#lambert is so fucking dumb oh my god

[vampire--dad]

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle prompt bingo!

Prompt: There was only one bed

Spoiler alert: Lambert’s an idiot and Aiden’s a little shit

——————

“What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, cat?”

Aiden smirks at the sound of a familiar voice as shouting and a volley of stones follow him out of the town. Two pairs of yellow eyes meet, accompanied with a cheeky grin and a shaken head.

“I’ll have you know I didn’t get myself into any trouble, wolf, I was dragged into the middle of an altercation in the tavern and did my best to settle it. The townspeople didn’t exactly take kindly to that,” Aiden says.

Lambert folds his arms and eyes the cat skeptically.

“Really? Are you sure you didn’t start the altercation?”

“I swear on my dear mother’s grave I didn’t start it. I just ended it… and a few lives in the process.”

The wolf growls and shakes his red hair, stomping past Aiden towards the gates of the town.

“I better still be getting paid. If you’ve fucked this up for the both of us, I’m selling your swords for some cheap whore and leaving you here.”

Aiden laughs. He knows all too well that Lambert’s threats are empty.

“You worry too much, wolf.”

They set up camp a few miles into the forest, far enough from the town that the cat shouldn’t be able to get himself into any more trouble. Aiden scowls as he searches his pack, muttering to himself angrily. Eventually, those mutterings develop into an accusation.

“Lambert, where’s my bedroll?”

The wolf shrugs without looking up from sharpening his sword.

“It should be in there somewhere. I didn’t touch it.”

“This isn’t funny, wolf, where is it?” Aiden hisses. That earns him a pointed look from the other witcher.

“And I’m not joking. I didn’t touch it,” he sneers.

“One of those bloody stable boys must have taken it. Fuck…”

“Keep looking,” the wolf says, inspecting the blade across his knees closely. “You’ve probably just buried it under all of your other shit.”

Aiden grumbles, “I’ve been looking for long enough. It’s not in there.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

Aiden doesn’t respond. He glares at Lambert as the wolf stands and sheds himself of his armour. The wolf feels his sharpened eyes on his back and ignores it. The gaze drops when Aiden realises he’s been watching Lambert for a moment too long and his annoyance has dissolved into admiration for the wolf’s figure. Broad, strong shoulders, slim hips— Aiden stops himself and stands, busying himself so his mind doesn’t wander any further.

As Lambert lays down and tugs the covers over his shoulder, he suddenly feels a pang of guilt. A few feet away, he watches Aiden make an awkward face, run a hand through his sandy brown hair, and lay down on the grass, shifting and turning as he tries to get comfortable. The cat’s back is turned to him, so he doesn’t see the soft look of concern in the wolf’s eyes. It slips away the moment Lambert catches himself and a sharp exhale escapes him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aiden, you’re not sleeping on the ground.”

“Well, where the fuck else am I supposed to sleep, smartass?” Aiden replies.

Lambert huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t believe he’s about to say this, but he can’t let his friend sleep on the ground in the open. He’ll catch a cold and he doesn’t need a whiny, snotty cat following him around.

“Come here.”

“What?”

“There’s room behind me. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Aiden grins. He can’t resist a chance to poke fun at Lambert. It’s far too much fun to watch the wolf snarl at him.

“Lambert, if you were interested, all you had to do was ask.”

“Aiden.”

The cat only laughs and crawls over to the bedroll as Lambert turns away from him, slipping under the light blanket. His back presses against the wolf’s and all of a sudden Lambert’s face feels hot and his cheeks turn redder than his hair. He tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to think about what that might mean. That’s terrifying. He doesn’t want to think about why he smiles every time Aiden straightens his swords on his back before they part for a hunt, why he lets Aiden know he doesn’t mean a word of the insults he hurls at him, why his eyes follow Aiden and he resists the urge to run his fingers through his hair when he wakes in the morning. He’s too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the cat hiding his own confusion. Aiden can’t close his eyes. He dares not move. Another brush against Lambert would break him. They lay in silence for a while. Neither sleep. Both minds are racing.

Aiden eventually gets it through his own head that if he doesn’t do something now, he’s never going to. He shifts and quickly pulls Lambert against his chest, his arm slung over the wolf’s waist and coming up to press his palm over his heart. Lambert tenses, his eyes wide as he tries to summon the words to force Aiden off of him, but… he can’t. With Aiden this close to him he has to face the fact that he’s wanted this for longer than he could admit. He slowly relaxes into the cat’s arms, his hand rising to rest atop Aiden’s. Lambert feels him chuckle.

“Comfortable, pup?”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Lambert wakes first, finding himself in a tangle of limbs and blankets. He’s somehow turned over in Aiden’s arms, now clutching the cat to his chest. Aiden’s leg is slung over his hip, holding him closer. He’s glad the cat is still purring away and sleeping soundly as he reconciles with how this makes him feel.

He cares about Aiden. He can’t deny that, especially not while the man’s wrapped around him and snoring softly. He just… doesn’t know how to tell him. If he should tell him. Or if they should just carry on like nothing happened. Witchers can’t afford to be distracted by their feelings, it could cost them their life. He doesn’t want to put Aiden at risk like that.

“Mmhph… morning…”

Aiden shifts and nuzzles into Lambert’s chest. Then he chuckles sleepily.

“Your heart is pounding, wolf. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flustered. Do I really have that much of an effect on you?” he teases.

“Aiden,” Lambert hisses.

It comes out harsher than he meant it to. Aiden lifts his head from his chest, his face falling, pulling away from the wolf’s embrace. Perhaps this was a mistake. Lambert sighs and pulls him back, trying to put his thoughts in order so he can just say something.

“I didn’t… Melitele’s tits, Aiden, you… yes, I’m flustered,” Lambert stammers. “I… want this— I want you and that scares me. Because I don’t know if you feel the same or if you’re just messing with me. Because I don’t want to put you in more danger than you already are because I’m distracted and can’t pay enough attention to—”

“Lambert, stop. You’re rambling.” Aiden’s voice is soft and soothing. He brushes a stray curl from the wolf’s eyes tenderly. “I adore you. You’re an idiot sometimes and you’re useless when it comes to your emotions, but I do. Do you really think I would tease you the way I do if I didn’t feel the same? Do you think I would have turned over to hold you?”

“... I’m assuming the answer is no.”

Aiden laughs softly.

“You’re right. For once. And as for danger, we put ourselves in enough already by travelling together.”

“Yes, but—”

“Lambert, I’m not letting you push me away because you’re scared I’ll get hurt and it’ll break your heart. We’re witchers. Getting hurt is practically our job. You worry too much.”

The wolf opens his mouth to argue, but finds he can’t. His fingers glide across the ridges and indents on Aiden’s back, decades worth of scars. Not one witcher on the Continent isn’t riddled with scars. He and Aiden are no exception, and there will certainly be more to come. Aiden’s hands slide into his hair, running his fingers gently through the mess of red curls, and pull Lambert down into a kiss. The wolf melts into his touch. It ends far too soon, but Aiden isn’t finished with him yet.

“So,” he mumbles. The scar across his lip stretches as his face is drawn into a cheeky smile. Lambert can barely pay attention to what he’s saying when he can feel his breath on his lips. “Does this mean I don’t need to buy a new bedroll? Maybe it’s luck those stable boys stole mine, I quite like sharing—”

“Aiden.”

“What?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

——————

Tags: @lovelyeskel @jaskierswolf @viking-raider

[ghoulluck]

looks like i have a new otp, scoot over geralt x jaskier, you ain’t shit compared to aiden and lambert oh god i’m gonna cry again why did i write that drabble because now i’m imaginging it all and i am in piecessssssssssssss oh i’m gonna start sobbing

i’m too powerful

other people are writing an au based off it and i must read it

i must have my heart broken. here’s a photo of me being dramatic while red is like uhm?

[julek]

a humble offering to @west-moor and @kueble, for bringing this post to life. they’re very dumb, your honor. | read on ao3

It starts at dinner one night. 

They settled in a few days ago, bringing the ice cold from the mountains and the snow with them, after trudging up the Killer for two weeks. They sit at the wooden table and before them stands Vesemir’s famous roast, the one Geralt had told Jaskier all about. 

Geralt helps himself to some potatoes, and gestures to Jaskier’s plate. “You want some?”

Before Jaskier can nod, Lambert cuts him off. “Darling,” he says with a pointed tone.

Geralt turns to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “What?”

“You seemed to have forgotten you were speaking to your bard, there,” Lambert quips, and sits back with a knowing smirk. “Just wanted to help you out.”

Geralt blinks. “Uh.”

Jaskier notices the way he’s frozen in place, and gently touches his forearm, ignoring Lambert’s non-sequitur. “I’d love some, Geralt. Thank you.” 

“Uh,” Geralt repeats, and doesn’t take his eyes off Lambert as he fills Jaskier’s plate. “Sure.”

+

Jaskier pads into the kitchen the next morning, eyes still fuzzy with sleep and an old, worn woolen sweater hanging off his shoulder. Geralt looks up from his bowl of kasha and smiles. 

“Morning,” Jaskier mumbles, and sits down at the table. 

“Good morning.”

The shout comes from the pantry, followed by the unmistakable sound of pans and cups clattering. “Morning, honey!” 

Jaskier narrows his eyes, and looks at Geralt for help. He shakes his head. “Um. Hi?” 

Out of the pantry walks Lambert, hands full of baking ingredients, a flour scar crossing his cheek. “How’d ya sleep, sweetheart?”

Jaskier decidedly does not blush a bright shade of red. He doesn’t. “Well, that’s just— thank you, Lambert, for asking. I slept well, even though this keep’s freezing cold and my bed was entirely too big for one fragile bard such as myself.”

Lambert frowns. “What do you mean, too big? You’re not sharing with Geralt?”

Geralt chokes on his kasha, momentarily. Jaskier snorts and shakes his head. “No, I’m staying in the east wing.”

“Ah,” Lambert says, a wolfish grin on his face as he ties the apron behind his back. “That’s… interesting.”

He shoots Geralt a look that’s there a second and gone the next, and Jaskier would’ve missed it, if not for the developed skill of observing Witchers and their fleeting emotions. Still, it’s a look he can’t decipher, a mix of amusement and mischief. Best not to find out, he decides. 

“So, Lambert,” he starts, a touch louder than he should. “What’s that you’re making?”

