not everyone likes the Witcher but this was the only thing that would could out of my head that week so...

I took bits of lore from the show, the books, and the games and mixed them all up into a cohesive awesomeness...also, the smut is pretty good, but the banter is where it's at with this one. If you guys like this, I might make it a series...so, let me know how you're feeling on it.

Summary:  Y/n is a witcher from the Cat School (a nomadic school that is one of the few that actually makes female witchers) who keeps running into Geralt of Rivia...to her great pleasure.

Pairing: Geralt x Female Witcher!Reader, mentions of Geralt x Yennefer and Geralt x Triss Merigold

Word count: 3869

Story Warnings: 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of infertility, little bit of angst (it's a Cassie story...what do you expect?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t often you crossed paths with the White Wolf. The Continent was vast and you both had work to do. But it was always a treat when you walked into a tavern and smelled the man.

"Geralt. What brings you to Kagen?" you asked, taking the stool next to him at the bar.

"A contract."

"Always so succinct, Wolf...and just a bit disrespectful. Isn't my school the one that's supposed to birth disreputable thugs?"

Amber eyes turned on you as you fiddled with your medallion, a silver coin with a cat's head on a silver chain. It hung right between your breasts and never came off.

"Here to kill a monster...or be a monster?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

A zing of indignant fury went through you but you stifled it instinctively. "I haven't taken a contract against a human in nearly twenty years. I've learned the error of my ways. I told you as such when we met last. Remember? The bard's impromptu celebration in Lyria." He grunted softly at you and looked away. "You do remember, don't you, Geralt?"

"My memory is fine, Feline."

"Then you remember folding me in on myself and making my body quake?" You set your hand on his thigh and watched his face for a reaction.

He gave no indication he even noticed your fingers over the conditioned leather. "Since when do you call them 'humans'? When last we met, you were still calling them by the slur."

You rolled your eyes. "That was a single slip. Another thing I've seen the error on. I've developed, I've grown. You have to admit that some things are hard to shake, like a word you shouldn't say or a prejudice you were taught as a small child. I wasn't really given a choice on who to sympathize with in the conflict. Cats and Elves, we go together. Call it a commiseration of outcasts."

He let out a long sigh before dropping his hand to yours. "You talk too much, Cat."

"Well, someone has to fill the silence around you. Jaskier doesn't seem to be around right now, so I'll take that mantle." You licked your lips and hummed as his fingertips slowly caressed the back of your hand. "I could help you fulfill your contract. Two witchers are better than one. What are you after?"

He turned his head just enough to catch your eyes. "You want to help me?"

"I want to fuck you, but I feel you're going to be distracted until you've got your coin so I might as well hasten that instance."

"Can I trust you to have my back in battle?"

You pulled your hand away and shook your head. "If I can alter my preconceived notions of humans, you can alter your notions of Felines. Or, in the very least, of me." You caught his eyes and held them without blinking. "I have known you for decades, Geralt. Can you trust me to have your back?"

He held your eyes for a few moments before he picked up his ale. "It's a graveir. Strength is more important than speed."

"Well, then I'll just have to pull its attention and hope it is hungry for witcher." You smiled. "And you can kill it before it eats me."

He smiled just a bit as he set his mug down. "Perhaps I'll let it eat you, kill it while it is sated and happy."

"Aww, but then the great White Wolf would never get to eat his fill of this Feline ever again."

He smirked as you set a coin on the bar and requested an ale of your own. "And what brought you to Kagen, Y/n?"

You smiled at the use of your name. "Tracking a man." His eyebrow went up so you clarified. "Just tracking. He's a historian. There's some question of the authenticity of some of the Aen Seidhe artifacts he's 'found'. He's at the whore house two down so I thought I'd have a drink while he was busy. A lucky stroke to find you."

"If you help me with the graveir, you might lose him."

You took a drink of your ale and turned on the stool. "You think we can't take down a graveir and have a fun night before a middle-aged human historian wakes from his well-deserved nap after a night of lust away from his wife?" You leaned next to his ear and whispered, "Are you underestimating me or yourself?"

"I could never underestimate you." He tipped his head back and finished off his ale and you chugged down your own. It was time to work.

As you moved to follow Geralt out of the tavern, a tall man with a sunburned face stepped in front of you.

"I didn't know they made witchers with tits," the foul-smelling farmer said with a guffaw at the end for good measure.

"Well, you've never seen the Butcher of Blaviken with his shirt off, have you?" you snapped, stepping away from him.

"You're a real one, then? You got the eyes, I see. They do all those mutations on you? Hear witchers are like a bitch in heat but cain't procreate. Now there's a perfect woman, right? Always ready to be filled, but never able to give me any more little brats."

Geralt sneered at the man's words but you just shook your head. "I guarantee no woman wants to be filled by you or your brats. Especially not this woman."

The drunk looked offended for a moment before he scoffed. "You're not a woman. You're a fuckin' mutant. Wouldn't want your-"

A blade was in your hand and held against his throat in a flash. "I'm a fucking mutant and a fucking woman and I want nothing to do with you."

"Apologize," Geralt demanded, quiet and intent.

The drunk looked down at the knife and blinked a few times, then nodded. "Sorry."

Your blade was back in its sheath on your hip before he could take another breath. "Let's go, Geralt."

"Hmm." He pulled open the large wooden door and walked out, you followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"When's the last time you saw the Caravan?" Geralt asked as you headed for the woods.

"You really don't think I've changed, do you?" He gave a noncommittal grunt so you rolled your eyes. "Even after that slime back at the tavern? I didn’t kill him. I didn't even hurt him. I didn't even spout off and call him a...well, if anyone deserves to be slurred, it's a man like that and I held my tongue." You reached out and slapped your hand across his chain mail. "Haven’t seen hide nor hair of Dyn Marv in…"

You rubbed your fingers across your eyes and shook your head. "I abandoned the Caravan the day I met you. The ideals were harder to shirk but I left my school the moment I realized that Gezras wasn't quite the savior they claimed. You had it right. You and the others up at Kaer Morhen, you know how...how a witcher's supposed to act. You were trained in the codes and morals, I wasn't."

"No, you were trained blindfolded on a tightrope across the rooftops of Oxenfurt."

"Let it never be said that Cat School is without our flair." You smiled over at him. "And it was Oxenfurt, the Cintran Capital, and Vengerberg. Nomads and all that."

Geralt looked over at you and smiled. "I can imagine the Cintran guard were very happy to have a bunch of witchers crawling across their roofline."

"Oh none of them ever cared for having a bunch of witchers in their city let alone running training exercises across their roofs. But not a one tried to stop us. You'll recall, there was a time when most feared and respected us more than they hated us."

"I don't recall people ever fearing Cat School," he teased.

"Ah-ha, you're so hilarious, Geralt. My sides are in stitches from all this laughter," you responded dryly.

