#in Geralt’s shoes

[rosemarycorpse]

this is one of the dumbest things i’ve ever drawn, but in my defence in was done in the middle of class.

[spielzeugkaiser]

Lovechild AU idea: I would like to suggest adding Vespula and Radovid into the found family mix! Vespula has the aunt vibe of "I could never be mad at you sweetie, have a cookie, anyway, whAT THE FUCK JASKIER." (I know Yen probably has that role but the kid is allowed to have cool aunts) and Radovid probably bonded with him while he and Jaskier were dating, like out of all the people his dad dated, he's the stepparent he liked the most. Anyway, I'm just hashing out ideas bc I love those two and want to see our sweet baby boy interact with them!

[MASTERPOST] Oh gosh...

The thing is, I DON'T TRUST RADOVID AT ALL. not yet at least. So if he exists in this AU... they're not having a good time.

[mensuited]

[queercodedlunatic]

If you wonder why I wrote Geralt having a thing for leather-boots, consider this comment in Witcher 3 when Geralt is about to get laid:

In fact I'm surprised not many have been inspired by this before... as far as I know.

(Also, Yennefer's aesthetic is optimal for someone with a shoe- and leather-fetish. It just makes sense, you know.)

[finleycannotdraw]

doodle while chatting w some lovely people

dandelion looks like a watermelon and you know what. it’s fine

[notyetneedcoffee]

Stretch

Kinktober - Size Kink NSFW - Adults Only

Summary - The Witcher is just so big.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” You smiled up at the Witcher. “Particularly tonight.”

“Hmm.” He rumbled, though you noted his golden eyes kept darting down to you.

Standing close to him and wearing stays that held your breasts high, gave him a particularly enticing view. You knew how to take advantage of your small stature when it came to men. This man, however, was always a challenge.

People milled around the hall dressed in their finest. A large fire blazed in the hearth and musicians played. No one danced. This gathering was not that kind of celebration.

Some people considered the Trades Celebration archaic. The villages in these mountains, being isolated and small, would gather once every ten years. Some of the men and women would bed others from other villages to diversify the bloodlines of each isolated area. As the main objective of the celebration was pregnancy, a famously sterile Witcher seemed decidedly out of place.

“I could say the same for you.” Geralt finally said. “I would not have expected you to be anxious to become a mother.”

“I’m not.” You leaned a little closer to him to speak conspiratorially. “But there are great business contacts to be made here.”

He nodded. You were a herbologist. He often sought you out for rare and valuable ingredients.

“What brought you here?”

“Bruxa.” Geralt frowned. “After I cleared them out, I was offered a place to stay for a time and asked to attend tonight by Marthox.”

You grinned, glancing at the rich village elder and his four daughters. “Do you think he’s ignorant to the fact that you are unable to pass on your magnificent genes?”

“Probably.” He took a long drink from his glass.

“Do you plan to deflower one – or all – of his willing daughters anyway?”

“No.” He leaned down to your ear. The top of your head only came to his shoulder. “I’m more interested in something a little more feisty.”

“Then why are we wasting time here?” You grinned.

Geralt just turned and marched out of the hall. You had to jog to keep up with him. As soon as you turned the corner into a dark hallway, the Witcher paused. He swept you up and tossed you over one shoulder.

You swallowed a squeak, grabbing the back of his jacket out of fear of the height. “Geralt!”

“You were moving too slow.” He chuckled.

His room boasted its own large fireplace, stone bathing tub, and soft bed. You bounced in the middle of the mattress when he tossed you down. Geralt grabbed your foot to unlace your shoes. Laying there, looking at your foot in his large hands, feeling his strong fingers rub into the arch of your foot, lit the fire in your belly.

Geralt placed a knee on the bed and leaned over you. His white hair fell forward and you could smell the mead upon his breath. “It’s good to see you, little one.”

You touched his face, running your fingers over his high cheek bones and strong jaw. When you skimmed the soft skin of his lips, he lowered his head and kissed you. Your tongue eagerly reached for his as the kiss grew rough.

Geralt broke away with a satisfied noise. He gathered your skirts in his hands, lifting them to your waist. Your legs instinctively fell open for him as his rough hands slid along your thighs. As his thick finger teased your opening, rubbed around your clitoris, awakening your arousal, you laid your head back and studied his looming form.

You adored the time spent with the Witcher in bed. You felt tiny, delicate, and feminine under his touch. He exuded power. His strength could take your breath away, but you never feared he would hurt you. His wide chest engulfed you. His thick thighs pushed your legs so far apart.