+

Geralt had warned him, Jaskier thinks in retrospect, that Lambert was a bit weird. An acquired taste. And he is, Jaskier won’t deny it, but he’s also incredibly unpredictable — his gruff demeanor and rough disposition always, without fail, betray the sweet words that leave his mouth. 

He’d been brushing the horses down when Lambert ruffled his hair and called him dear. Geralt nearly dropped his sword one morning, when Jaskier walked out onto the courtyards and Lambert called out hello, sunshine. On their way to the library to get absolutely smashed, a gentle touch to his elbow and little bird. 

They’re all incredibly sweet, incredibly unexpected delicacies, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to make of them. Sure, Lambert isn’t horrible to look at in the slightest, what with the entire lean-body, scarred-face look he has going on, with the playful teasing and easy smiles he gets out of him. He’s objectively handsome, and funny, and kind, when he has to be, and Jaskier has let him know, many times. He hasn’t been exactly subtle in feeling his muscles through his linen shirts and sending looks his way whenever he’s said something salacious and tempting — signs so clear even the brother of one of the Continent’s most oblivious Witcher could read them. Which is why it’s so infuriatingly confusing, the fact that name-calling is all Lambert’s got for him. 

And it’s not lost to him at all, the way Geralt frowns and fiddles with his medallion whenever Lambert lets a honey-sweet pet name slip. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt stubbornly looks straight ahead, focused on absolutely nothing at all, nor the way his mouth twitches, almost, almost resembling a pout. 

It’s amusing, to say the least.

+

“Well, I’m off to bed, my wonderful friends,” Jaskier announces one night, after playing a few annoying renditions of Toss a Coin, until he got Eskel to break and beg him to stop. 

The wolves say their goodbyes, and just as Jaskier’s about to leave the Great Hall, Lambert calls after him. 

“Night, love,” he says, offhandedly, and continues his conversation with Eskel, as if nothing had happened. 

Jaskier scans the room, and his eyes fall on Geralt, who’s trying very hard to remain seated, even when his knuckles are white and his leg is bouncing wildly enough to propel him into the night sky. His amber gaze follows Lambert’s movements and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt was about to throttle his brother. 

“Hmm.” He murmurs. “Goodnight, Lambert. Goodnight, Geralt.”

Jaskier smiles sweetly and leaves the room at a leisurely pace. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on his back.

+

One particularly chilly afternoon, Jaskier’s leaving the library when he hears voices that carry through the hall. 

“Well? Gonna explain yourself?”

Oh, the middle-aged woman that lives inside Jaskier’s heart and loves to gossip jumps up and down in joy at the prospect of what seems to be a very interesting conversation. He slips out of the room and presses his back to the wall, even when he knows the Witchers could sense his presence. It’s more fun if there’s a risk to get caught, he reasons. 

Lambert’s voice is low, and Jaskier can hear his smug smile as he says, “Well, you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt’s voice echoes. 

“It means, you thick-headed idiot,” Lambert drags the words out, like he’s speaking to a child. If Jaskier’s quiet, he can hear the way Geralt’s blood boils in his veins. “That you’ve been walking in circles for too long. Jaskier’s here.” At the mention of his name, the bard perks up. 

“I know that, Lambert. I invited him. What’s that got to do with this— this sweet talking thing you’ve got going on? It’s weird. Creeps me out.”

“What? I can be decent when needs must!” Comes Lambert’s offended retort. “What I’m saying, pretty boy, is that he’s a good thing, the kind that Witchers never get to have. Not that you own him or anything— it’s just. He’s good, and he’s obviously waited for you to make a move, sometime in this past decade. He’s here, for fuck’s sake— in an old ruin in the middle of fucking nowhere, holed up with four Witchers and a goat, nothing else. Ain’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Jaskier stands very still, his heart beating out of his chest. 

“Hmm. I still— I don’t deserve him.”

Lambert laughs. “Well, too bad, then. You can’t come to me with that self-deprecating shit, I’m not Eskel. But, fuck, if you don’t deserve him, who the fuck does? Certainly not me, but— I need you to listen very closely— he won’t wait forever. He might even settle for me, if you don’t make a move soon.”

“Ugh.” 

“Yeah.”

Geralt’s footsteps echo down the hall, moving closer to Lambert, Jaskier thinks. 

“You’ll stop with the pet names, then?” 

Lambert laughs, again. “Absolutely not. It’s too fun seeing you get all hot and bothered.” He steps out of the room, thankfully, in the opposite direction, and calls out, “Don’t fuck it up!”

Jaskier lets out a breath and slides to the floor, gathering the new information in his brain. Geralt wants him. He wants him, and worst of all, thinks he’s undeserving — damn him and his humility. He lets out a laugh in disbelief. 

Geralt wants him. 

+

The next morning, when Jaskier walks into the kitchen, he’s greeted by a blushing Geralt. 

“Hi,” Jaskier says, an amused smile curling his lips, and sits down at the table. “How are you this morning, dear?”

Geralt pushes a bowl in his direction, a bit too strongly. “Good.” He coughs. “Uh, I’m good… Sugar face.” 

“Huh?” Jaskier stops mid-bite. He quickly regains his composure. “Um— that’s good, I’m glad, yeah.” 

Geralt grimaces, and an awkward silence follows. Jaskier digs into his breakfast with more enthusiasm than necessary, until Lambert walks in, firewood under both arms. 

“Lambert! Thank the Gods— I mean, uh, it’s so good to see you. It’s a bit chilly this morning, isn’t it? I’m sure you agree, what with coming straight from the great outdoors and such— I’m going to the library, if anyone needs me, uh, just,” he rambles as he washes his bowl, “just call. You know. My name. Jaskier the bard, ha— that’s me! Anyway, see you.” 

He makes haste to leave the kitchen, and as he walks down the hall, he hears Lambert clicking his tongue. 

“Fuck, Wolf, it’s not even mid-morning.”

+

Jaskier stays in the library until the sweet aroma of Vesemir’s stew reaches the room and his stomach rumbles pleasantly at the thought. Given the way he’d fled the kitchen, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one called him to lunch — they probably thought he was having some sort of stroke, with his word-vomiting and hurried escape. He’s just opened a new book when he hears a knock. 

“Come in,” he says, voice steady.

The door opens, and sure enough, Geralt’s standing at the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face and a terribly endearing flush creeping up his neck. 

“Hey, love,” Jaskier says, because it’s difficult to call him otherwise. “You okay?”

“Hmm.” Geralt walks over to his chair, and stands there awkwardly until Jaskier gestures to a bench next to him. “We’ll have lunch soon.”

Jaskier smiles. “I was just thinking about that. It’s stew, isn’t it? Oh, Vesemir spoils me so.”

“Thought you’d be hungry,” Geralt says, looking at his hands. “You left breakfast early.”

Jaskier pales, then lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yes, well, I had suddenly remembered a book I just had to examine more closely, and—”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s looking at him now, and Jaskier closes his mouth, choosing to look back into his amber eyes and wait for whatever comes. Nothing does, for a while — they just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak up. Finally, Geralt does. 

“I invited you up here, to spend the winter with me,” he rasps, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being close to you, Jaskier, I— I can’t stand it.”

Jaskier’s heart breaks a little. “Geralt.”

“I should’ve asked you to come up here years ago. I wasn’t brave enough. Thought you’d hate the idea.” He grimaces. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. “When you asked me to come here with you— you have no idea what it meant to me, knowing you still wanted my company. I couldn’t have been happier.”

Geralt sniffs and gives him a weak smile, his white hair falling on his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, and gestures vaguely at the space between them. “The whole…”

“Calling me disgustingly sweet and somewhat alarming pet names?”

Geralt nods.

“I know, dear heart.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hands in his own. “I know, and I don’t expect you to.”

“I’d still like to call you something, though,” Geralt says, the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips. “Can’t let Lambert best me.” 

Jaskier snorts. “So it’s all about honor, then?” 

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s about you.” 

And oh, he sounds so sincere, so open and fragile, Jaskier can’t find it in himself to tease him any further. 

“You know what I loved the most about traveling to Kaer Morhen with you?”

A tiny frown knits Geralt’s brow. “What?”

“‘T was when we stopped in those hamlets, the ones that aren’t even on maps,” he murmurs. “Where you gather your supplies, where people know you and call you by your name. You know why?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Because,” Jaskier whispers, bringing their foreheads together, “whenever they asked you about me, about who I was, your answer was always the same.” 

He’s my bard, Geralt had said to the horse trader when they bought a mule. My bard, he’d answered, when the chatty shopkeeper had inquired about the colorful fellow trailing after him. My bard, he’d said with a shrug and a fond smile, as Jaskier and the tailor entwined themselves in an argument about fabrics and the season’s colors.

My bard. 

“You always called me yours.” 

Jaskier closes his eyes when he feels Geralt’s lips on his own, a soft, gentle thing. They move slowly, simply exploring — when they part, there are kisses being pressed to his cheeks, his brow, the corner of his mouth and his jaw.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier smiles back, aware that they probably look like two lovesick fools staring at each other, but far too gone to care. 

“I don’t need flowery names or honey-soaked terms of endearment,” Jaskier assures him. “Being called yours is more than enough.” 

Geralt presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Hmm. Can’t go around claiming you as mine, though. ‘S a bit archaic.”

“Mm. You’re right. Love of my life, my moon and my stars should be enough, then. Rolls off the tongue, even.”

Geralt growls. “Jask.”

“Dearly beloved— no, that’s too formal— I’ve always been fond of Angel, though I doubt I’ve earned that title.” 

Geralt kisses him again, and Jaskier half-suspects it’s less about the tender gesture and more about shutting him up. 

“I’ll think of more, you know. You can’t distract me with kisses forever.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “Okay.” He pecks his cheek. “Bard.”

“Yours,” Jaskier says smugly. 

Before Geralt can open his mouth, the library door swings open. 

“Fucking finally, Geralt! We’re all so very happy for this revelation, way to go, and all that.” He clasps his hands together. “Now, you both need to get your asses to lunch, otherwise Vesemir will kick you out. Jaskier, baby, please be grossly in love with Geralt later.”

Geralt groans. “Fuck off, Lambert.”

He leaves with a cackle. Jaskier smooths out his doublet, gets up and holds his hand out to Geralt. He grins.

“You coming, sugar face?”