You walked in relative silence for a few moments, your boots making no sound on the tall grass. "I didn't know meeting Vesemir affected you so much," he said eventually.

"Oh, yes. It was wise old Vesemir that showed me the error of my ways, not the dashing white-haired man who rode into Novigrad after him."

"Dashing. That's a new one."

"I'm absolutely certain it is not a new one, Geralt. Not for any woman who's had the pleasure to make your acquaintance." Your cheeks heated up in a way you imagined his never did. Wolves dulled emotion. So did Bears, and Vipers, and most schools. Most pushed down emotions to make a witcher less susceptible to fear and anger and sadness. Cat School was different. You were reminded of that every time you were around Geralt. "I bet 'dashing' would be one of the first words they'd use to describe you: the Triss Merigolds and Yennefer of Vengerbergs of the world."

He looked over at you as you approached a cemetery filled with recent dead from a bandit attack on the outskirts of Kagen. "Hmm. Is that jealousy I hear?"

"No!" you responded just a little too loud. "What do I have to be jealous of? They're two supernaturally beautiful sorceresses who've been part of your life much longer than I have. Besides, none of us really gets you for more than a night or two, right?"

He grunted softly in agreement, then offered a potion from his belt. You took it and swallowed it down, feeling your already-fast reflexes get a boost. "You're supernaturally beautiful too. It will make you better graveir bait."

You couldn’t focus on the compliment he'd given you as he pointed to a bloated ghoul digging into a fresh grave with short, strong claws. He was gone by the time you looked back but you could sense him moving around the outside of the cemetery.

Normally, this was the point when you'd draw your silver; approaching a ghoul as it ripped a limb from a corpse to make its meal for the night. The sword stayed on your back with your steel, however. You were to take its attention so Geralt could kill it from behind.

It was fairly easy, actually. You and Geralt, working in tandem, had the graveir as dead as his dinner before there was a chance for real trouble. It noticed you, it rushed you, you dodged and dodged and threw a punch or three to its ugly face and then Geralt appeared in your vision and the graveir met the sharp blade of a witcher's silver sword. No muss, very little fuss, and very little blood.

"You did good as bait," Geralt commented as you walked back toward the city. "Maybe I should have you play the snack on hunts more often."

"Oh? A snack for the monsters or a snack for yourself?"

"I'm serious. We work well together."

"It's not the first time we've worked together."

There had been, in fact, two other monsters that you helped Geralt with. A wraith terrorizing a man in Novigrad that you helped him with when you first met each other and a wyvern you encountered on the road. Geralt happened to have the contract on the wyvern and showed up to take it down as you were in the midst of killing it.

He graciously shared a portion of the coin garnered from his contract.

He hummed in acknowledgement. “You should come with me.”

You stopped and turned to look at him. “What?”

“Once you’ve fulfilled your contract on the historian, you should saddle up and travel with me. You said it yourself, ‘two witchers are better than one’.”

You looked up into his eyes and blinked a few times. “You miss Vesemir so much that you would travel with me just to have another witcher at your side?”

“Why don’t we leave it at ‘I enjoy your company’?” he suggested.

You started walking again, heading toward your mare, a Konik named Daisy, and Geralt’s mare, Roach. “Will you be staying in Kagen for a while?”

“I have a room at the inn. I can stay in Kagen until you return.”

“You’re serious about me coming with you? I thought sweet nothings were whispered in the throes of passion, not in the aftermath of battle.”

“You don’t have to come with me, Y/n.”

You shook your head. “I’ll have to think about it, Geralt.” You didn’t want to anger any sorceresses. You climbed up into Daisy’s saddle and grabbed her reins. “For now, let’s go to the inn. A bath and a bed sound amazing,” you said, before riding toward the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tub was small but you weren’t large. “How do you fit in this thing?” you asked, dunking yourself under the warm water.

“I’m very good at fitting into tight spaces.” Geralt stepped up behind you and kneeled down, setting his chin on your bare shoulder. “Do you need help getting clean?”

“No. But I’d love a bit of help getting dirty again after I’m done.” He hummed and nodded, turning his head to press his lips to your neck. You hummed happily and turned your head to give a bit more access and he took the invitation, running his hand down your body and under the water. You gasped as his fingers brushed your curls. “I’m not clean yet, Geralt.”

“Clean enough.”

You pressed closer to him, arching your hips and reaching back to grab the back of his head, pulling him further down. “More,” you whispered. He chuckled, slipping a finger down to tease your entrance. “Fuck, don’t tease.”

“Why not?” He nipped at your jawline and gave a low hum. “You know...the first time I heard your voice, I knew I’d have to hear you moan.” You gasped as his finger slipped into you down to the knuckle, your fingers digging into his scalp as the heel of his palm pressed into your clit. “I knew I’d have to feel you cum on my cock when I smelled you in the heat of battle.”

You moaned at the thought of Geralt, barely knowing your name, deciding that he’d have to have you just based on scent. It was something so animalistic, so inhuman...so uniquely witcher.

You twisted in the water and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce kiss. You didn’t wait for an invitation into the cavern of his mouth, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as he gathered your body in his arms and carried you to the lumpy bed across the room. You pushed at his clothes without breaking the kiss, desperate to taste and feel him. Your fingers skimmed across the lines of his back muscles as you pulled his shirt off. His fingertips dug into your hips and moved to put bruising pressure on your ass as you started untying his trousers.

The man was a specimen. The mages at Kaer Morhen made the best of him. You didn’t have time to examine the body and the cock that were so prominent in your wettest dreams because he was obviously just as desperate for you. He got his trousers down and reached between your bodies, taking his length in hand and smearing the head of it in the wetness seeping out of you. You were just about to start begging when he slipped his cock into your cunt.

You lifted your hips to get more of him inside of you. You needed him stretching you and stuffing you. You needed him pushing you to the absolute limits. He fit you better than any ever had.

He rocked his hips against yours, his pelvis putting pressure against your clit as his cock barely moved against your walls. You wrapped your legs around him, ankles crossed at the small of his back, urging him deeper. He growled and grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands from his shoulders to pin them to the bed above your head.

No other man could put you in such a position. No other man controlled you like Geralt. You would never think to let it happen. No man, not even another witcher, could play you like such a fine instrument. A beautiful lute.

Part of you wished you didn't heal so efficiently, so quickly. Part of you wanted to wear his marks upon you for days, but his marks, just like the scent of your coupling, faded far too quickly for your liking. It left you with nothing but the memory and that just wasn't enough. Not when the man you were remembering was so...amazing.

You whimpered out a faint request and he heeded it, slamming his hips into yours harder. You struggled against his grip, desperate to get your hands in his hair, wanting to tug on the white locks, but he refused to relinquish control of your wrists. He gave you everything you needed, but not necessarily what you wanted.