Geralt’s head lowered between your legs, tasting your sex, licking and sucking at your clit. Fire circled through your body. You needed more. Pulling at the laces of your bodice, you desperately fought to free yourself from your clothes. Geralt manhandled you around, tugging at skirts and throwing away underclothes. Once naked, he again buried his face in your cunt with a determined growl.

You pulled at his white hair, shaking as his grumble vibrated through your clitoris. Two thick fingers slipped through your wetness, spreading your slick, pumping against sensitive flesh, and stretching you. Deep moans poured from your mouth as your hips rocked into his face.

Geralt rose to his knees, rubbing at your clit and fingers pumping wetly in your cunt. Your back arched as the coiling tension threatened to snap. The corner of his lip curled up. His gravel deep voice poured over you like warm honey. “That’s it, little one. Come all over my hand and I’ll stretch this pretty little pussy over my cock.”

You shook, cunt clenching at his fingers, wetness flooding over his hands.

As you lay there feeling your thighs quiver, Geralt stripped off his clothes. He did so with efficiency and no attempt at seduction, still the flex of his muscles and sight of his hard flesh caused the fire to flared hotter.

Geralt crawl over the top of you, mouth covering your breast and sucking your nipple to a hard peak. His kisses trailed up your neck, teeth grazing your skin. Kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, he pushed your legs further apart with his knees.

You felt the wide head of his cock rub along your entrance. With immense control, he pushed in. The stretch bordered on pain, but under assault of his kiss, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, your body rocked up against him to invite him deeper. Rocking slowly, each thrust pushing him further, filling you. Heat burned down your chest to settle between your legs.

He sat back on his heels, pulling your body along with him. You cried out at the change of angle, his cock hitting just the right spot. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Memorized you watched Geralt allow a drop of spittle to fall up on your clit. His thumb circled and stroked as he fucked into you harder.  

You moaned, back arching and hands clutching at the sheets.

“Fuck,” He growled. “Fuck, yes.”

You shook in his grip.

“Mmm.” Geralt’s hips moved faster, harder. “Again. Fuck. Come again.”

You squeezed your own tits. Geralt moaned. Your thighs quivered. You panted, breath escaping with each thrust. “Oh, gods!”

His fingers dug into your hips. He lifted your pelvis to meet each powerful thrust. Fucking you hard. You felt like you were being blissfully split into two. He growled. “I said fucking come for me.”

“Yes!” You snapped, shaking hard, whiting out.

Faster, rougher, and soon Geralt roared his own release.

He flopped back on the bed, pulling you along with him. You lay spread across his chest, a sated and boneless mass. No part of you touched the bed. You floated on a warm island of Geralt muscle. You rubbed your nose into the hair on his chest, breathing in his scent.

“Hmmm.” He sighed, one big hand coming up to rest on your ass. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You mumbled with a smile. “But I can’t feel my feet.”

“I’ll carry you if I need to.” The smile could be heard in his voice. “Cause I’m not through with you yet, little one.”

Want more? Check out my Master List.

[sparkliest-bard-bracket]

✨Round 5: Match 3✨

Jaskier/Dandelion Propaganda:

you know the answer

He sings, he's overly dramatic and he's fruity af

literally a bard and 💅

Jaskier says he was made to make music, to put himself in others' shoes to write epic tales of what it feels to live and love. He is an extravagant diva with fabulous dress sense, a sunshine personality and plenty of wit. His love of the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, and his "lovely bottom" is enough to make Jaskier go down in history.

Everything about him, his songs, his voice, his jokes, his rings and necklaces, clothes, his mere presence!!!!!

he travels around and plays the lute and fucks everyone that looks at him and wears outrageous outfits

canonically bi! <3

More propaganda!

[batbusiness-schooldropout]

As we all know, craftsmen and specialists tend to be very superstitious. (If you don't believe, tell an ER nurse that business seems to be sl*w)

Geralt has a couple of superstitions. He believes that the best materials for his armor and weapons are the ones that have already been used for that purpose. And that if he has something from the people he cares about, he'll see them again (and vice-versa)

His brothers know about this and tease him about it (as is the way of all siblings), but they give him pieces of worn armor to rewrap his sword handle and the like.

Yen thinks the habit is silly but ultimately harmless and lets him pick something of hers to reuse more often than not.

Ciri is elated when he gives her a quilt made out of old shirts from their friends and family or turns her old shoes into gear for Roach.

Now Geralt knows that if he asked, Jaskier would give him any of his old stuff. He knows if he explained why, Jaskier would throw practically anything he ever used at him.