[darkverrmin]

The Road to Kaer Morhen

The first year Geralt and Jaskier become a couple, Geralt wants to bring his lover to Kaer Morhen. Spending a whole winter apart seems unimaginable now, since they've grown so close.

Unfortunately, a day before they're supposed to leave north, they have an ugly fight. Jaskier is pissed and decides to leave for Oxenfurt on his own. Geralt is pissed, too, and doesn't stop him.

The road to Kaer Morhen is longer and colder than what Geralt remembered it last year. And much more lonelier than he expected it to be.

***

Geralt tells his brothers and Vesemir about Jaskier. It happens naturally. He tells them about their relationship and their fight the day before Geralt left and how he misses his bard.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him for getting into that bar fight" Geralt told his brothers one night while they were drinking. "It was a dumb and dangerous thing to do, but he just wanted to protect me. He always wants me to feel more... Loved. Fuck, I shouldn't have let him leave to Oxenfurt".

Eskel nods, humming quietly. "Why won't you write him a letter? Tell him you're sorry and how you feel".

Geralt blinks at him. "I don't know... Doesn't sound like a good idea. I don't have his skills, I'm terrible at writing".

"You don't need skills" Eskel frowns at him, taking a sip from his tankard. "Just be honest with him".

"And how will I deliver him the letter, while we're here?"

"I have a magic bird" Lambert jumps in his seat, grinning. "A mage gave it to me after saving a city from a bunch of Bruxas. It can deliver your letter to Oxenfurt".

Geralt sighs and Eskel smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. "Great, now all you need to do is to write it".

***

Geralt writes the letter.

Half through it he already has no idea what's he writing. It's just a bunch of sappy nonsense.

Oh gods, he misses Jaskier.

He finishes the letter with the words "I'm sorry, Jaskier. I miss you. And I love you. I want to make this work".

It seems a little stupid to say he loves him for the first time like this, writing it in a letter, but Geralt can't deny it anymore.

He loves Jaskier and he wants to make things right between them.

They send the letter to Oxenfurt using Lambert's magic bird.

***

Two weeks pass and Geralt still doesn't get a reply from Jaskier.

He's not sad.

Not at all.

Jaskier just probably needs time to think.

***

Three weeks after sending the letter to Oxenfurt, the brothers notice someone approaching the gates of the keep, while they're training in the yard.

They see a hooded figure riding a beautiful, white stallion.

Who the hell would be coming all the way to Kaer Morhen during the winter?

Vesemir joins them in the yard, staring ahead at the fast approaching rider.

Lambert unsheathes his sword as the rider stops at the gate, dismounting his horse.

"Who the hell are you?" Lambert snarls at him, taking a step forward, sword in hand.

The hooded man raises his hands in the air, taking a step forward also. "Hi. Calm down. I come in peace. I'm here looking for someone".

The man pulls down his hood and Geralt's jaw drops to the ground. Jaskier still doesn't notice him, as he's speaking to Lambert, who's already lowered his sword.

"I'm looking for Geralt" Jaskier says, brushing the snow from his hair. "I assume you're one of his brothers".

"Lambert".

"Jaskier. Pleasure".

They shake hands and Lambert points him to Geralt, who's standing a few feet behind him, still in shock.

"Geralt!" Jaskier beams and runs into his Witcher's arms. Geralt holds him in a tight embrace, swinging him in the air once.

Jaskier giggles and pulls back to kiss Geralt. Geralt kisses him back, unbothered by Eskel's and Vesemir's stares and smiles and Lambert's gagging sounds.

Jaskier breaks the kiss first, to murmur against Geralt's lips. "Got your letter. Gods, Geralt, you can't make a man cry like that".

Geralt chuckles and kisses him again, softer this time. "I missed you".

"I missed you too, dear. I'm sorr-".

"No, don't. I'm the one who should be apologizing".

Jaskier rolls his eyes fondly, smiling. "Can we just agree that we both acted like idiots?".

"I guess I'm okay with that".

Jaskier laughs and kisses him again. "I love you, too, by the way".

Geralt grins brightly and holds Jaskier so tight, he's afraid he might hurt him.

"Come meet my family. By the way, how the hell did you get here?"

"Oh, that reminds me! Here's you bird!" Jaskier rushes to his stallion and unties a small cage from the saddle. "When this magnificent creature came to Oxenfurt, his right wing was severely injured. I couldn't send him back. I took care of him on the way here, he should be fine now".

Lambert accepts the cage from Jaskier with a "thank you" and a small smile.

Jaskier looks at Geralt. "Sorry it took me a while to respond. Your keep is pretty far from civilization".

"Jask, again, how the hell did you get here? The road to Kaer Morhen is hard and dangerous. Did you find a mage and used a portal?"

Jaskier shrugged . "Uh, no... I just came here on my horse".

Four pairs of eyes stare at him in disbelief.

Jaskier blinks at them. "What, like it's hard?"

***

Bonus: Eskel leans in to whisper at Vesemir "I like this one. Can we keep him?"

[horsedadgeralt]

please. please my love i beg. tell me about and i just ask you to be patient if you’ll have me still 🥺👉👈 the others sound familiar but i need to know about this one

Oh yeah, this fic never left @king-finnigan 's dms, hence why you don't know it 😂

It was meant to be a Christmas-present for @the-third-bard cause he said that he loves miscommunication-fics but then season 2 came out and I went down the fix it-rabbit hole 😅

Yennefer, Jaskier and Geralt are staying at KM with Ciri — Yennefer to help with her training and Jaskier because I said so. One night, Jaskier goes to visit Lambert and Geralt to see Yennefer. They both have the same "problem": "Hey I may have fallen in love with my best friend, how can I 'court' them?" Cue Lambert and Yennefer meeting up à la "You won't believe what just happened" and deciding to give these two the first dating advice possible for the fun of it: - "Geralt, Jaskier needs to oil his lute. You could surprise him!" - "Jaskier, Geralt loves to fall asleep with the smell of herbs surrounding him. Why don't you put some lavender underneath his pillow? - "Jaskier, Geralt has never told you before because he feels self-conscious about it, but his favourite meal is actually raw potatoes." Just. Stupid and dumb shenanigans. It gets resolved with a big fight, as is right and proper :)

Let's ignore that it's been at 2.3k for 3 months now.

Once the bard had settled down, Lambert decided to address the elephant in the room.

“As much as I enjoy late-night company, I assume you’re not here for that. So out with it, what has got your small clothes in a twist?”

A pained expression appeared on Jaskier’s face and for a second, Lambert almost felt bad for asking. But the bard had come to him for <i>something</i>, so there was no use dancing around it.

“I…” Jaskier began before trailing off, clearly unsure of how to continue. He was sitting on the bed cross-legged with his knees constantly bouncing up and down, still twisting and untwisting the hem of his doublet with his hands. It was starting to drive Lambert nuts, but whatever was on Jaskier’s mind seemed to be seriously affecting him, so he tried his best to ignore it.

“I don’t even know how to say this,” the bard finally continued, but still avoiding eye contact. “I don’t even know why I came to you out of all people, I know we aren’t close. But you’re close with Geralt, and I really didn’t want to talk to Vesemir about this.”

“Talk about what?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now, I was certain you of all people would,” Jaskier answered, now turning his head and looking straight at Lambert. The expression on his face was a weird mixture of sad and sly, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes.

“Jaskier, what the fuck are you on about?” Lambert said, voice exasperated. He hated it when people didn’t get straight to the point — he had always been a firm believer that if you had something to say, you should just go ahead and say it.

Jaskier let out a small defeated sigh.

“I’m in love with Geralt.”

Silence.

Lambert stared at Jaskier, dumbfounded. The other man chuckled.

“I knew that would shut you up,” the bard teased, and then: “By the gods, it felt good to finally say that.”

Let's skip a few paragraphs to get to Yennefer and Geralt.

There was a knock at the door.

Yennefer ignored it.

This was the only time she got to herself, and unless the castle was on fire, she would not be disturbed.

There was another knock, louder than the first one.

Yennefer opened her eyes and groaned. “Come in,” she yelled, ready to unleash hell onto whoever had decided to bother her tonight.

Quietly, the door opened and inside stepped Geralt, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw where Yennefer was waiting for him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll come back tomorrow.” At that, he turned around, ready to leave the room when Yennefer called out to him.

“You’ve already ruined the atmosphere, might as well tell me why you came by — besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” She waved her hand in a wide motion, gesturing at her naked body clearly visible in the water.

She had gone through hell and back to make it look the way it did, so she saw no point in hiding it.

Geralt approached the tub, visibly uncomfortable by Yennefer’s lack of clothes. His eyes darted around the room for a moment before grabbing a small stool nearby and sitting down on it, making a point to turn his back to Yennefer. She rolled her eyes at that but couldn’t help but smile — she felt reminded of when they had first met, sitting back to back in the bath in [LOOK UP THE WORD]. How things had changed since then.

“Well,” she asked, “what brings you to me at this hour of the night?”

The Witcher seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, back slightly hunched with his forearms resting on his thighs. He looked weary, and Yennefer was curious to hear what was on his mind.

“I need your help,” he finally said, voice low and quiet.

“Is it about Ciri?” Yennefer hoped the cub hadn’t gotten herself into trouble again, thinking back to the time she had tried to secretly practice open portals and taking down a wall in the stables in the process. Luckily the horses had remained unharmed, but Yennefer had given her a piece of her mind to ensure she would never do something like this again.

“No, it’s…” Geralt trailed off once more. It was clear that whatever it was he needed help with, he would much rather <i>not</i> talk about it.

“It’s about Jaskier.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow.

“You haven’t managed to find another Djinn up here, have you?” she said, voice teasing.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand. 

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin. 

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

-

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him. 

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans. 

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.” 

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard. 

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question. 

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!” 

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.” 

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?" 

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this." 

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'." 

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it. 

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject. 

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.” 

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened. 

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.” 

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling. 

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?” 

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?” 

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.” 

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked. 

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.” 

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down. 

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.” 

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased. 

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.” 

[scuttling]

Small

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 1,077 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Pre-relationship, Loss of virginity stories, Jealousy if you squint Summary: Aaron overhears an interesting conversation on the jet. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! Sometimes, Hotch’s team can be so impressive, so professional, so formidable, that it makes all the other bullshit—the constant bureaucratic red tape, the endless protocol, dealing with other law enforcement, even his divorce—actually worth it.