Like you wanted to hear his voice, but the only time you really needed to hear it was when he leaned down next to your ear and demanded, “Cum, Cat.” Your toes curled and your head pressed back into the pillow, your hips arching closer to his as that finally cracking pleasure fell over you. Geralt lasted a while longer before he filled you, his cock pulsing against your walls as his breath caught in his chest, fingers tightening around your wrists as he came.

He pressed sweet kisses along your jawline as he pulled his half-hard member from your dripping pussy and his hands released your wrists to slide his fingers up to entwine with yours. You ended up with your legs tangled with his, neither of you seeming to care about the wetness of sweat and cum sticky between both of your thighs. You kept one of your hands clutched in his, but pulled the other away so that you could run your fingers through his hair as you stared at the ceiling.

“Do you give it much thought?” you asked, quietly. He made a questioning noise and popped open one eyelid to look up at you from where his head was on your breast. Your cheeks heated up and you licked your lips. “What they did to us. What the mages made of us. What they took from us.”

“Took?”

“Options. The options they took from us. We were children, Geralt. We were babies. They stole…” You cut your words off with a shake of your head. “I guess I’m the only one who thinks about it...and I can’t really imagine being some normal peasant wife with a litter of children and a world of misery, but I...I guess there’s some sweetness in the simplicity of their lives, you know? And I hate that I was never given that option. I was deprived of simplicity before I was even aware there was a difference between the folk in the Caravan and the rest of the world.”

Geralt was silent, but the way his fingers tightened their grip upon your hand filled you with a sense of calm. “People hate us, Geralt. They think us heartless, emotionless, cold. I learned to fake it, because that’s what people expect from someone with two blades on their back and these lovely eyes, but-”

“Cat School doesn’t dull emotions.”

“No. Not even with training. That’s a learned reaction to the outside world. I miss Dyn Marv fiercely sometimes because it’s...lonely away from people who understand. It’s hard to walk the Continent alone.”

He closed his eye and shifted a bit against you. “Why aren’t you with them, then?”

“Differences of morality.”

He was silent for a few minutes, just the sound of your breathing filling the room. “Opposites attract.”

“What?”

“It’s something the bard says. The idiot heard it from an alchemist once and he likes to believe it applies to relationships too. It’s why he goes after beautiful, cultured, married women. ‘Opposites attract’.” He sat up and looked down into your eyes. “But it’s horseshit. We look for companions that remind us of us. It’s why all of his women are as enamored with him as he is. Opposites don’t attract, Y/n...and that’s why you are someone I can’t say ‘no’ to.”

“Because we’re so alike?” you guessed.

“Yes.”

“Just because I’ve changed though, right?”

“No. You changed because you weren’t truly that woman. You were what the mages made you. What your teachers made you. You changed when you decided to.”

You licked your lips again and sat up a bit on your elbows. “What about your sorceresses?”

He smirked a little. “I don’t have sorceresses, Y/n.”

“Lovers. Ex or current?” you simplified the question.

“Current. Obviously,” he said, sarcastic humor in his voice as he ran his hand down your body.

You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore the way his touch lit your skin aflame with sparks of desire. “Geralt, I’m serious. If Yennefer were to ride into Kagen right now...if she knocked on that door…”

“Yen would just walk in. She’s never been one for other peoples’ privacy.” He leaned his head down when you didn’t express amusement at his jest, pressing his forehead to yours. “I could lie.”

“Not really. You’ve not proven yourself a good liar, Wolf.”

“True. I prefer honesty.” He sighed and looked away, sitting up to lean his back against the wall.

“Would you turn her away? Would you turn away Triss?” You sighed heavily. “I’m not trying to sound...like such a sodding woman, but...Geralt, you asked me to come with you. That seems like-” His pensive face made you question what you were even trying to get at. “You know what? I think it’d be better if I just head back to my job following Professor Lery and-”

“Don’t.” He grabbed your arm as you moved to get off the bed. “I care for Triss and I think I...loved Yennefer. But I...don’t think we’ll be an option again. She’s been upset at me since Triss.”

“Won’t this-”

“Stop questioning everything.” You closed your eyes as he leaned over and kissed you again. “Stay.”

“I have to finish the contract, Geralt. I’ve already been paid a hundred-fifty gold for it.”

“Then come back,” he demanded softly.

You smiled at him and nodded, but your heart was far less resolute than you were pretending. “Of course. Don’t go anywhere.” You rolled off the bed and grabbed your trousers and shirt, dressing hastily before grabbing your swords and potion belt. You kissed him one more time before leaving the room, swiping a loaf of bread off of a table in the tavern on your way out.

You weren’t sure if you were coming back to him. You wanted nothing more, but you weren’t looking forward to the moment one of his sorceresses came to call. “I’ll decide while I finish this job,” you told your horse, patting her lovingly. “Maybe it should just stay you and me, huh, Daisy. Maybe two witchers aren’t better than one.”

[falcqns]

Hmmm, I thought about this. That Henry and I are playing some PC game, and we were both yelling at each other, that his mom when she visited us thought that we're having sex. Something like "Push harder etc" 😂

thankful

pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

A/N: I just started playing it and I haven't made it past this freaking quest because I cannot for the life of me find the fucking Buckthorn and I can just imagine Henry about to lose his absolute shit with me lmao. Any hints on hOW to find the Fucking BUCKTHORN would be greatly appreciated y’all.  Also Im playing it on the switch so I don't know the controls for PC, so ignore the fact that I don't mention the controls LOL

Warnings: Witcher 3 Wild Hunt spoilers, swearing, implied smut, Marianne telling her son off

The two of you knew that you only had about a hour while Henry’s mom, Marianne, stepped out to go get some groceries.

Naturally, as a fairly new girlfriend to Henry, he only wanted to do one thing with you.

Show you how to play The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt.

The two of you were in his office, you on his lap, while he showed you the controls of the game. You got yourself acquainted well with the PC mechanics, and started Geralt’s journey.

Geralt and Vesemir had made it to the tavern to ask about Yennefer, and was about to venture out to find some Buckthorn, when you were attacked by some Nilfaardians. 

Immediately, Henry wanted to take over the controls and show you how to beat them in expert time, but he knew you'd be mad, so he just encouraged you to continue.

“No! Baby you need to use Axii, not Igni!” He groaned, before placing his hands over yours to take over the controls. “You need to influence his mind to get him to tell you the information!”

“HENRY, STOOOOPP,” You whined, when he took over. “I can do it, just let me try!” You huffed, and crossed your arms across your chest.

Henry beat the Nilfgaardians before glancing down at you. “I’m sorry, baby, but I didn't want you to die,” 

You stood up in a huff. “You didn't even let me try!” You cried out, tears streaming down your face. 

Henry became concerned, and pulled you to straddled his lap.

He brushed the hair away from your eyes, before gazing into them. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I won't do it again.” He said, his fingers trailing up and down your back.

“Yes, you will,” You murmured, your cries turning into sobs. Your head fell forward and buried itself into his neck.