But the confused looks when he can't find something are part of the fun

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 70

Jaskier is the worst roommate Geralt could ever ask for. He comes home at odd hours of the night, constantly makes noise and chatter, and he brings home random strangers almost every damn night. It'll be three in the morning when Jaskier stumbles in, drunk off his ass, heeled shoes loudly clicking against their floor as he meanders about, squinting and knocking things over. At least he has the decency to mumble "Sorry" every time he breaks something, but is he apologizing to Geralt, or apologizing to the damn mop? He talks to himself, he sings to himself, he sings as a hobby, he sings as a job, he plays his lute/guitar loudly all throughout the day and night, he even talks in his damn sleep. Constant humming, singing, talking, muttering, whispering. Hookups and flings and fuckbuddies galore, both women and men. Not that Geralt cares, it was just something he observed. They'd steal his food, or use up the shower when Geralt was meant to be getting ready for work, or they'd leave and keep the door unlocked. The worst was when Jaskier's bachelor of the night mistook Geralt's bedroom for Jaskier's bedroom and very happily cozied up and went to sleep in Geralt's bed. Naked. Geralt didn't even care if he was high, drunk, or just dumb, he threw him out all the same. When Geralt's girlfriend, Yennefer, breaks up with him, he is comforted by Jaskier of all people. Coming home tipsy and without a shirt, and yet still sitting down next to Geralt and giving him a thoughtful, long, deep pep-talk. Maybe he isn't all bad, after all. Geralt is the worst roommate Jaskier could ever ask for. Don't get Jaskier wrong, Geralt is unbelievably easy on the eyes, but that's pretty much all he has. Geralt always looms silently in the dark, offers brutal remarks at best and grunts at worst, and for some reason always has a little blood on him. It'll be three in the morning when Jaskier stumbles in, drunk off his ass, and Geralt will just walk out of the shadows with an insanely deep "Did you remember to lock the door?", scaring the bleeding daylights out of him! He walks quieter than a damn cat! He should wear a bell like one! Fuck's sakes! Geralt's ~lovely~ comments are always harsh but sadly never truly unprompted. Jaskier will get stuck on a line and ask aloud for help, momentarily forgetting his only recent company has been Geralt, and Geralt will sometimes oblige him with an answer, such as "Can you shut up for five minutes?" "It's too late for this shit." "I hate it." So on and so forth. Jaskier learns to stop asking... Mostly. Jaskier went to shave one time, and found blood in the sink. He looked over at Geralt and asked him if he had cut himself shaving. Geralt said no. Jaskier REASONABLY asked why there had been blood in the sink, and got the answer "Work." WORK?????? "And your job is what?! BLEEDING INTO SINKS!?" and yet Geralt was already walking out the door. But then one night he comes home, to find Geralt waiting for him - Silently, alone in the dark, just sat there. Like always. Weirdo. - demanding his half of the rent. Fuck. Fuck, Jaskier completely forgot- Jaskier starts panicking. He explains how he doesn't have the money, that some of his latest gigs have backed out on him or refused him pay for bullshit reasons and he didn't earn as much as he expected to, and begs to not be kicked out. He's surprised when Geralt calms him down from his spiral, and tells him to take a deep breath and wash away his tears - Shit, when did he start crying? - He comes back and Geralt sits him down and explains he'll cover the entire rent this month, his work had gone extra well recently. He knows what it's like for people to pull out pay or suddenly ignore your deal, and won't hold it against Jaskier, but expects him to be able to pay next time. Jaskier is so overjoyed he hugs Geralt. And Geralt lets him. Maybe he isn't all bad, after all.

[inexplicifics]

Cozy prompts- cuddles after a bad day, for Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer? I’m thinking Invictus-verse, but whatever you feel like!

Yennefer comes in the front door as quietly as she can, toeing off her shoes and setting them down with painful precision on the rack, hanging her purse on its designated hook and putting her keys into the bowl so gently that they don’t even clink.

She moves like a ghost into the house, slipping past the kitchen where Vesemir and Mignole are bickering cheerfully, up the stairs and down the hall, all without making a sound.

If she makes a sound, Ciri will hear it, and as much as she loves her daughter, right now Yennefer doesn’t think she can cope with the bright eagerness of Ciri’s enthusiasm.

She almost groans aloud when she opens the bedroom door to find Jaskier putting away clothes, humming to himself as he works. Gods, she isn’t sure she can cope with Jaskier, either. Geralt, maybe - he’s good at being quiet - but Jaskier is light and color and movement and sound.

He’s also one of the most empathetic people she’s ever met, under all the seemingly feckless behavior, insightful and observant and capable of keeping secrets utterly private. Which is why their odd three-cornered relationship actually works - because he can read her and Geralt like books, and know exactly what they need.