Sometimes, they act like a bunch of sixteen year olds, and it’s almost a nightmare.

“Oh come on, I want to know how Miss Emily Prentiss lost her v-card,” JJ says one night when they’re flying home from a case, too wired to sleep. Hotch takes care to pay absolutely no attention to the tales being shared of how the members of his team lost their virginity, because it just seems… wrong.

He is not only their superior, but far older than them at forty-four, and while he’d prefer they weren’t having this conversation at all, the least he can do is do his best to ignore it.

“Ugh. Mine is a long story, and a little unusual,” he hears Cortes say after a couple of minutes; his ears perk up at her voice, and he’d say he’s not sure why, but he’d be lying to himself. She always captures his attention, no matter the setting.

“Sweetheart, nothing about you is usual,” Morgan replies, and it earns a laugh.

“Thanks, I think.” He risks a glance, and she’s shifted forward in her seat, clearly prepared to tell a story. “So three things to remember going into this: I was 19, so I was stupid; I was 19, so I was horny as hell; and, you know—I’m small. So anyway, I was dumb and horny, and when a few of my friends found out I hadn’t had sex yet they acted like it was a huge deal, which we know as adults is not the case. But I said, okay, if it’s such a big deal, then help me have sex. It’s not like I didn’t want to.”

“So why did you need help? I’m sure you were cute as a button,” JJ teases, and Cortes scrunches her face like she’s embarrassed to admit it.

“Because I was stupid, and small, and... afraid of big dicks?” Hotch is glad he’s good at keeping a straight face, but the others don’t bother, laughing out loud and making her shriek. “Hey! It was a very rational fear! You don’t know what’s going on down here, or you’d understand,” she says, gesturing to her pants. “So anyway, they went on a mission to find me someone who would admit to having a small dick, which is fucking impossible on a college campus, because people like to overinflate their egos and proclaim to be gigantic.”

“Sophie, no.” Prentiss frowns, exaggerated, and Cortes nods.

“Yeah, it was so embarrassing. They didn’t name me or anything, but they described me, and it was pretty obvious. Anyway, they did eventually get a taker, a professor; he wasn’t my professor—or not at the time, anyway, but that’s another story.”

“A professor? Naughty girl,” Morgan chides playfully, and Cortes groans.

“Yeah, I know. He was 30, so it should have been weird, but he was really cute and shy and sweet. He took me out to dinner, and then we went back to his place, and… you know. His dick was like training wheels. Now when I sleep with someone I hand out one of his business cards after. ‘Like the sex? Thank Professor Lambert.’” The part about the business cards is clearly a joke, but he can’t believe the rest of the story either.

“I can’t handle you. Afraid of big dicks,” JJ says with a grin. “So was it any good? Did you, you know… feel it?” Cortes raises her eyebrows, smirks a little.

“It was really good. He knew what he was doing with what he had, which is honestly the most important part. And, uh. I figured out what I was doing too,” she says, a little self-conscious; she puts a hand in her hair, one of her tells. “I don’t have a very long list, but he’s easily the best so far. We made it kind of a thing for a couple of months, until he actually became my professor.”

“He could have been a psycho,” Reid chimes in, surprisingly enough, and Cortes laughs.

“So could someone I met on a dating site, or in a coffee shop,” she points out, but Reid makes a face of confusion, wrinkles his nose.

“But he was just… signing up to have sex with a girl he didn’t even know. Out of nowhere. That’s weird.” She leans in to look at him specifically.

“What if there was someone out there who was looking for a guy just like you, in particular, for some reason; you wouldn’t go for it?”

“I think I’d feel a little weird about it.” Hotch tends to agree, but he’s not in the habit of policing what other people do with their bodies, even if he doesn’t like this particular story.

“Well that’s okay, but he didn’t, and I didn’t. And it was mutually beneficial: He’s a little chubby and had confidence issues about it, and I helped him get over it. Apparently having a girl all up on you in every position known to god will do that to a guy.” She leans back in her seat, and Morgan smirks. Hotch makes it a point to unclench his jaw.

“So is he, like, ripped now? Your magic virginity unlocked the key to washboard abs?” She scoffs, shakes her head.

“No, he’s still chubby, he’s just happy with himself as he is. I follow him on Instagram.”

“Do you guys ever meet up?” Prentiss asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows, and although it’s a question part of Hotch doesn’t want to know the answer to, he can’t help being curious.

“No, he’s married now, but I might if he wasn’t. I’m telling you, it was memorable.”

“Okay but the real question is: did you get over your fear, or are you all about that small dick life now?” Morgan asks with a grin. This, of all things, is what makes Cortes blush.

"Let's just say I learned that with a little extra preparation, all things are possible.”

“Okay, okay. You get the award for best loss of virginity story. Can’t top that,” JJ says, and they shift to topics a little more comfortable, but Hotch has lost all focus and can barely make sense of the words in front of him.

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

Dialogue prompt

“Because I knew you wouldn’t!”

Spicy or no

okay so this one got... weird on me. but this is the Bouncey Castle so you know the ending is soft as fuck

Also I got so into this that I forgot to use the prompt you sent me but... Here you go?

based on Tove Lo’s “Habits (Stay High)” - modern au ‘post mountain’

tw: party scene, alcohol mention, marijuana use for the wrong reasons, dumb boys having feelings in public, mild panic attack, hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Jaskier slams the rest of his drink and delights in the crinkling sound of Solo’s signature red plastic crumpling in his fist. He’s got an elbow-length fingerless glove on the hand that crushed the cup; he looks good enough to fucking eat and he... he’s fucking lonely. 

“Want a hit?” a voice asks from his left, offering a lit joint. The tip glows a light orange in the dim of the basement room and for a moment the young musician understands how Eve felt as she stared down the snake in the Garden of Eden. He pushes the thought aside with a whoop of overacted excitement and takes a drag, letting the smoke swirl into his lungs and mask the taste of whisky that somehow refuses to abandon the back of his tongue. 

Notes of Geralt’s favorite brand, some stupidly expensive Scottish malt that, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, tasted like damp peat moss and smelled like shoe-shine, cling to his every breath. 

He feels trapped, suddenly claustrophobic in his seat on some beat-up leather couch. Who are these people? He stands and sways, eyes darting towards the staircase. I need some air. He lurches forward, unsteady, and does his level best to swim through the crush of bodies in the darkness. 

---

Jaskier loves the smell of damp earth. It reminds him of springtime and rain-showers. The almost primordial glee that fills his chest cavity when that familiar mustiness hangs in the air is indescribable. 

Now, leaning against the dank brick wall of an apartment building somewhere just south of the park, the cheer escapes him. He pounds his hands backwards into the jagged brick, momentarily grateful for the distraction of physical pain; his eyes are full of tears that simply refuse to fall despite his greatest efforts. 

The beer is wearing off and the one hit of weed hadn’t done much to begin with other than make him a little dizzy. He wishes he had something else on hand. He wishes he had grabbed something on the way out. He wishes...

Jaskier wishes Geralt hadn’t said all those terrible things in front of his best friend and ex-lover, effectively blaming his boyfriend for his problems and ending things for good.

He doesn’t want to think about-

“Jaskier?”

Geralt.

The musician glances up through his bangs and sees the blurred outline of a dark shape looming before him. Fuck my life. 

“Oh hey, Geralt,” he laughs humorlessly. Isn’t this just fucking perfect. Why does he still have the worst fucking timing on the Continent?

“Are you okay?” 

“What does it look like?” Jaskier laughs again. He wipes his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his denim jacket and the fishnets suddenly more childish than sexy... like he used to wear in middle school when he wanted nothing more than to marry Gerard Way and escape his life as a politician’s son. 

“Do you- Are you going-”

“I can walk myself home, Geralt. I’m a big boy. I can be responsible,” Jaskier snaps. The taller man flinches away and Jaskier is surprised. He thought his ex would have been over him far earlier than this. The musician was always the emotional one. Geralt doesn’t say anything for a moment and Jaskier shakes his head, turning away towards his own apartment. “Nice seeing you, I suppose.”

He takes three steps and then hallucinates. It has to be some kind of auditory hallucination because he thinks, he’s very sure that he’s made it up but he thinks he hears Geralt gasp his name. 

Like prayer. Like a desperate, heart-rending plea. 

Then there’s a large, familiar hand wrapping around his upper arm, jerking him to a stop. “Jaskier, please! I’m so sorry!”

He stops walking and glances back over his shoulder. The lamplight is haloed behind Geralt’s white hair, making his manbun look more like a heavenly crown than anything else. His golden eyes flash into view and Jaskier has to hold back a gasp when their gazes meet. 

Geralt looks like shit. 

His eyes are dull and tired, rimmed with purple bags. His skin is paler than usual and his scars stand out in stark contrast; Jaskier finds his hand wandering to Geralt’s shoulder of its own accord. Settling there. Steadying the other, stronger man. “Oh, Geralt...”

“I’m-” the man before him sobs openly beneath the obnoxious LED light. Jaskier watches in shock as Geralt falls to his knees on the pavement and clutches at his hands with such raw determination that it’s nearly frightening. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I should never have said those things, much less in front of Yennefer. I owe you so many apologies. I haven’t been able to- I haven’t been sleeping and I know it’s my own damn fault because I- You’re so bright and beautiful and I can’t seem to stop myself from dousing the lights in my life and you were too precious to lose so...”

“So you pushed me away before I could leave.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Geralt deRiv.”

---

“What’s that whiskey called again?”

“Ardbegh.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier laughs. He pours Geralt a glass and then pours a second for his brother, who’s visiting from across the Continent for summer vacation. “I still think it tastes awful.”

“I know. That’s why I buy you all that coffee flavored shit you love so much.”

“Don’t be mad at craft beer because it’s tasty!” Jaskier sticks his tongue out. He passes the boys their drinks before sinking gracefully into Geralt’s lap. “Tell me about school, Lambert! How are you liking your professors?”

Geralt’s hand squeezes his thigh gratefully beneath the table, never one for small talk himself, and Jaskier squeezes back. 

It had taken a lot of time, a lot of couple’s therapy, and some very nice dates... but things had worked out. Geralt had proven himself to be an idiot, sure, but even more importantly: he’d proved himself capable of growth and positive change. Jaskier could live with that. 