Henry chuckled. “Baby, C’mon. Stop. It’s just a game.” 

Your head snapped up. “That’s not the fucking point.” You growled. You slid off his lap and headed towards the door with full intentions of storming away and locking yourself in the bathroom to calm down.

Henry stood, and grabbed your wrist, his hand coming to cup your chin and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“Watch your language, little one.” He grunted, in a menacing tone.

You growled again, before pulling out of his grasp.

“Then stop taking over the fucking game. Let me do it! I’m sure you died there when you first played it, I have to learn some how.” You stomped over to Henry’s gaming chair and plopped down into it, throwing Henry one last glare before turning back to the PC.

He let out a rather dramatic sigh, but walked over to you. 

“Okay, love, I’m sorry. Stand up, and I won't take over the game again.” You shook your head, your fingers already moving over the keyboard.

“No.” 

“What was that?” Henry said, as a warning.

You turned to look at him. “I said no. You can sit down next to me. I don't trust you,” You muttered before turning back to the screen. You sighed in annoyance. 

“Look at that Henry, you made me run Geralt and Roach into a fucking bush because you can't have someone else take control for once.” Henry sighed in defeat, and took a seat next to you, resigning to just encourage you. “You're going to get it tonight,”

You shot him one last glare. “Say another word and you're sleeping on the Fucking couch, Cavill.”

You continued to play, and Henry encouraged you. 

You were fighting some wolves when he started to shout.

“Harder, baby harder!” He shouted, groaning when Geralt's stamina dropped slightly.

“I’M GOING AS HARD AS I CAN HENRY GOD! MY FINGERS ONLY MOVE SO FAST!” 

And that was the first thing Marianne heard when she walked back into the house.

“Uh, Henry? Y/N?” Henry immediately stood up, sensing that you needed him to walk away.

He walked out to greet his mom.

“Hi mom.” He said, giving her a hug.

Marianne looked him up and down which caused Henry to scrunch up his eyebrows. 

“What?” He asked.

Marianne gave him a knowing look.

“Well, when I walked into your house, I heard Y/N scream at you.” She began, as she watched Henry unload the groceries from the bag. “Something about going as hard as she can?” 

Henry busted out laughing, realizing what his poor mother was thinking.

“Oh, no, it’s not what you think mom. We were playing The Witcher together and she wasn't hitting a target hard enough and I was encouraging her which caused her to lose her shit on me,” He said.

His mom giggled.  “You put have done something previously to tick her off, because she’s not the type of person to just explode on you like that.” Henry sighed in defeat. “Okay, she may have been close to dying, and I may have taken over controls, so she may have flew into a rage and told me off.”

He looked over at his mother, who had her hands on her hips.

“Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill. You couldn't let her take control for more than two seconds?” His mother said, sternly.

He looked at her. “Sorry, mom.”

She scoffed, before turning to put away some more groceries. 

“You better be, because I didn't help you pick out that engagement ring for her to dump you over a game,” 

Henry laughed, forever thankful that his mom wouldn't hesitate to put him right.

[itsclydebitches]

PFFFF The newest Witcher trailes LITERALLY throws shade! They have the 'Geralt, but you've been such lone wofl so long, what change' and deadass show JASKIER before later shoving Geralt saying 'Yennefer' like a cheap 'no homo!' excuse. I can't. xD Whoever edited it knows what's on. xD

I feel so conflicted about the Jaskier-Geralt relationship in the show because on the one hand, yeah, they're definitely leaning into this non-romance in a way that can get uncomfortable for some, how shall I put this... jaded viewers lol. We know they'll never be canon. No matter what else we might say about Netflix's inability to accurately adapt the books, Geralt/Yennefer has always and will always be endgame, so getting intimacy between Geralt and Jaskier in these particular ways (flirty jokes, bath scene, argument staged like a breakup), while not explicitly queerbaiting, can make viewers feel... icky about it all. Especially for any show-only fans who might not know that Geralt/Yennefer is endgame. Many viewers, particularly American viewers, approach shows as malleable forms of entertainment that can provide them with the representation they crave, provided the fanbase is vocal enough about wanting it. And the more talk that surfaces about major, crucial changes to the plot that reinterpret huge swaths of the books' purpose and intent, the more it can feel like they might just change Geralt's love life too! Even though they (obviously) won't. And frankly shouldn't given that this is supposed to be a faithful adaptation.

Yet on the flipside, the Netflix versions of Jaskier and Geralt don't feel intimate to me at all. Their hostile introduction, Geralt outright punching him, the continued performance of 'I'm a big strong manly man who can't admit that he cares about others,' reducing decades of their bonding to a surprising, throwaway line, that argument when Geralt blames Jaskier for all his problems... it's terrible and I've never liked this dynamic for them (even as I, somewhat hypocritically, play with it in fic). So I'm like, you're intimate enough that fans are starting to side-eye the creators' intentions and yet simultaneously not intimate in any of the ways you should be if you were actually faithful adaptations of the book. And these problems, I believe, go hand-in-hand. By ignoring the actual friendship of the books, Netflix has been forced to "prove" that they care for one another by falling back on tired buddy tropes that, historically, fans have used as evidence for a potential romantic relationship. By not writing Geralt and Jaskier as having the open, witty, philosophical, caring-but-also-taking-no-shit relationship they had in the books, Netflix has fallen back on a dynamic that isn't doing their show any favors. Fans either hate it, or love it to the point where they expect something of the show that the show can never deliver.

So it's a mess! And that mess hasn't done Yennefer any favors either. I'm really not in a position to be defending that pairing - I've never hid that I'm not a Geralt/Yen fan - but whatever the books did that made others love their relationship... I don't think Netflix is capitalizing on that either. In that other ask I brought up how in the games their relationship seems to revolve entirely around Ciri and sex. If they're not talking about their daughter (or if Yen isn't being cruel) their relationship is just about how horny they are for each other, which... isn't really a relationship to me. Or at least, not the deep, "We belong together forever, we're basically soulmates" relationship that the franchise is going for. Same with Netflix. I never liked the foundation of their relationship being an ambiguous wish that tethered them irrevocably and a quickie in the rubble as a replacement for actually getting to know one another... but Netflix takes those aspects and emphasizes them to a disappointing degree.

"You spent a lifetime alone. What changed?"

"Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yet when it comes time for the trailer to show us what this deep, insightful relationship is that changed a man after an entire lifetime of wandering alone... it's just sex. That's literally all Netflix is able to show us because that's the only meaningful interactions Geralt and Yen have had together. Here's a clip of them falling into bed together and Geralt, without any of that emotional work shown to the viewer, professes that he loves Yennefer the way she's always wanted to be loved.

Here's a clip of the joke we got where Jaskier is gaping over them having sex on the floor post-Yen nearly killing the lot of them.