He turns before she can close the door again, and when he sees her he stops humming. “Oh, Yen,” he says, softly enough that she can barely hear it. “Bad day?”

Yennefer nods.

“C’mere,” Jaskier says gently, opening his arms.

Yennefer forgets, sometimes, that Jaskier is actually almost as tall and broad as Geralt is. He dresses to look like a fucking twink, and he’s good at it. But when she stumbles into his arms, he catches her without any trouble, and wraps her up in a hug so tight and warm she wants to live in it.

“Bad day?” Jaskier murmurs.

“Lost the fucking case,” Yennefer mumbles, muffled against his chest. She knew she was likely to lose - her client did not give her a lot to work with - but she hates losing, and she hates it more when she’s pretty damn sure that it’s going to have nasty consequences for the children in the divorcing household.

“Aw, love,” Jaskier says, and then thank fuck doesn’t add any stupid platitudes, just holds her tight and rocks them back and forth, humming a slow sweet tune deep in his chest.

Yennefer feels herself relaxing inch by inch, slumping against Jaskier and letting him take her weight.

“Let’s get you into a hot shower, love,” Jaskier says at last. Yennefer mumbles something that’s meant to be affirmative. Jaskier steers her step by careful step into the bedroom and undresses her with gentle hands, then turns the shower on as hot as it will go, just the way she prefers it. She steps into the spray with a grateful sigh.

When she finally emerges, feeling drained but also as though the hot water has washed much of her misery away, Geralt and Jaskier are both waiting for her on the bed, wearing soft pajama pants and nothing else. “Ciri’s with Da and Stepmum for the night,” Geralt rumbles, and beckons Yennefer into the middle. Both of them curl around her as she settles down between them. One of Geralt’s rough hands strokes over her hair; Jaskier tucks his head against her shoulder and starts humming again.

Neither of them asks any questions, or demands anything of her, or makes any noise louder than Jaskier’s humming.

Yennefer closes her eyes and lets herself be held.

(Or HERE on AO3!)

[valdomarx]

"Does the witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

Jaskier flashes an enigmatic grin, as if such concerns are immaterial to a famous, Continent-trotting bard.

But Radovid looks back at him earnestly, like it's a question that's supposed to have an answer.

-

"Never have I ever seen you have a crush." Vespula laughs, bright and teasing. "Except for the obvious one."

Jaskier pretends he has no idea who she's talking about.

"My dearest lady, my heart is a wild beast, roaming free, and it could not possibly be constrained by such a petty tie as a crush."

She purses her lips and says again, "Except for the obvious one."

-

"Pankratz."

"Witch."

Yennefer doesn't smile, but her eyes soften a fraction into an expression that could almost -- almost -- be called fond.

"Still traipsing around after Geralt, I see."

"Excuse me, I do not traipse! I frolic."

She snorts with amusement at that. Then a crinkle forms between her brows, like she's looking straight through him. "He is trying, you know. Trying to be better. More reciprocal."

Jaskier deflates. "I know he is."

-

"So he hunted monsters for twenty years." Ciri raises an eyebrow at him. "And you followed him around singing songs about it."

"Yeeeees." Jaskier waits for the other shoe to drop.

But Ciri just nods, far too perceptive for her young age. "I see."

-

"I do appreciate it, Jask." Geralt's hand on his shoulder is warm and so, so heavy. "I know this life can't be easy for you."

Geralt's eyes are sincere and his lips curl in the smallest suggestion of a smile, and Jaskier is gone, gone, gone.

Jaskier shrugs it off with a laugh. "Oh, I'm tougher than I look. A few ravenous monsters and sleepless nights aren't enough to put me off."

Geralt tilts his head.

Jaskier's mouth can't stop moving. "You should know by now, you're stuck with me."

"Hmm." The suggestion of a smile blooms into something undeniable. "Guess I am."

[fingons-rad-harp]

death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak (and onions)

[Read on AO3]

It had been three weeks, and the kid still hadn’t stopped following Geralt.

He chattered incessantly, significantly limited the amount of distance Geralt could cover in a day, constantly smelled of lust, and put his possessions in Geralt’s saddlebags without regard to which things belonged to whom.

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t just left the bard behind, but something stopped him every time he nearly rode off alone.

It was exhausting, having to act human all the time. He had to space out his meals, eating smaller portions more frequently instead of devouring an entire deer in one go and then not worrying about food for a few days. He was careful not to show his fangs, careful to make sure his grunts didn’t become growls, careful to always have White Honey on hand so the bard never saw him toxic. He wasn’t always successful in hiding his more animalistic traits, but somehow it hadn’t scared the boy off yet.