Growing and learning together was a much better option than growing old apart.

[pressedinthepages]

Family Business

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Another day, another collab with Maragret @sometimesiwrite cause we just cannot stop. And this one will have cHaPtErS!!!!!!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Modern Coffee Shop AU. Eskel and his brothers run a coffee shop. Jaskier pops in one morning. Neither can anticipate what is to come.

The bell above the door of Happy Goat Coffee and Snacks tinkled quaintly as Eskel returned from the corner store, carton of almond milk in-hand. He slipped the receipt into the till and opened the milk fridge, taking stock to see if there was anything else that couldn’t wait for Wednesday’s delivery. All seemed to be in order—Barista Blend soy and oat milks, a few bags of regular milk. He didn’t like carrying almond (bad for bees), but it was the only thing some customers could drink so… here it was. 

He turned to make himself another coffee, taking stock of their baked goods: chocolate zucchini muffins, banana bread, blueberry muffins (a few missing, Geralt’s been here…), and an assortment of granola-based snacks. The overall business plan was plant-based and/or sustainably sourced in the hopes of filling a void left by the larger chains that were the only other options in the neighbourhood. It wasn’t a bad plan, and with the increasing number of conscious-consumer parents, they were establishing a strong and loyal customer base.

    Lambert carried a tray of sourdough paninis around the counter and began transferring them into the display case, arranging them as neatly as his energetic hands would allow. It had been hell working with him for the first little bit. Lambert took after their sainted mother only in being a morning person. His general pissy attitude skipped a generation and came directly from their grandmother. But the prickly bastard knew what he was talking about, and after some… heated negotiations, they managed to agree on finding a local butcher who could provide pork belly which Lambert would turn into proper bacon in the back. They barely had the space, but he somehow made it work, and it sold very well as an add-on. I mean, he wasn’t wrong. It did taste better.

    Of course, this didn’t stop the young brother’s grumbling. He simply did it while chewing. “Lambert, could you please, please, stop eating the bacon?”

    “I’m sorry, I must be doing this wrong. Do I look like I give a fuck???”

“No, you don’t. That’s why I’m doing it for you. Just...” he sighed “don’t eat us into bankruptcy.”

“What, so Geralt can drink all the fuckin organic ass lemonade he wants but I can’t have a piece of gods-be-damned bacon???”

“Geralt drinks the—oh my God you guys are killing me—look, I will talk to Geralt about the lemonade, you can have some, some bacon, and I’m going to try my hardest not to put my head through the fucking wall. Capiche?”

Lambert watched over Eskel’s shoulder as Geralt chugged the remainder of the lemonade from his cup through narrowed eyes in his direction.

“Fine.” Lambert growled, turning back to the kitchen. “You’ve got a fucking customer, by the way, boss.”

“Don’t call—oh never mind. Hello, sorry, welcome to the Exasperated Goat. I’ve changed the name.”

“I love it,” the young man on the other side of the counter crooned, cocking his hip with a smile. “Think it’ll really capture the true essence of the neighbourhood.” Eskel was struck dumb immediately, his words falling flat on his tongue. He was trapped in a pair of dazzling blue eyes and the brightest, most open face he’d seen in a—well, a depressingly long time, if he was honest. The young man was eccentrically stylish with bright splashy colours and patterns that had no business going together as well as they did. 

Eskel wasn’t the only one transfixed. His vivacious new customer was too busy marvelling at something inexplicable behind the proprietor’s hazel-green eyes and his… aura? Was that even a thing? How long have I been standing here? Oh God, am I staring? Shit. 

Geralt swaggered behind the counter and bumped into Eskel's shoulder pointedly.

“What can I get you?” He fumbled, working hard to regain his senses.

The young man recovered more smoothly, “Cappuccino, dry please. And a chocolate zucchini muffin. Please,” he added with a cheeky grin, holding out a twenty.

Eskel took the money and their fingers brushed, just the tiniest bit—was that a linger?—but he felt the sparks fly under his skin nonetheless, and as he got to work steaming milk, he desperately tried to remember how small talk worked. The young man beat him to it. 

“How’s the morning so far?”

Eskel sighed, glancing up at him. “Not...terrible,” he said, peering over his shoulder to find Lambert now munching on a mini quiche. “Lambert keeps eating the merchandise, but I suppose it could be worse.” 

Eskel was caught up in the man’s smile again until the rapidly rising temperature of the milk that brought him back to himself. He tapped the pitcher to settle the foam and wiped the steam wand, “How’s your day been...?”

“Can’t complain,” the man shrugged, taking a sizeable bite out of the side of his muffin—an act that Lambert would have seen as a criminal offense. Eskel disguised an amused grimace. “Had a gig last night, decent turnout. One or two people I didn’t know actually showed up on purpose.” Eskel knocked a portafilter empty, cleaning it with a well-practiced twist of the wrist. The man’s eyes drifted to the espresso-stained microfibre cloth that was currently being handled so expertly and found his mind wandering, jarred back to reality as the grinder kicked on. He jumped a little. 

“Ah, you’re a musician, then?” Eskel asked over the noise.

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he took in the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders. “I like telling stories,” he called back.

“Ah, you write your own stuff, then.” Eskel knocked the edge of the portafilter against the palm of his hand to settle the espresso and Jaskier was lost again, watching large, graceful hands working with strength and precision, all in the name of a decent cup of coffee. Eskel looked at his mesmerized conversation companion, “Or do you prefer to cover?” 

“Hm? Oh, well, a bit of both. I like to cover because it gives people a sense of familiarity, like they can trust you with their evening. It sets the tone. Then I do my own stuff once I’ve got them on my side.”

Eskel cut the shot as the rich caramel colour of the dark espresso began to run lighter, and he gave it a sniff, ensuring the extraction was good before pouring in a little milk, and dolling out large quantities of foam. He passed the drink to the young man. “Extra dry.”

“Ah, my hero,” the young man wrapped his hands around the cup and brought it to his lips. “Mmm, delicious as always.” 

“Always?” Eskel asked, tearing his eyes away from the young musician’s long, slender fingers. “Y-you’ve been in here? I don’t—I’d’ve thought I’d remember you.” 

“Mhm, I usually pop in in the afternoons though, it’s typically Geralt over there who’s working.” He waggled his fingers over Eskel’s shoulder and he heard Geralt grunt in acknowledgment.

“Ah, yes. He takes over from me so I can go home and sleep. Well, rather forces me to. It’s hard to remember there’s a home when you spend most of your time at your own business. You hear people talk about self-care? Mine’s Geralt.”

And the young man, who Eskel thought was incapable of being any more charming, laughed so brightly and earnestly that Eskel could’t stop the grin that spread to his own face—not that he’d’ve wanted to. 

"I suppose that's what partners are for, isn't it?" he said flippantly, adding a dash of nutmeg to the foam in his cup and stirring in a little honey. 

"Pardon?" 

"To remind you there's something other than work, you know, house and family and—" 

"Oh, uh, no—business partner. Geralt's just a—well not just. He's my brother." 

"Ah! I'm so sorry, I just assumed... You know, urban cafe, tasteful decore, and then you mentioned he’s your self-care. Most people aren't that close with their siblings is all." 

Eskel nodded, "Our other brother's in charge of the kitchen. It's... a long story, but, here we are!" 

Eskel watched as the young man took a deep breath through his nose, seemingly steeling himself. He was then met with those striking eyes again as a napkin was slid across the counter, just barely brushing his fingertips. “In that case...would you like to get dinner sometime?”

"I—what?" Eskel shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. 

The young man smiled again,"It's alright. I'm just giving you a napkin with my number on it. You can use it to communicate with me. You know, texting? Call me? Maybe eat some food?" 

"But I—I don't understand, why?" 

The young man playfully rolled his eyes, "If you're not interested, you can just say so."

“No! No, I absolutely am, I’m ju-“ Eskel stammered, trying desperately to keep from sticking his foot in his mouth and driving the young man away,“I’m just not sure why you are.”

The young man just laughed brightly, his blue eyes flashing beneath dark lashes, "Because you're handsome, hard-working, and the way we've connected just now gives me a hunch. Besides, how long has it been since you had a chance to get away and go to dinner with someone?" 

Eskel eyed his customer, thought for a moment, and tapped the napkin before picking it up. "Walk first, then dinner. I hate starting dates like a third-degree."

The young man set down his coffee and held out his hand, beckoning to Eskel over the counter. As he came around, he offered his hand in return, and was shocked by the—could he call it intimacy?—of the musician’s hand gently closing around his. It may as well have been an embrace. “I-“ and of course his voice cracked. Eskel cleared his throat with a chuckle, finding those beautiful baby blues once more. “I’m Eskel.”

"Julian. Stage name is Jaskier. You can call me either, it doesn't really matter." 

Eskel smiled warmly, "It's nice to meet you, Julian." 

"Likewise, Eskel. I, uh, I should get going. But. Text me, we'll make plans."

Eskel watched as Julian left, his stride long and confident. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring into empty space, but at some point Geralt once again appeared to nudge against his shoulder. “Better save that napkin, brother.”

Eskel nodded at the flimsy paper in his hand, looking at the digits like they were an ancient cipher that needed decoding. "Better yet..." Geralt said, surreptitiously grabbing Eskel's phone from off the counter, unlocking it, and texting, Hope you have a good day.

"Here you go," Geralt said, handing the phone back to Eskel before pouring himself a drip.

Eskel’s stomach simultaneously lept into his throat and fell onto the floor. “Geralt,” he breathed, watching the *read* message pop up, “well now what? By the way,” Eskel suddenly turned, wagging his finger at the end of Geralt’s nose, “quit drinking all of the merchandise!”

“First off, now he can actually text you back instead of waiting to hear from you all day, which is exactly what would happen if left to your own devices. Secondly... Lambert said he wouldn’t tell you.” 

Eskel shook his head, mouth agape, “Unbelievable.”

Eskel’s fingers itched as he continued about his morning business, his phone silent in his pocket. He had nearly given it up as a lost cause when it finally chimed, and then he almost sent the phone flying across the store in his haste. 