I'm like... what out of any of this is meant to be appealing to me? Besides the fact that they're both hot as hell? (The casting does make my little bi heart happy lol.) For me, Geralt and Yen are a classic case of a story insisting they're meant for each other because That's Just How Stories Work, without doing any of the actual, you know, work to show us why they like each other, or how they got there, or why these superficial things (the sex is great!) trump the huge hurdles they should be working through. The games might have their flaws, but god bless 'em for letting the characters point out, "Hey... how do we even know this love is real and not just a byproduct of the djinn's wish?"

Geralt and Jaskier, as established, absolutely have their problems in the show, but I can understand why so many fans ship them over Geralt/Yen. And no, though bigotry can play a part, we also can't demonize the entirety of its popularity with, "You just hate women/are racist/creepily obsessed with queer men/whatever the latest accusation is." Rather, the popularity exists because, whatever their faults, it feels like they actually have a relationship in the show. We see them developing together in a way we simply don't get with Yennefer/Geralt and because that development isn't largely reduced to sex scenes—the narrative trying to pass every bonding moment off as True Love, with True Love equaling physical attraction—it comes across (at least to me) as more realistic and believable, especially given Geralt's character, someone who is emotionally closed off. If Vesemir (I think it's Vesemir) asked what changed and we deliberately cut to that moment of Jaskier leaving after Geralt drove him away... I'd more easily believe that yeah, this relationship is causing Geralt to rethink things in a way he hasn't for an entire lifetime. We've seen them travel together, become (begrudging) comrades, defend one another, do favors for each other, tease each other, have a major fight that they'll inevitably make up from, Jaskier is presented as Geralt's first friend, and none of this is tied to a questionable wish, or passed off as the totality of Geralt's development.

The fact that Netflix would include those lines, cut to a legitimately heart-wrenching moment between Geralt and Jaskier, but when it comes times to show his relationship with Yennefer, the most powerful moments are her without him (smashing the mirror, undergoing her transformation, stepping out in her new body for the first time, etc.) and their moments together are just sex—one of which is used partially for comedy—well... that just illustrates the problem for me. What relationship? The one that supposedly exists simply because the story says it's there? I don't think I'll ever be a Geralt/Yen shipper, but I'm perfectly capable of separating my personal preferences from subpar writing choices. Netflix is far into the latter. The way that they're adapting the story is, imo, hurting both fans of the book material and fans who are on the fence about book material. Because so few of these changes are working well, we've lost all the good the books contained and are now stuck with so much new bad. Basically, "No one liked that."

Except, of course, for the Geralt/Jaskier shippers riding the coattails of those tropes... though many will likely be disappointed and hurt by the series' end when they're not made canonical, with others growing frustrated with how the fandom has turned on them simply for liking what they were given. It's really turning into a lose-lose for everyone involved.

[flowercrown-bard]

I saw @little-piece-of-tamlin‘s a tiny stupid geraskier doodle which I love with all my heart bc it’s so cute and got inspired to write a little something. I hope that’s ok

fandom: the witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Modern Au

Word count: 2k

“It’ll rain today,“ Vesemir had said, “You better take a raincoat.”

Geralt should have known better than to ignore his advice. But in his defence, the sky had been completely clear when he had left the house with Ciri to take her to her friend Dara’s house.

The whole way there, she had chattered excitedly, tugging on his hand to get him to walk faster. The only time she had stopped, had been when they had come across a busker standing at the corner of a street.

Suddenly, she hadn’t been that worried about hurrying anymore and she had refused to leave until they had listened to at least five songs.

“You have to give him money, dad!” she demanded and pointed at the empty guitar case that was propped open in front of the busker.

Geralt made a grimace. He didn’t have his wallet with him – why would he, when he was just supposed to walk Ciri over to her friend and go home straight away again – but there was no doubt Ciri would argue with he told her so. And he supposed, he should probably be a good role model to her by paying the street artist, even though Geralt couldn’t help but think that his too bright smile and too happy songs were obnoxious.

The sooner he gave him some money, the sooner, he would get Ciri to continue on their way. So Geralt rummaged through his pockets, thankfully coming up with some spare change that he had forgotten was even in there and tossed it to the busker.

The pathetically few coins he had tossed were the only ones in the case. The sight almost made Geralt feel bad for the busker.

The busker’s singing didn’t stop, but his face brightened and his impossibly blue eyes lit up when he nodded to Geralt in thanks.

Geralt’s mouth went dry and he was glad that Ciri was still holding his hand, for suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He turned away briskly.

“Come on, Ciri, we should get going.” He gave her hand a small squeeze. “Dara’s probably waiting already.”

She pouted, but nodded. Before she turned away, she waved at the busker, who gave her a brilliant smile.

Geralt would have forgotten all about the busker, if it hadn’t started raining just as they got to Dara’s house. What started off as a light drizzle quickly turned into a downpour.

Geralt cursed silently. He didn’t even have his phone with him to call one of his brothers to come pick him up. At least Ciri had gotten inside before the worst of the rain had started.

Geralt threw a glare at the sky that had somehow turned from being bright blue to being a dark grey.

A low thunder rumbled and Geralt hurried along to get back home as quickly as he could, even though he was already soaked to the bone.

His face was set in a grim frown the entire time and he kept his eyes on the pavement before him, watching as the puddles soaked his boots.

“Hey!”

The shout made Geralt’s head snap up. His eyebrows rose in surprise without his permission, when he saw the person that had called out to him and that was now waving at him enthusiastically.

It was the busker from before, sitting beneath one of those umbrellas some cafés put up when the sun was shining too brightly.

Maybe they had forgotten to close it when the rain had started – or they didn’t care. Geralt had no idea how those things worked.

His steps faltered. Quickly, he threw a glance over his shoulder to see if the busker was waving to someone else, but Geralt was the only one on this street. At least the only one still out and about in the rain. Everyone else had fled into cafés or stores to hide from the rain.

Geralt swallowed, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, unsure what to do. He really, truly didn’t want to sit with this stranger who was still waving at him like an idiot.

But then again, the busker was sitting where he was dry while Geralt was standing in the rain unable to decide what to do, so really, who was the real idiot here?

Though inwardly he let out a sigh, knowing he was going to regret this, he walked over to the busker, sitting down on the chair opposite of him.

“Hello there, stranger. I’m Jaskier. You saw me earlier? I was the one playing the guitar.” He gestured to the case he had stowed away beneath the table to keep it safe from the rain. “I was hoping to see you again to thank you properly.” Jaskier’s smile grew so big, Geralt was wondering how it didn’t hurt his cheeks. “Guess I got really lucky that it started to rain, huh?”

Geralt scowled. “If my daughter hadn’t wanted to listen to you play for so long I would have gotten home before it started to rain.”

The busker tilted his head to the side. “Oh, if you enjoyed my singing that much, I should probably play some more, hm? As an apology for letting you get caught in the rain.”