And for some fucking reason, Geralt didn’t want to scare him off. Even though he did, because at least then it would be over and done with and Geralt could go back to his solitary life on the Path and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Forget all about the colorful bard with his stupid soft hands and pretty words and utter fearlessness. Clearly, he was too much of an idiot to realize how dangerous Geralt was.

Geralt had tried exactly once to intimidate him. The bard wouldn’t leave the fuck alone and kept insisting on accompanying Geralt on his hunt—forktails, most likely a mated pair, possibly with eggs. Geralt had crowded into his space and glared, the kind of glare that made aldermen piss themselves in fear. The bard’s heart rate had skyrocketed, and for a split second Geralt had thought that was it.

Then, of course, he’d registered the thick smell of lust, the way the bard’s eyelids fluttered and his lips parted in anticipation.

It had been… tempting. Usually, even people that wanted to bed him held some undercurrent of fear. But Geralt would bet his swords that the kid hadn’t yet reached his twentieth year, and he wasn’t that sort of cad.

He sat by the fire now, going through his nightly routine of checking his armor and weapons for damage, cleaning, oiling, and sharpening as needed. Jaskier lay sprawled on his bedroll on the other side of the camp, writing in his notebook and muttering to himself, counting syllables on his fingers and cursing intermittently. 

The noise used to bother him. He wasn’t quite sure when it had turned into just… background noise, the same as trees rustling or birdsong.

Jaskier ambled over to their bags (Geralt’s bags, he couldn’t start thinking of them as theirs, no matter how Jaskier treated it that way) and rummaged through them, humming a wordless tune under his breath.

“Geralt…” the bard began, and he sounded so genuinely baffled that Geralt looked over at him instead of just grunting in acknowledgement. “Why do you have so many onions?”

Geralt shrugged. They’d been part of his payment for a contract a while ago. He’d traded some of them for a coil of rope in the last village they were in.

“Seriously,” Jaskier continued, “there’s like twenty of them.”

“They last a long time before going bad,” Geralt said in explanation. He held out a hand in a silent request for one, biting into it when Jaskier handed it to him.

The bard made a soft noise of horror. “You absolutely disgust me, Witcher.”

Even said in jest, the words made Geralt’s shoulders tense. He forced himself to relax and took another bite of the onion. Jaskier shuddered and pretended to gag.

“Yesterday you saw me eat a rabbit whole—bones, fur, and all,” Geralt pointed out. “This is where you draw the line?”

“It absolutely fucking is,” Jaskier said. “Yesterday you had just come back from a hunt and were hungry, injured, and exhausted. There is absolutely no excuse for, for—for chomping into a raw onion as if it were an apple!”

Geralt gave him a flat look. “You done?”

The expression on his bard’s face was answer enough. “Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Geralt ate two more onions like that as he listened to the outraged ranting, just to wind Jaskier up a bit.

Having a traveling companion wasn’t all bad, he thought. Even if it was deeply, deeply strange.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Harvest

Kinktober - Food Kink NSFW - Adults Only

Summary: You take a tray of Harvest treats to the Witcher

You brought the heavy tray to the room outside the inn, the one by the stables. Usually, only groups or families with small children stayed in the large room. The owner didn’t like too much disruption in the main house. He was convinced the Witcher was trouble, so he got the stable room.

Knocking with your elbow, you waited.

The big man opened the door with a scowl. He was still wet from a bath, wearing only a loose pair of cotton pants. His eyes swept over the variety of foods on the big tray and his expression relaxed.

“I didn’t order anything.” His voice was deep and rough.

“I know. These are from the Harvest Festival. No one will miss them, and I figured you’d be hungry. Can I put this down? It’s heavy.”

He stepped aside. You put the tray on the big table, taking a dark purple grape for yourself. “You look like you made it out in one piece.”

“Hmm.” He picked up the tankard of ale and drank. With a sigh, he thanked you. “Are you going to help me eat this, or are you going back to the festivities?”

“Geralt of Rivia wants company?” You teased.

“Select company.” He gave a half smile.

Settling into the chair, Geralt pulled at your hand until you sat upon his lap. “So what do you recommend?”

On the tray was a selection of food from the village. Wedges of cheeses were piled high. A bowl held fresh grapes. Another had figs dripping with wildflower honey. A selection of savory pies were filled with venison or ham. Small cakes were decorated with dense creams in fancy designs.

“These are fresh.” You took part of a sticky fig in your fingers, holding it up. He bit into it, taking half. You popped the other half in your mouth. When Geralt captured your hand and brought your fingers to his mouth, you hummed in delight.