So sorry for the late reply, Eskel. I was on the metro and then I had to run off downtown and then, alas, my phone died. I should really get one of those portable battery things. Ah well. Thank you for the well wishes!! It really brightened my day once I finally got them 😍😍😍

Eskel exhaled deeply. Okay, this was okay, this was good. He typed and deleted. Retyped. Deleted. Geralt reappeared over his shoulder, glancing at the text no worries, wanted to make sure you had my number. Geralt shook his head and took a sip of coffee before grabbing Eskel’s phone and typing, no worries, glad you got it sorted. Hope the metro wasn’t too much of a disaster. Geralt handed Eskel his phone to peruse the message.

“When did you get good at texting?” Eskel murmured as he pressed ‘send.’ Geralt merely shrugged as he ambled away, clearly in search of something to snack on as he finished inventory and ordering. Eskel called over his shoulder, “Would you please make more lemonade since you drank it all?!?!” 

As Geralt’s hum in the affirmative hit his ears so did the chime of his phone.

Not bad at all! Only one shouty person, and he didn't even hurl obscenities after me :D Although a mother with a very large stroller gave me a rather impressive side-eye as I sat down with my guitar tucked between my feet and mumbled something about manspreading. Some days it's the little things that get you through 🙃

Eskel replied, That sounds about right for 2 in the afternoon. Too bad you didn't see the Singing Man, he'll really give your day a kick you didn't know it needed.

You know what would give my day a good kick? A lovely walk with a lovely man ;) 

And Eskel blushed. Full on blushed. Lambert snorted from where he hovered in the doorway. 

“Go on, lover boy,” Lambert smirked, taking a bite out of another goddam slice of bacon. “We’ve got it covered.”

He rubbed his face. It was hard to think straight. He'd been up since 4:30, and part of him just wanted to go home and sleep, but it was also the first sunny day they'd seen in what felt like over a month, and the idea of a nice walk with some light conversation wasn't unappealing in the least. He frowned at Lambert, "How do you even know it's him that texted?" 

"Because you just turned three shades of pink and stared at your phone like it's a piece of alien technology." 

Eskel grumbled and turned back to his phone. Would be nice to get some company and fresh air. What part of town are you in? Meet in the middle?

Meanwhile, Julian was on the metro. Again. His leg bounced where he was sitting, reading the same paragraph of some random book over and over again. He knew it was a long shot coming all the way back to the coffee shop—Eskel might be done for the day and gone home or out doing shopping or—but it could be worth it. He lept off at his stop and bounded up the stairs, and his phone dinged with a delayed notification. He smiled at his phone and stowed it away, walking as fast as he possibly could until he saw the familiar sign of the coffee shop. Julian slowed down so that he didn’t cross the line from ‘windswept’ into ‘desperate’ and peered into the little window. He spotted Eskel immediately, his back to the door and speaking with another man behind the counter, presumably Lambert. Julian smiled and pushed open the door.

"Whoa-ho-ho, Pretty Boy at twelve o'clock." 

Eskel looked up from Jaskier's Spotify account and quickly closed his phone. "I suggested halfway, I hope you didn't come all the way across town."

Now it was Julian’s turn to stammer a bit, his tongue feeling too large for his mouth as his eyes swept across Eskel’s form. Since this morning, it had clearly been a busy day. His cheeks were flushed and his hair curling at the nape of his neck, and he had even caught a glimpse of luscious chest hair peeking out from the sharp v-neck that pulled across his chest. “I-“ Julian grinned to himself, come on, keep it together, “I was already on the metro when you texted back, so I figured I’d just...come here!”

Eskel narrowed his eyes and hummed. "Want a drink before we head out?" 

"Oh sure, we can't eat the merchandise but you can give away free drinks to anyone who flirts with you?" 

"I—You—would you just..." 

Jaskier cut in, "I think you'll find that actually exactly how it works. Bit of an unspoken code. People have started taking advantage of it to get free coffee, though. Makes it hard for those of us who mean it..." Julian's eyes met Eskel's for a lingering second and Eskel had to remind himself to breathe. "London Fog, please, Eskel. But I'm happy to pay. I know tea is less expendable." 

"Hm. See, Lambert? It's a barista thing."

Lambert rolled his eyes as Eskel steeped the Earl Gray in a bit of hot water, added vanilla, and steamed some milk. He carefully slid the finished beverage over the counter, one of his hands finding the tie at the back of his apron. “So...” he said, trying to decide between meeting or avoiding Julian’s intense gaze, “would you like that for here, or to go?”

"I think you'll find it's already in a to-go cup," Julian said, raising an eyebrow. 

"That's because we're getting the hell out of here," Eskel said, and—much to Julian's instant pleasure and amusement—fluidly traversed the service counter, landing deftly on the other side. "I just need to change my shoes, and I'll be up in a second." Julian looked down to see Eskel's black work shoes covered with espresso and nodded, blowing on his tea as he watched, leaving him with the Prickly Brother, staring at him as he chewed his bacon. 

Julian sipped his tea and peered over the rim at Lambert, who had been scowling at him the entire time. Though he didn’t take it personally, it was likely that was just his face. “So,” Julian started, thrumming his fingers on the side of the paper cup, “you’re the one who’s been eating all of the merchandise?”

Lambert scoffed and scowled sideways, the last piece of bacon sticking out from the corner of his mouth. He nudged himself off the back counter and swaggered close to Julian. "Listen. I don't know what your deal is. But if you fuck him over, you will have two very big, very pissed off brothers to deal with. Got it?" 

"Fuck him over what?"

"'Scuse me?" Lambert said, scowling harder. 

"You said not to fuck him over, but didn't specify what."

It took Lambert a moment, but he granted himself one singular chuckle for the little shit. “Alright, kid. Just- be careful with him.” 

Julian smiled gently, peering over Lambert’s shoulder to where Eskel was striding back into the shop. “He seems like the kind of guy that I will certainly be trying my best to keep around.”

“Better believe it. You can spend your whole life looking, you won’t find a better guy than Eskel. He’s a fucking goldmine. But he’s our goldmine. Take his shine, you answer to us.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian mock saluted as Eskel handed something to Lambert. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a piece of bacon. 

“Geralt’s in charge,” Eskel rumbled (which Julian found enticing) and with that, he turned on his heel and pulled open the door. He held it open and Julian smiled as the two of them stepped into the evening sun.

Eskel took a deep breath as soon as they stepped into the fresh air, letting the warm sunlight spill across his face. It was beautiful to look at. His hair glinted with little chestnut highlights and his arching eyebrows became even more pronounced in contrast with the brightness of his skin in the evening glow. Julian watched the muscles of his face relax, the pressure of greeting people slowly dissolving. His shoulders dropped, and he looked truly exhausted for a moment before opening his eyes and smiling softly. “So, Julian. Do you like dog parks?”

Julian braced an excited hand on the swell of Eskel’s arm (and my gods it was firm), “I would love to go to the dog park...but will it be odd if we just show up, without a dog?”

Eskel laughed and Julian felt his knees go a bit wobbly and he tucked his arm around Eskel’s for support. He noticed Eskel glance down. Ah, right, a bit forward. Easy Jaskier. Julian smoothly transitioned to holding his cup with both hands and Eskel smirked privately, appreciating the non-verbal understanding. “No, not really. We can find a bench if it’s not too cold, lots of people come by and watch. Not everyone in the city can have an animal, people are pretty understanding of onlookers.” Julian still looked skeptical, “c’mon, it’s not like going to a playground. I promise we won’t be creepy.”

“Well...” Jaskier smiled, flipping his hair out of his eyes, “lead the way.” 

Eskel walked slowly, stretching their time (and his legs) as much as he could. They made polite, easy small talk, finding little details about each other as they walked.

It turned out that they had surprisingly similar tastes in music, and Jaskier was both pleased and intimidated to learn that Lambert doubled as a DJ on weekends at one of the more popular clubs downtown. He was further surprised to learn that their father owned and operated one of the oldest Italian restaurants in the city and was quite famous because of it—he’d opened it as an homage to his Italian wife when she passed away unexpectedly—and while Papa Vesemir himself was Polish, he’d learned to cook from the best. 

It seemed they were a culinary family, in fact. Both Lambert and Geralt had trained in professional settings—Geralt had a background in baking, while Lambert had trained on the line with his father. Eskel, it turned out, preferred to be behind the bar. He liked people. Enjoyed making drinks. His father always joked that he had the “magic touch.” Every drink he made always came out tasting better, even if he followed the recipe to a T.

“So, why the coffee shop?” Julien asked as they rounded the corner of the dog park. They both smiled as they saw fluffballs of all shapes and sizes bounding around, and Eskel led them to a small bench.

He kicked his feet out in front of him and sipped his own coffee thoughtfully. “It was something we all knew how to do, and we saw a niche missing in the neighborhood. We had originally wanted to make it a bit more of a hub for artists and public resources—you know, host workshops, put up fliers, put artists’ work on the walls to sell. It isn’t quite where we want it yet, but it’s our old neighborhood. Wanted to give something back to the community. Plus, we like having regulars. You don’t get the same thing with restaurants. Cafes, though, you can get to know people better. Build loyalty.” 

Julian sat for a moment, looking at Eskel with a deeper appreciation than he already had. “You’re amazing,” he breathed, the words spilling from his lips without so much as a second thought. 

Eskel flushed even deeper, his neck a very pretty shade of pink. “I wouldn’t say all that...” 

“But I would,” Julian nodded, downing the remainder of his tea. “You’ve created something beautiful in a place that’s meaningful to you with your family, that’s amazing. And I’m allowed to say that, because I personally decide what is and is not amazing.”

“Fair enough,” Eskel raised an eyebrow and hid a smirk behind another sip of coffee. “It’s just... well everyone’s gone and opened up a coffee shop now, and it’s getting harder to see where our niche still sits. It’s a diverse neighborhood, we don’t want to alienate anyone, but we have to stay open... ah, I dunno. I suppose anything seems unremarkable if you’ve been waist-deep in the logistics for long enough.” 

“Do you have open mic nights?” 

“What?” 

“Open mic nights, you know, local artists bring their instruments, read poetry, play music, promote new albums while people buy alcohol and food?” 

Eskel tilted his head, “Huh...” 

“Yeah. Huh.” Julian nudged Eskel’s shoulder playfully. 

“The only issue with that is hours. We’d have to hire more staff and/or open later in the day so we can stay open.” 

“You could man a proper bar again,” Julian sang, jiggling his foot at the end of his crossed leg. 