“You really don’t –“ Geralt began, but Jaskier had already bent down to retrieve his guitar.

For a brief second, Geralt was tempted to just get up and leave again. A single glance at the rain made him reconsider and slump back in his chair.

When Jaskier began playing, Geralt had to admit that it didn’t sound terrible. If he had been in a better mood, he would have even enjoyed it, but as it was, he wasn’t very inclined to think any positive thoughts about Jaskier. It didn’t matter that his eyes crinkled at the side when he smiled while singing or that the mob of brown hair that had been so fluffy before was no plastered to his forehead in a way that made Geralt want to reach out and push it out of his eyes.

Abruptly, Geralt turned away. The avoidance of eye contact didn’t last very long. As soon as Jaskier reached the chorus of the song, Geralt’s eyes snapped back up to him.

“Why does it always rain on me?” Geralt asked incredulously. “Seriously?”

Jaskier’s tongue peeked through his lips as he winked at Geralt. “It’s fitting, isn’t it?”

Geralt grunted.

Jaskier’s fingers stilled on his guitar and he let out an overly dramatic sigh. “You’re a tougher audience than your daughter.” His eyes lit up with mischief. “But I’m sure I can find some song that you like.”

“I doubt it.”

“It that a challenge?”

Geralt didn’t answer, but he doubted Jaskier needed one anyway. The busker began to play again, giving Geralt a cheeky wink and his smile grew wider with every song that deepened Geralt’s frown.

It’s raining men.

Fool in the rain.

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

Umbrella.

Blame it on the rain.

After the third song, Geralt was ready to bang his head on the table and block his ears with his hands.

Mercifully, he was saved, when a waitress came by.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking sorry. “The other patrons have complained about your playing. And we’re not really allowed to let anyone sit here unless they buy at least one drink. So I need you to put that guitar away and buy something if you want to stay here.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s face fell and the fingers that had just been plucking the strings rubbed together in a gesture that should have probably been soothing for himself. “Of course. Sorry.”

Carefully, he put his guitar away and grabbed the menu lying on the table. Geralt should have been relieved that the playing had stopped, but the sight of Jaskier, dejected and still dripping from the rain made something in his chest twist. He pressed his lips together.

“Sorry,” he said as well and pushed his chair back, making it scratch against the ground. His skin felt icy just thinking about going back out in the rain and a small part of him felt bad leaving Jaskier alone like this. Granted, Geralt hadn’t been thinking nice things about his singing either, but it was one thing to sit there suffering in silence and another thing entirely, asking a waitress to kick Jaskier out if he didn’t stop playing.

An alarmed expression flickered over Jaskier’s face and he grabbed Geralt’s sleeve when he made to turn away.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “Didn’t you hear the thunder before? You can’t just go out there.”

Geralt shrugged, telling himself the concern of this stranger didn’t feel nice.

“Don’t have any money.”

Something shifted in Jaskier’s expression. A look of utter disbelieve and almost awe crossed his face, before he plastered on a smile that definitely didn’t made Geralt’s chest clench.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Jaskier said lightly, tugging at his arm until he sat back down again. Geralt could have easily freed himself, but for some reason he didn’t understand, he did as Jaskier bid him. “I’ll pay for your coffee.”

Geralt stared at him. “Why would you do that?”

Jaskier shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Technically, I’m just paying you back. You did give me your money before.”

Geralt blinked. “That wasn’t nearly enough to pay for coffee.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jaskier lowered his eyes and drummed a quick little rhythm on the table. “It was nice. I could really need someone being nice to me today.”

Jaskier gave him a small smile, which Geralt returned without thinking about it. It wasn’t often that people looked at him and didn’t make assumptions. They certainly didn’t call him nice. The only people who really stuck around were his brothers and Vesemir. He was trying to do good by Ciri, but he could still hear the other parents whisper whenever he brought her to preschool. They judged him for being a single dad, for having scars that surely meant that his life was too rough to have a child in it, for having eyes that freaked out some of the kids.

Jaskier hadn’t just started smiling at him when Ciri had urged him to give him some change. His smile hadn’t faltered, despite Geralt scowling at him, despite him not responding to anything he said.

Yet, he had called Geralt over to save him from the rain. And now, even after having spent enough time with him that he must have realised that Geralt wasn’t good company, he still offered to buy him coffee as if it was nothing.

Something warm and fuzzy spread through his chest that almost chased away the cold clinging to his skin from the rain.

Geralt’s mouth was dry and he felt awkward saying it, but just this once, he took a chance. “I could pay for your coffee next time.”

“Next time?” Jaskier perked up, eyes wide.

Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If you wanted to.”

“I’d love to.” Jaskier narrowed his eyes playfully and leaned forward on his elbows. “But maybe I should first know some things about the handsome man who just invited me out for coffee first.”

Geralt grunted, the corners of his lips twitching up. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, your name for starters,” Jaskier laughed. “And your favourite song. As much fun as it was trying to find out how long it would take you to tell me to stop, I would really like to know what to play to maybe make you smile again.”

Geralt blinked. “Geralt,” he said dumbly. A grin spread across his face. “And I would definitely smile if you played Here Comes the Sun when it stops to rain just to piss of those people in there some more.”

Jaskier let out a startled laugh that made Geralt’s stomach flip. It wasn’t often that people laughed at his jokes. His humour was too dry or just plainly not funny enough. But somehow, seeing Jaskier throw his head back laughing at something that wasn’t even that funny, Geralt wanted to make him laugh like that again.

When the rain finally stopped, Jaskier didn’t play Here Comes the Sun, but neither of them even noticed. They were too preoccupied talking about everything that came to mind. What started out as polite smalltalk had quickly turned more personal and Geralt was surprised to find out that he really wanted to get to know Jaskier better.

They talked about Jaskier’s struggle with not feeling good enough when it came to his music and Geralt’s struggles with being a single dad. It was surprisingly easy to open up to Jaskier, who didn’t laugh at him for his doubts, but told him how from the little he had seen of Ciri, she had seemed happy with Geralt.

When they finally left the café again and parted ways, Geralt promised to come by with Ciri again soon and listen to him play again.

--

A year later, they went to the very same café again, this time hand in hand. Almost as per tradition, Jaskier started signing again, though this time he hadn’t taken his guitar with him, far too eager to hold Geralt’s hand the whole time through, much to Geralt’s amusement, which only grew, when he recongnised the song.

You are my Sunshine.

Geralt knew Jaskier mainly did this to tease Geralt – teasing him with his songs was a habit Jaskier would probably never lose and secretly, Geralt loved it – but just as every other time, Geralt didn’t tell Jaskier to stop singing in irritation. No, by now, he had a far better way to get Jaskier to stop.

He leaned forward and seized Jaskier’s lips in a kiss, effectively swallowing the song.

“You were right,” Geralt said, when they pulled away again.

“I usually am.” Jaskier smirked and pressed another quick kiss against Geralt’s lips. “But pray tell, what exactly have I been right about?”