Geralt pick up another, holding it to your lips. You ate, staring into his golden eyes. When you licked and sucked his fingers clean, you felt him harden beneath you. His mouth covered yours, tongue battling yours. His large hand cupped the back of your head as he drank from sweetness your mouth.

His hands pulled at the laces of your bodice, releasing your dress. It slipped off your shoulders to expose your breasts. Geralt dipped his fingers into the cream from one of the cakes and painted your nipples until they were tight and hard.

Geralt pulled you higher, taking your flesh in his mouth to suck off the sweet cream. He hummed in satisfaction. You instinctively tugged at his white hair, not to pull him away, but to hold him tighter. He suddenly stood, laying you out on the table beside the tray.

He tugged your dress off as you kicked off your shoes with a giggle. You reached for him, but Geralt captured your hands in his.

“No. I’m hungry. Lay back.”

You followed his orders, excitement tickling your stomach. Geralt picked up a cake with white cream and jam. Tasting a bit on his pinky finger first, his brow arched. Using two fingers, he drew sticky lines over your stomach and along your inner thighs.

A moan escaped your throat as he licked the sweetness from your skin. His fingers dug into your hips. As his head got closer to your core, he held your legs firm to keep you from squirming. As his mouth covered your sex, you gripped his hair. His tongue was talented.

Your thighs tightened around his head as the fire spread. His deep growl reverberated through your sensitive flesh, sending shivers throughout your body. Geralt sucked on your clit, humming deep. You shook, torn between pulling away and demanding more. He did not relent. He relished in his task, devouring you. He knew every mewl and moan, drawing you closer to the edge. The coil snapped, you pulled at his hair and clawed at the table, coming apart.

Geralt tugged your limp body forward, burying his cock deep. Your back arched as he set a fast and powerful pace. Your hand hit the tray of food in your flaying. Rich, sticky honey covered your fingers. Smearing the sweetness over your breasts, you then licked your finger before holding it out for him. Geralt’s mouth licked and sucked at your hand.

He bent forward, sucking and biting at your tits. The sounds he made grew more demanding. His pounded into you harder, making the table creak. “Yes!” You cried. “Fuck me hard!”

Messy and feral, Geralt took your hips in a bruising grip. His pace increased. Groans and curses fell from his lips. You gave over to the feeling, panting, aching, shaking.

“Fuck,” He groaned. “Fuck, going to… fuck.” He roared, burying himself deep, coming hard and pulling you along with him.

Dazed and sated, you giggled at the matting of hair and honey on his chest. “Looks like someone needs another bath.”

“Hmmm.” He gave you a rare smile. “At least this time I won’t be alone.”

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[cornyonmains]

I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about season 3 of The Witcher, but one thing is for certain, I'm loving Jaskier's progression as a character.

I think it goes without saying that a huge turning point for Jaskier was his falling out with Geralt on the mountain in season 1. As I read his character at that point, he was quite in love with Geralt, and very much suffering from the belief that he wasn't enough for Geralt in any sense of the word, not as a lover, a friend, or a traveling partner. You see this insecurity ramp up throughout the entirety of the season 1 finale, and to think Geralt hadn't noticed that was lunacy. He did, which was part of the problem. Geralt needed to lash out, he needed someone to lash out at, and there Jaskier was, already wounded, the easiest of targets, and Geralt goes full savanna apex predator on his ass. Then he left him, on a mountain, that he knew Jaskier didn't know how to traverse safely. He said fuck off, and also die.

Jaskier could have crumbled, and for awhile, he probably did. But this led to a key moment of character development, because it caused Jaskier to take himself out of Geralt's shoes and get back into his own. To introspect. And Jaskier realized that he was enough, that he'd done a lot for Geralt, and that Geralt's refusal to embrace his own humanity while still wanting Jaskier as a friend resulted in him becoming an emotional punching bag. And Jaskier, rightfully pissed off after reaching these conclusions, channeled that anger into the post-break-up banger of the century, Burn Witcher Burn. But at the core of what ultimately makes Jaskier one of the most sympathetic and relatable characters in this show, is that he didn't do it so much as he was angry, but because he wanted Geralt to hear it. Because his songs are how he expresses what can't be spoken. The tragedy of Jaskier's character is that he was always going to forgive Geralt. That he was always going to drop what he was doing to trail this man with an affection even Yennefer doesn't easily mock, because it would be entirely too cruel. He wrote that song so Geralt would come and say he was sorry and Jaskier could go back to settling for scraps of his time.