Eskel reached an arm up and over and around Julian’s shoulder, “Julian, either you’re a remarkable person and I don’t know what on earth you could possibly want with me... or you’ve been sent by one of our competitors to play a long con and put us out of business.”

Julian tried valiantly to hide the shiver that ran down his spine just with the proximity, the weight of Eskel’s arm resting comfortably on his shoulders. “Well, if I told you that, then I’d have to kill you,” Julian smirked. Eskel threw his head back and laughed, reveling in the rejuvenating aura of the delight of a human that had deposited himself at his side.

“Hmmm, shall we keep walking? Or—I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got things to do,” his gaze on Julian was sincere and unassuming and the young musician was certain he’d never had less sense of any ulterior motives than he did in this moment. 

“I should drop my things home before work, actually. But we can walk for a bit in the same direction if you like.” 

Eskel shrugged, “Sure! Which way are we headed?” 

“I’m an Eastender,” Julian smirked. “Off we go!” He offered his elbow for Eskel to take, which he did—a little tentatively and far more gently than Julian would ever have expected from someone so... physically imposing.

Eskel could feel the persistent thrum of blood under his skin, but not in a way that signalled any particular desire. He felt comfortable, more content than he had been in a very long time, and he felt like he could easily waste an entire day doing exactly what they’d been doing for the last hour. Walking, talking, laughing... 

“What are you thinking about?” Julian asked, looking up at Eskel and stealing his breath in the same movement.

“I’m—uh—“ he cleared his throat again, “I’m thinking about how pleasant this has been and... also how comfortable I feel. I—well, I get the jitters, usually. With this kind of thing Which is not to say I haven’t still got them but,” they stopped walking for a moment, and Eskel turned to face his date, “what I’m trying to say is you’re very comfortable to be around. And that’s new.” 

“Wow... honesty. I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I’m sorry did-did I...?” 

“Just make me more impressed?” That damn smile, “yes, I’m afraid you did. How tragic.”

Just like that, Eskel was lost again, caught up in those eyes that shone with an enigmatic innocence and penetrating observation that kept him looking and left him speechless. And Julian... well Julian was uncharacteristically at a loss for words in front of this stunningly kind, unbearably-gentle man he'd impulsively taken a chance on just a few hours ago because of a hunch. 

Eskel wondered whether Julian had leaned a bit closer during their few seconds of silence and countered, leaning forward a little himself. But he didn't want to make the young man think he was in it for the wrong reasons. The fact that he was older and larger wasn't lost on him, and the last thing he wanted was for Julian to feel any pressure. Those bright blue eyes flitted to Eskel's lips, and he swallowed, waiting. But Julian's intuition was too strong—Eskel was hesitating. Instead of following his eyes to the full, soft-looking lips in front of him, Julian placed his hands on Eskel's chest and dispersed the tension. 

“If we don’t keep walking I’m going to freeze my ass off,” Julian finally said. 

Eskel huffed a small laugh. “Come on then,” he jutted his chin, and the two started walking again. 

After a brief silence, Julian spoke, suddenly worried that Eskel felt rejected in some way, “For what it’s worth, I also feel quite comfortable. With you, I mean.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I find I’m starting to move away from the Village scene. It’s always nice to have a community, of course, be able to go to a bar and know you’re in good company but... in the city, everyone’s trying on identities and—it’s all well and good, they should, but it’s just... well, it was fun for a while. I just want to play music and make people happy.” 

“Hm. I can relate to that.”

Julian stopped at the top of the street that would lead him to his apartment, not really wanting the evening to end, wondering whether Eskel was aware exactly how much he’d brightened Julian’s day. 

“C-would you...I mean, if I- or-“ Eskel stuttered, his fingers fiddling at his sides. 

“Go on...” Julian crooked his head with a gentle smile. 

“Would you mind if I came to one of your shows?”

Julian closed his hands around Eskel’s shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “Good God, please come to one of my shows so I can look at a face that wants to be there instead of my bored friends.” 

“Well, I’m sorry it has to be my face,” Eskel fumbled in his self-consciousness, hearing the sound of his own distasteful insecurity. He grimaced inwardly. bad form, Eskel. 

“Hm. Clearly, you haven’t met my pimply weak-chinned-not-at-all-utterly-dashing friends.” It was so easy. Ludicrously easy, the way Julian made Eskel smile in that moment. It truly was a remarkable feat, one that none of Eskel’s former failed romances had ever navigated as easily, or as quickly.

“Thank you,” Eskel said quietly, only for Julian’s ears. 

“Whatever for?” Julian’s brow crinkled adorably and Eskel wanted to smooth the creases away with his thumbs. 

“For...for being bold. Because I know I wouldn’t have.”

“Oh please. This is all stage presence and bravado. I’ve been on the verge of a nervous breakdown since I wrote my number on that napkin. Listen, I’ve—ahh I hate to do this but I really have got to run. We can text later or I’ll pop by the cafe tomorrow and—“ 

“Absolutely, do your thing, I don’t want to make you late. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll grab dinner.” 

“I’ll check my schedule tonight. Should be free in the next few days. Have a good night, Eskel. I mean that.” Julian turned to go, but turned back, quickly pecking a kiss to Eskel’s right cheek, leaving the man standing with a half-smile of surprise on his face as he watched his new love interest scurry into his apartment.

Eskel walked back to the coffee shop, his cheeks pained from the smile that still hadn’t faded. The little bell above the door chimed and Geralt looked up from where was wiping down the counter, and Eskel heard a loud clang as Lambert dropped a metal pan and came running to the front of the now-empty cafe.

Eskel stood in front of his brothers. Geralt’s hand stopped where it was mid-wipe and Lambert fidgeted where he stood, hands on his hips. “So??”

Eskel hadn’t seen Lambert this energetic in a long time, and stood silently, drinking in his little brother’s excitement. Geralt came out from behind the counter, “Eskel. I don’t want to beat it out of you, but you’re leaving me with very few options.” 

“Nah, Geralt, you gotta use smaller words. He’s clearly having a stroke. Eskel!” Lambert clapped loudly, “How did. It go. With Pretty Boy. C’mon, we’re tryna close up here!”

Eskel finally spoke, “I—yeah, it was great. I, uh, I really like him.” 

“Fucking finALLY, BROTHER, THAT’S FUCKIN’ AMAZING!” Lambert practically jumped on Eskel, and Geralt sauntered over to put an arm around his shoulder. “You call Dad yet?” 

“No, I want to wait. I want to make sure this time. Don’t wanna get his hopes up. Plus he’s... well, he’s a bit younger—“ 

Lambert cut him off, “Whoa, I’m gonna stop you right there. What do you always do?” 

“Self-sabotage.” 

“Exactly. So shut up with that shit. You like him, yes?” 

“Yes. Definitely, very much.” 

“And he likes you.” 

“Well I mean—“ 

“That wasn’t a question. He likes you. End of discussion. He’s an adult, let him decide what he wants. Geralt?” 

“Surprisingly sound logic, coming from you. Frightening, actually.”

Eskel nodded along as his brothers bickered back and forth. He felt like he was floating on air, without a tether to the ground. 

“Oh, fuck, he’s really gone for him isn’t he?” Lambert muttered, watching Eskel’s eyes glaze over once more.

Eskel smirked and shook his head, “Fuck off, Lambert.” He playfully shoved his brother’s head to the side and went to count out the till and take it downstairs. He just sat down by the safe when his phone pinged.

Free for dinner day-after-tomorrow, playing a gig tomorrow night and Friday. Which would you prefer first?

Eskel smiled and typed out a response of his own, sending it before he could rethink it. Could I come to tomorrow’s gig and take you to dinner Thursday? I really want to see you again.

He felt his breath immediately quicken, but his hand was steady as he waited for a reply. 

*...* 

*...* 

*...* 

Oh Jesus God please just reply...

Gig tomorrow is at 8:30, Gibson’s Pub in Corktown. $5 cover and also $5 Mill St. on tap. Dinner on Thursday it is. Not fussy, but nothing too spicy. Your choice 😊

Not quite sure what we should do for dinner, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. I won’t miss it for the world. Meanwhile, Eskel knew exactly where he’d be going for dinner. He shot off a text to his father and requested a quiet table for 2 at his restaurant. Papa Vesemir never asked too many questions, but he knew he’d have to explain later.

If you have the opportunity to save the world rather than listen to me play Wonderwall at someone’s request, please do. You can hear that literally any time you want.

For my favorite son, what wouldn’t I do?

Eskel replied to both: That’s a tall order. Watching you begrudgingly play Wonderwall could let me die a happy man.

Thanks, Pops. I know you’re not working that night, just tell Giulio nothing fancy, okay? Just a normal two-top.

Eskel’s phone dinged twice more: Oh my gods, you really are trying to kill me aren't you? You’re too sweet ;)

Mhm.

Eskel continued on with Julian, content with leaving Vesemir to finish his night. Don’t get me wrong, there would be a deep amusement in knowing how much you definitely hate that song by now.

Oh, I absolutely despise it and it needs to go die horribly in a dumpster somewhere. At least now I’ll have a confidante tomorrow evening. You know, someone to really share my suffering with.

Will you play any of your originals? 

Would you like me to?

Only if you want. I understand if you’d rather not share them right away. 

Julian was quickly realizing the extent to which he had, very much, struck a gold mine. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting around the corner to make things not work out This Time. But he shoved those thoughts back. I share my music every week with people who’ve either heard it all before, or are too distracted to really care. Mostly Tinder dates trying to gain hipster points. Please. I would be so happy to know you’re there and actually wanting to listen.

Eskel felt his heart flutter in his chest as he rested his elbows on the desk with a crooked smile. 

I can’t wait, I’m sure they’re wonderful :) Eskel wasn’t really one to use emojis, but this one just kinda...slipped out.

He was whistling by the time he got to the top of the stairs and his brothers were already waiting for him, jackets on, lights out, floors mopped, door ready to be locked. 

“Dinner? Eskel said, trying to wipe what he knew was a stupid grin off his face. 

“Where to, lover boy?” 

Eskel deferred to Geralt, “Hmmm. China down?” 

“Mother Dumpling?” Eskel offered, pulling his collar up as they headed out, Geralt and Lambert sounding their agreement. With the cafe door closed and locked, the three brothers headed out into the evening.