Geralt rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “We really did get lucky by getting caught in the rain.”

[cherryjuicegf]

the stars bear your name

Looking at Yennefer, Geralt turns out to have an entirely different concept of the stars than she does.

1.1k, pure fluff (ao3)

happy birthday maureen @gingerlambert!!!! 🎉 i hope you have a wonderful day, keep up being one of the most talented and kindest people i know, i wish you the best!!! ✨ here's a fluffy little gift from me 💞💞💞

The door creaked softly. Yennefer stepped outside and felt the coolness of the summer night like a wave covering her, not unpleasant, yet it made her shiver. She covered her bare arms with her hands, rubbing them and regretting she didn’t wear her cloak. Her satin nightgown was more like a caress on her body, barely enough to provide the warmth of a proper garment. She rubbed her arms again and looked around.

“Geralt?”

The witcher was sitting on the ornate chair they’d chosen, perfectly fit for their garden. He turned his head, smiled. Yennefer thought that maybe his smile was enough to drive away the cold, so heartwarming it was. And if she looked closer, she’d say it was sweet, sweeter than it had ever been, impossible as it seemed. Yet she’d learned not to doubt him, not anymore. As if she ever really did.

She approached him with slow steps, watching as the moon was reflected in his eyes, golden melting suns under the greatness of its silver light. Even those suns, even melting, they embraced her like no coat would ever manage to do. He didn’t speak. Only looked at her, as if there were no stars, hundreds of them in the sky, as if there was nothing more beautiful in this world than her. She shivered but she was not sure it was because of the cold. “Aren’t you freezing out here?”

Geralt chuckled and shook his head. “Not I. Witchers don’t freeze.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot,” she laughed with a roll of her eyes. “The well-known witcher invulnerability. Gods forbid you feel anything past that thick skin of yours.” She raised a daring eyebrow as she saw Geralt ready to object, barely holding back her smile. She put a hand on his shoulder, gentle, and nodded. “Come inside. The sheets are cold without you.”

With a sigh, Geralt lowered his look. He raised his hand to cover hers on his shoulder, her cold fingers feeling like ice inside his hand. His lips curved a small smile. “I’d say the same for the garden.” He looked at her, a glint in his eyes. “It’s warm now that you’re here.” He saw a faint blush on Yennefer’s cheeks which she struggled not to show. She wouldn’t admit it but he heard how her heart beat a bit faster when he got romantic. Life hadn’t let her admit it. Yet that life was nothing now beside his love.

He reached up and tugged at her wrist, making her circle the chair. Dancing, he thought, she was dancing around him, like a star, and he would let her for as long as the music would play. If they kept being stubborn, maybe even after the melody would stop.

The faint frown of confusion between her brows eased when he pulled her on his lap. She huffed. “I love the concept of a good idea you have,” she said but she’d be a liar if she said that the way her body fit on his didn’t feel like a blanket she could keep around her shoulders forever. She giggled and raised her feet on his lap too, snuggling inside his hug as he tightened his arms around her, resting his head on hers as she leaned on his shoulder. “You’re too huge for your own good.”

Geralt chuckled and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “Or, you’re too small for my own good.” He laughed loudly as Yennefer smacked him on the shoulder and leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. “How about now? Are you still cold?”

Yennefer looked into his eyes and smiled, maybe too widely, as if making up for all the smiles taken from her. She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not.” Then again, she leaned on his shoulder.

Hundreds of stars indeed. Yennefer was not one to look at the stars, or rather, she did look at them but not because they were beautiful. But because she wondered. Envied, even. Thousands and thousands of stars shining with a light that had died years ago, still bright, still living, thousands and thousands of stars so similar and yet so different. Still beautiful though, still having a hundred pairs of eyes staring up at them every night as if they're the most important of all, each and everyone one of them, even the same, even dead. When she was still at Aretuza, she remembered how the girls looked up at the stars, amazed by a world that had yet to be cruel to them. She thought how it would feel if someone ever looked at her that way.

Geralt was looking at her. Not the stars. Her. And she knew, gods she knew even though she'd once been too afraid to accept it, that this was the way she always wished to be looked at. As he met her eyes, amethyst violet under the dark sky, he tilted his head and smiled at her. She swallowed, almost laughed at herself. She didn't know what to do with so much love.

So instead, she smiled back.

“When we were still boys in Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said, his voice softer than velvet, “after training, we used to climb to the highest tower of the keep just to stare at the stars. Vesemir scolded us.” He chuckled, still looking at her. Yennefer huffed. He didn't know it, but he was beautiful when he laughed. “The things we'd do to look at the stars then, to be reminded that there might be more than that, more than monsters and swords and trials. We wanted... I wanted to be a hero.” His voice quivered slightly along with his lips. “I wanted more, when I looked at the stars. Now, though...” He paused for a moment, as though thinking. Then, just before he caught himself from drowning in Yennefer's eyes entirely, he leaned and pressed their lips together, gently and barely there, as if to underline his point. “Now, looking at you, I have more.”

Yennefer's heart skipped a beat. Immediately, as if wanting to hide the tears threatening to wet her eyes or because she would do it anyway, she kissed him again. Deep, and loving, and slow with a tenderness they alone could attain, they who had never known what tenderness was supposed to feel like.

They parted, just an inch, just for Geralt to look at her, to whisper on her lips. “I love you, Yen.”

She shivered but not from the cold, not this time. This time, it was the warmth. She trailed her lips like a ghost over Geralt's. “I love you too. You know that.”

Geralt chuckled. “I do, yes.”

They didn't talk like that, not usually. They both knew, whispered it with their eyes, their hands, everything they had to scream the words, to fit them in every second. Yet what place is more fitting to say them out loud, if not under the stars?

Later, when the sheets were cold no more, they slept, hidden in each other hug. Warm, as it should be.

They’d spent too long in the cold anyway.

[jaskiersvalley]

Ooo, I would love to see more of Jaskier traveling with Lambert and Adrian that sounds like it would be fun

This is probably a little different to what you had in mind (I think this ask was off the back of the fic where Geralt doesn’t compliment Jaskier and so Lambert threatens to take him away). However, this idea has been bugging me for a good week and you gave me the perfect excuse to write it <3

Another Lifetime

The pogroms were getting worse, anti-Witcher sentiments had never been higher. Somehow, the most dangerous thing on the Path was no longer the monsters and creatures, it was humans. Over the course of a few years, following Nilfgaard's victory, the number of Witchers dwindled, they started seeking each other out and Kaer Morhen, unexpectedly, became a safe haven once more.

Come spring, nobody seemed eager to leave. They were all on edge, waiting for someone else to make a move. Not even Eskel, usually so dedicated to his role in the world, made a move to get back on the Path. Vesemir wasn't urging them either which was perhaps an even more damning piece of evidence.