So then we come to season 3, and enter Radovid. Enter the first person Jaskier's met in 30 long years that intrigues him as much as Geralt, and he's absolutely taken off his guard by that sentiment being returned after he's spent over half his life accepting something like that could never happen for him. He's 50 years old. Jaskier has accepted his fate of endless pining at this point. So when Radovid asks him to sing a song about his white-haired witcher, Jaskier slips up. He reveals too much, and it gives Radovid the chance to say exactly what Jaskier needed to hear.

"Does the witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

I imagine it's rare for Jaskier, who spends his life finding the right words for others, that someone would find the right words for him. It's little wonder he was so immediately fascinated by Radovid, and so immediately heartbroken.

For 3 seasons and multiple decades, we see Jaskier's entire character formed by the hurt he endures being part of Geralt, Yennefer, and Cirri's life. And despite all that hurt, all the rejection, the betrayal, the torture, harassment, manipulations, and political intrigue we see Jaskier progressively becoming a better and better person. He helps Geralt, Yennefer, he helps the elves as the Sandpiper, and watches Cirri without a word of complaint. He throws himself into any dangerous situation asked of him, and helps Yarpen's men. He doesn't let the pain make him bitter. He still thinks love is beautiful, even when it hurts. He drinks, he fucks, he makes merry. He writes sad songs about Geralt.

Jaskier's development, his portrayal as a character, has been a true highlight of this series.

I sometimes think the djinn, in some cruel last jab at Jaskier and Yenn, used them both in Geralt's wish as a form of punishment. For Jaskier, his punishment for wanting so much, so quickly, was to spend his life wanting the one thing he couldn't have. That thing being Geralt, because to punish Yen, who so badly wanted control of her own destiny, he tied it to Geralt's. It's like a magical ouroboros of misery. And for Geralt, who tried to put a stop to the madness, the djinn rewarded him with the thing he wanted most. A family. A wife, a daughter, and a best friend who would never leave. It's some dark and complicated shit, and I think it rings true to the tone of the story itself.

Never has any character in this history of everything deserved to bone a hot Redanian prince more.

[imagineredwood]

hiii can u do HC for Miguel dealing with a bratty reader when he's just trying to work?

Wasn't sure if you wanted this to be SFW or NSFW so I did two 💗 They can be read separately or read consecutively if you want to read the NSFW one as well. The NSFW one could be read as like a part 2 of the first

SFW

He had told you to hang on

That as soon as he was finished signing these documents, you would have his undivided attention

But that hadn't worked for you

You had missed him all-day

All alone in the big mansion by yourself

Now he was finally home

And ignoring you :(

He'd been sympathetic at first

Telling you that he was sorry and he would make it up to you

But you had decided that being a brat would get you what you wanted

And that was exactly what you had done

Barging into his office to offer him a bite of your yogurt

He'd taken the spoonful you had offered him and then sent you out

Thinking that'd be the end

Foolishly

You'd returned merely 4 minutes later, asking him which shoes he thought you should order

He'd picked the cream ones and sent you on your way again

And once again you'd returned, asking him to peel and orange for you

And he'd told you to leave again

Yet here you were, once more, sitting on the side of his desk, eyes burning holes into him as you waited for him to acknowledge you

NSFW

He told you to wait

That he was busy with this paperwork and that as soon as he was done, he would give you attention

That if you were good, and patient, he would make it worth the wait

Yet here you were

Perched atop his desk

Legs swinging

Your bare foot coming up higher to press at his thigh sometimes

Pressing at his crotch others

Your hands resting on the desk on either side of you

Your pussy bare and begging for attention from under your skirt

He wasn't sure if you had discarded your panties somewhere along the way

Or if you had entered his office with them already gone

But he was ignoring you, or trying his best anyway

Eyes stuck on the papers in front of him

Ignoring you and your pouty mouth and lonely pussy

Ignoring the sporadic whines of "Miguelllllll" that left your mouth every few seconds

He remained stoic

Not wanting to encourage your brattiness

But you weren't giving up so easily

Hopping off his desk with a huff and then coming to stand beside him

Hand on his shoulder playing with the collar of his shirt

Nail 'accidentally' scratching lightly at the side of his neck with a falsly innocent "oops"

Your knee pushed and prodded against his, your voice whiny as you spoke

"Let me sit in your lap at least. I won't bother you. I swear."

That was bullshit

And you both knew it

But Miguel was going to make you regret pushing him

So he sat back slightly and let you climb into his lap, chuckling as he watched you settle into his chest, thinking you had won

His hand reached into the drawer to his right and fished out the vibrator

Your back straightening as you heard it switch on

He was nestling it between the two of you then, pressing it firmly against your bare cunt

Sucking his teeth at you as you whined

"You wanted to be a little fucking brat and get attention right? Now you have it. So you're going to shut up and sit there until I'm done."