"We can't just keep hiding up here," Lambert raged. "The fuckers are only going to come again."

It was the sad truth, the world wasn't safe for Witchers, not even when they retreated from the world to try and carve out their own little corner to exist in. They were running out of options, it was no longer a question of enjoying life, it was a fight for survival and the right to live.

"There may be a solution," Yennefer offered. It wasn't an option she gave lightly or even wanted to try but it was looking like the only possible way out. "The world isn't equipped to deal with Witchers. So we take you out the equation. Leave it maybe 200 years before you come back."

Time travel wasn't a possibility, they all knew that and Lambert was about to scoff when Jaskier piped up.

"That kind of magic hasn't been done in a long time. What you propose, you'll need Fae help with it."

"Just as well your heritage is enough."

The plan was hatched, it if could be called a plan. A sleeping draught to keep the Witchers in stasis until the world was ready for them again, Witchers nothing but a myth of the past and they would be free to live as they pleased. Given his Fae blood, Jaskier wouldn't need to be put to sleep, he, Yennefer and a few other sorceresses would become the sleeping Witcher's guardians. They put word out, the last few stragglers arrived at Kaer Morhen. There weren't many of them left, the four Wolves, a handful of Vipers led by Letho, a few Cats and the last Griffin. Plus Ciri who was seen to be as good as a Witcher by most, and Cahir who left Nilfgaard, risking his life for love.

Potion brewed, one last night together in the halls of Kaer Morhen before it became silent again, the guardian of sleeping Witchers and friends. One by one they drank the potion, snuggled up with their loved ones and trusted the promise that they'd wake to a better world. That the sorceresses could shape the future in a way that there was a place in the world for them.

First to wake was Lambert. It took a little while to rouse, and when he did, he frowned. The room wasn't in Kaer Morhen, he wasn't in the embrace of his lovers. Stumbling out, he found himself in a little cottage in the middle of some woods. There was not a soul in the area for miles. It took him a few days of trekking until he got to the edge of civilisation and what a sight that was. Houses like he'd never seen before, lights without fires, carriages without horses. It was bewildering, terrifying. And he was all alone. People gave him a wide berth when he tried to ask where he was, nobody seemed to care but also didn't want to help. So maybe not so much had changed in the 200 years or however long it was.

Music caught his attention. It wasn't like any he'd heard before but the voice was familiar. It was Jaskier. How he ended up in a small box was beyond Lambert but at least the owner of the tavern took some pity on him and sent him on his way with some knowledge. Jaskier lived somewhere in Redania still and, if Lambert's suspicions were right, he would be in Lettenhove still.

Thankfully he was right. The mansion had changed a lot over the years but it was still just as gaudy as ever. What hadn't changed was the welcome he got, Jaskier throwing himself at Lambert in a hug.

"We lost track of you. Welcome home!"

It turned out, Kaer Morhen was going to be destroyed. The locals had had enough of being so close to Witchers and had planned to raid it. Thankfully Triss had caught wind of it before it could happen and the sorceresses had decided that the safest thing would be to disperse and hide their sleeping charges. Except, 200 years was a long time and, after so many moves and helpers taking on the role of guardians, they accidentally lost track of who was where.

On the plus side, they were all in positions of power. Not forefront public figures but the important ones in the background who actually made things happen. Yennefer had quite the hold on the local political landscape, Triss was the one who held sway over education, Tissaia had the criminal underworld in a tight grip while Sabrina made a move into law making. It was quite the tidy setup because Lambert found himself with all the right paperwork and even qualifications within a matter of days to start his new life. Except, he didn't want a new life, not without his family. So he pestered Jaskier to write songs that, if heard, would lead the others back home too. Something about roads taking someone home to the place they belonged. Anything to get the family back together.

Aiden was next, still yawning as he stumbled in, having only been on the other side of town, in a badly sealed off cellar. He'd quiet terrified the family who lived there, knocking down their wall and strolling out while looking like some re-enactment enthusiast or general all round odd person. His reunion with Lambert was somewhat bittersweet, the two of them were together but they were still missing half of their partners. Eskel and Cahir were nowhere in reach.

One by one, over the course of the next ten years, Witchers returned home. They were all given the same warm welcome and helped to settle into life. Geralt and Jaskier were inseparable, married as soon as they could organise a wedding. Letho and his merry gang dispersed into the wind as soon as they could, eager to live a life without constraint. Rumour had it, Letho became Tissaia's righthand man and excelled at the job.

With Eskel's return, Lambert's heart healed a little more. All the Witchers turned up. About a hundred years later Ciri arrived too. Only Cahir was missing. They searched for him to no avail. Their hopes and memories dwindled. In a way, Lambert was glad he was struggling to remember his partner's scent, it made waking up without it in their bed just a little easier.

Technology moved on, the Continent was becoming better connected. While Aiden took to it better than duck to water, Lambert found himself preferring to stick to more manual work. His little mechanics shop had become quite the trusted hub. Eskel helped out from time to time but he ended up running some kind of website for cryptid hunters - something about it being part of his research. Of the three of them, Eskel was the one who couldn't give up on Cahir. Ever after hundreds of years, he kept his flame of hope alive.

When Eskel went missing with just a note to say he'll be back, Lambert did panic. It took Aiden pointing out Eskel's website updates to think that maybe things were okay. The only thing Lambert had to hope was that Eskel hadn't dashed out on a fool's errand. The article on the computer was one that could mean anything.

The Slumbering God Stirs

It was a piece about some strange sect that worshipped a sleeping god who would bring either destruction or divine blessings upon waking. And it seemed that he was going to wake up soon, whatever that meant. Lambert didn't want to think about how people assessed when a god was about to wake. In his life, there were no gods, only men who were scared or without purpose, desperate to find meaning to their existence.

Four days later, the familiar sound of Eskel's truck pulling up in front of the house. Lambert and Aiden were falling over themselves, wanting to figure out just what their partner had gone and done. They didn't expect a smug look as Eskel sauntered closer to them.

"I brought you something." He jabbed his fingers towards the truck, where the passenger seat was out of view from where it had been pushed to lie down.

Curious, Lambert and Aiden walked closer, peering in through the window. While Lambert froze at the sight, Aiden squealed, pressing up against the window.

"You found him! You found him!"

The door of the truck was almost ripped off in excitement as Lambert yanked it open, leaning in over the sleeping figure.

"Ciri took a hundred years to wake, she's got Chaos in her. Cahir is just a plain old human. You remember how difficult it was to wake up for us after the potion. It will probably take him a few days."

A pair of sleepy eyes blinked up at Lambert, accompanied by a lazy smile. With shaking hands, he lifted Cahir out of the truck, tucking him close against his chest. Eyes burning, Lambert, looked between his partners.

"He's slept for near 500 years. A few more days won't hurt. But we can give him what we didn't have. He can wake up in the arms of his family, knowing that it's all going to be okay."