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[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 125

In place of August Thirteenth, Promptapalooza 6/

Geralt has a contract but won't tell Jaskier anything about it. Nothing. "Geralt, come on! Is it big? Is it small? Does it have fangs? Is it venomous?" "Jaskier, just stop asking." "But how am I meant to be safe enough to gather inspiration if you won't even tell me what to look out for?" "Because you'll be staying here. Away from the hunt." "Wh- What?" It's been years since Geralt refused Jaskier's involvement in a hunt. "It's too dangerous." Jaskier stares at him a moment before just sighing and nodding. "You'd think he'd tell you of the dangers if he didn't want you to go for your own safety." Jaskier thinks, though it doesn't sound like his own voice. "Can't you tell me something about the creature if I can't come with?" "No, Jaskier." "He doesn't want to talk to you." Jaskier shakes the thought out of his head. "Just play for the bargoers again if you need something to do. I'll be back before sunup." And without further ado, Geralt grabs his supplies and stomps out. "They hated your last set, though, didn't they? You've put so much effort into pursuing this dream of yours, just to get vegetables and stale bread thrown at you. Only to get cursed off stages. Is that what you wanted? When you became a bard? When you left home? Did you risk your life to leave just to be stuck with an audience that doesn't want to listen?" Jaskier shakes his head. Stop. Stop thinking about this. "Not even Geralt listens to you. Your only friend. The only person who manages to deal with you doesn't even want to hear you." Jaskier starts tidying their inn room in a panic. He needs to get his mind off the sudden turn for the worst his thoughts are partaking in. Usually only things got this bad after a bad fight with Geralt. Then Geralt would apologize and- "But did he ever really mean it? Or does he just do it to placate you? The little overemotional bard weighing him down, dragging him back, ruining his li-" "BOOK. I- I need to read a book." Jaskier fumbles for something to read to try and get something new in his attention, but he can't even make out a sentence. The thoughts are getting louder. "Is there even a contract or did he just finally leave you behind? Jaskier's vision blurs and suddenly he realizes it's tears. He rubs his face vigorously to get rid of them. He'd hate for Geralt to come back and find him bawling. "That's when he'd leave you for sure. Pitiful excuse for a companion, crying because of his own thoughts. Geralt would be so annoyed. You're nothing but a burden to him. He hates you." Jaskier grabs his lute and hurriedly begins strumming the worst tune he's ever made in his life, because he just needs something louder than the thoughts. He just needs to hear something but the thoughts. "He'll never love you back. You stay, and you keep hoping, but he'll never love you." Jaskier drops his lute and covers his ears, starting to sob in earnest. "He's been gone too long. He ditched you. He took Roach and he left you. The pebble in his shoe. The constant irritation. You're nothing to him. You're a speck of mud dirtying his life. He begs the gods every night to be rid of you. Everyone begs the gods to be rid of you. Everyone wishes you'd just shrivel up and die. The useless bard." "Stop- Stopstopstop-" "All anyone wants is to fuck you, but is it because you're desirable or is it because you're just that easy? Like a damned cat in heat. They always leave you come morning, anyways. Even the ones you begged to stay. Even the ones you wanted something more with. Nobody wants you to stay. Nobody likes your voice, your supposed 'talents', nobody likes your looks, nobody likes your personality, nobody likes your soul, nobody wants your love, you're a crumbling stone about to bring down a whole tower. And every other stone will hate you for it. They'll hate you. They'll fucking HATE you. They all HATE you. Geralt HATES you. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you." "JASKIER!" Jaskier blinks his eyes open

and sees Geralt kneeling in front of him, holding Jaskier's face in his big, calloused hands. "Jaskier, stop listening to it!"

Geralt had gone after a creature that infects people's minds, speaks horrible things into their thoughts until the person is driven crazy. He couldn't risk bringing Jaskier to be infected by it. And he couldn't risk telling Jaskier, because Jaskier would be paranoid of it infecting Geralt and he'd come along anyways, and the monster would sense Jaskier's fear, it'd burrow into him in a milisecond. Geralt's never been angrier for being right, before. He just thought Jaskier was safe here. But he came back and saw the undeniable symptoms of the monster. Pure black tears coming down Jaskier's cheeks as he sobs and begs an unseen force to 'shut up'. Geralt will kill this damned creature, and make it sorry for distressing his bard. And then he'll spend the night holding his bard close, and whispring every reassurance and praise he can think of.