[reinvent-and-believe]

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

--

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair.  “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

[teresa-of-ficwill]

PINK

A small Gerskier fic because I need it 😉

“Jaskier, open a fucking door!” shouted Gerald and continued to aggressively knock on the poor wood. Damn, he would get the whole building up, somebody would definitely call the police on him and he would be in trouble. “Jaskier, for God’s sake!” the man banged again and then used a doorbell. He was hoping he wasn’t late.

They had a fight on the phone about an hour ago. Jaskier lost the keys of Geralt’s flat AGAIN and he was so angry that he would have to change locks again. So yes, he screamed at Jaskier a little… well, maybe not a little. But he had a really shitty day at work, his car broke, and… ugh, who was he trying to fool? Jaskier just caught him at a bad time and didn't deserve to be treated this way.

In any case, his boyfriend is not timid. So he said, “If you don’t stop yelling at me, I'll do something to myself.” And Geralt realized the seriousness of this threat only when Jaskier hung up and stopped answering calls.

The man wasn’t sure what his boyfriend meant but Jaskier is a sensitive, impulsive, reckless, and bipolar person. He is on medication tho but Geralt couldn’t be sure that his boyfriend didn’t mean the worst option the man could think about. Geralt would never forgive himself if Jaskier tried to kill himself because of a stupid quarrel over the lost keys.

Finally, he heard footsteps and the door opened. The man choked on air. It was Jaskier. He was definitely fine, a little bit surprised and with BRIGHT PINK HAIR.

“Geralt, what are you...”

“Damn, you meant dying your hair,” said the man and hugged shocked Jaskier tight.

“Of course! What do you think I… oh. Oh. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he started but then remembered what message he actually sent and immediately felt guilty. Why the hell did he decide to choose exactly these words? He was so stupid. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to,” Jaskier hugged his boyfriend back, burying his face into Geralt’s shoulder.

“You scared the shit out of me, Jask. Never do that again,” said the man, feeling his heart still beating faster than it should.

“I won’t.”

They just stayed like that for a while. Geralt was trying to convince himself that the love of his life was fine and just a little bit dumb while Jaskier was just enjoying the hug. He always was a “give-me-as-many-hugs-as-you-have” person so he felt completely comfortable.

As quite a lot of time has passed, Geralt pulled back, “I’m so sorry I was an asshole. I shouldn’t have shouted at you and you have all the rights to be offended but I want you to know I’m really really sorry.”

Jaskier smiled, “Don’t worry, we’re good. Apology accepted.”

“You changed your image, I see,” Geralt smiled back and slightly ruffled his boyfriend's hair.

“Well… it was a stupid experiment but I like how it turned out. What do you think?”

“It looks good on you.”

“I can dye your hair too,” suddenly they heard a voice from inside the apartment. Priscilla went out into the corridor a couple of seconds later with a spray can in her hands. “Hi, Geralt. I’ve wanted to check if you are both alive here or not. And you are definitely alive so what do you say?” she shook the can lightly.

“I’m not sure…” Geralt began, but then made a fatal mistake and looked into Jaskier's eyes which lit with delight. He sighed and said, “Okay. What colors do you have?”

“Well… pink, pink, and also pink,” Priscilla smiled. “You are free to choose. And don’t worry, they are temporary and will wash off in a couple of days.”

***

“It’s been a week. Can you stop laughing at least now?” Geralt sighed wearily and looked at Lambert.

“I’m sorry I can’t. You look toooo cute,” the man chuckled. Geralt sighed again. It went a little bit different than he expected. Quoting Priscilla, “Oops, it looks like white hair stays pink a little bit longer.”

“At least Jaskier likes it.”

“I bet he is. And why wouldn't he? He lives with such a charming princess.”

“I will kill you someday.”

Lambert waved his hand, “You only promise.”

“Don’t be mad at him, Geralt,” Yennefer smiled, sipping her coffee. “And you can’t deny you look cute. Thanks to you and your hair, we have successfully passed the audit and were recognized as the most creative unit of the company.”

“It was not because of my hair.”

“Keep telling yourself that!” Lambert laughed.

“I just had a thought,” continued Yen. “We have another audit in two months. Maybe you can dye your hair blue or something so that we will definitely pass it?”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“I hate you both so much.”

💜

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[queenxxxsupreme]

Ahhhhhhh your dad!witchers are giving me LIFE. If you're feeling up for it, what would be the reactions of the witchers when they learn their S.O. is pregnant? Sorry if this isn't the right way to make a request!!

A/N: No babe you did perfect!! This is a great way to make a request!! I’m so sorry it took so long for me to finish!! And I hope it’s what you wanted :) 

ALSO just a little reminder that requests are open! I prefer them in my ask box but you can also dm me!! I’m always open to talking to you guys! Here is the link to my masterlist for more dad!witchers or other Witcher characters. Here is the link if you’d like to add yourself to my taglist. 

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, some angst, mostly fluff

Lambert

“Sit still, Lambert.” You told him, dabbing at the cut above his eye. He hissed and jerked away, bringing his hand up to hold your wrist away from him. 

“Could you be a little more gentle? Fucking hell. Feels like you’re trying to rub off my gods damned face.”

“I am not. You’re just being a baby.” You brought your other hand up to hold his cheek, keeping his face where you wanted it. “Now are you going to suck it up and let me help you or are you going to be an ass about it?”

He shook his head, pulling your hand from his face as he stood up. 

“I don’t have to deal with this.”

“Well this is the consequence of you starting a fight with a dozen men at the tavern, Lambert.” You threw the rag down on the table and put your hands on your hips. “I get pissed.”

“I don’t see why you’re pissed, Y/N! I did it for you! Most women find it endearing when a man fights for her honor.”

“I can fight for my own honor. I don’t need you to knock out an entire room full of men just because you can!”

“The bastard fucking grabbed your ass, Y/N!” Lambert turned to face you. “You thought I was gonna sit idly by and let you punch him once or twice?”

“His friends did nothing to me. They didn’t deserve to be beaten to bloody pulps.”

“They did if they were friends with that asshole.” He turned to walk away but you weren’t done yet. 

“Lambert, come back here and sit down. I need to finish looking at your damn face to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine. They’ll heal up in a couple hours.”

“I don’t care if they heal up in a couple seconds. Come back here and sit down so that I know you are okay.”

He sighed heavily, turning around to face you. 

“Woman, you drive me fucking insane.”

“Good.”

“I’m a witcher! Cuts and bruises aren’t going to hurt me. I’m fine!”

You glared at him, arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

Why couldn’t he just listen to you? Why couldn’t he give you peace of mind? You just wanted to make sure he was okay, for crying out loud! You knew he would heal quickly, but your stomach still churned with the thought of him being hurt.

“Lambert. Come sit down. I won’t tell you again.”

“You’re not my fucking boss, Y/N.” He shook his head.

“But I am yours to watch over and protect, and you are mine. Come sit, now.”

“Not now.” He pulled the front door open. 

“I’m pregnant!” The words came out rushed and urgent. Your hands fell to your sides, curling into fists. 

The stubborn witcher stopped in his tracks. He didn’t turn to face you, not yet. But you could see the way he tensed up, almost hearing the breath sucked in through his parted lips. 

Tears sprung from nowhere, trailing down your cheeks. Your knees became shaky. You pulled a chair at the table out and sat down, hunched forward with your elbows on your knees. 

“I-I’m pregnant.” You repeated, but this time it was more quiet and gentle. “And I am absolutely afraid of-of having a baby, especially with you, Lambert.”

He turned around in the doorway but he couldn’t move any further. 

You shook your head, sitting back on the chair and wiping your cheeks. 

“You’re reckless. You don’t think about how your decisions could affect you in the long run. You act on impulse, on anger.” You paused for a moment to bite your bottom lip. “I love you more than you could ever believe. But I-I am afraid to have a child with you.”

When he said nothing, you looked up at him. His jaw was locked, brows drawn together just slightly as he gazed at you. 

“How do…. How do you….?” He couldn’t figure out how to say the word, to say that you were pregnant. The word got caught in his throat and left a bad aftertaste. 

“I’m late.”

“You’re never late.”

“No, you….” You stopped yourself from calling him an idiot. You shook your head and rubbed your brow. “That time of the month hasn’t happened in nearly two months.”

He was quiet for a few more moments before taking a deep breath, realizing what you were saying and what was happening. 

“Oh, fuck me.” He brought his hand up to rub his face.

“I did, love, and this is the result of that.”

He snorted at your terrible joke. 

His hands rested on his hips as he gazed at you, unsure of what to do, of what to say.

“You’re positive this is…. That you’re….”

“Yes. If I had any doubts, I wouldn’t have told you. And if-if you don’t want this, then I understand. I do. You didn’t-You didn’t sign up for this, for a baby. I won’t hold it against you. It’s completely okay.”

“Hold it against me?” He repeated, finally taking a step back into the house. “If I-If I bail on you? If I leave you for you having a-a…. a thing?” He gestured to his stomach. 

You dropped your gaze to your hands. 

“Do you really think that low of me?” Lambert’s voice was a quiet whisper, almost timid and unsure. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear your answer. 

“No, Lambert. I just-I don’t want to make you feel trapped.” You sniffled. 

The witcher was kneeling down in front of you before you knew it, taking your hands and holding them in his own. 

“I would never leave you to handle this on your own.” His voice was gentle, tender. You’d only heard this tone when he helped you through a panic attack or calmed you down after a bad nightmare. 

Lambert brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tears away. 

“I-I love you, Y/N.” He murmured, leaning in to place a velvet kiss on your lips. His hand came up to hold the back of your head, keeping your forehead against his lips. “I love you, bug.”

“I love you.” You whispered, eyes closing tightly as tears trailed down your cheeks. 

Eskel

Eskel listened to the sound of the fire crackling the hearth, to the sound of Lil Bleater snoring all the way out in the barn. 

The night was quiet, but also so lively. There were many noises, many things to keep the witcher from sleeping. It wasn’t just the noise either. There were so many thoughts going through his mind. Any time he tried to close his eyes, the worst ones would make themselves known.

So instead of wasting his time and trying to sleep, he laid on the bed with his head on your stomach. You had been brushing your fingers through his dark hair in an attempt to calm him, but you ended up falling asleep. 

Eskel didn’t mind though. It was relaxing just to watch you rest, to know you trusted him enough to close your eyes and fall asleep. 

He closed his eyes, listening more intently to what was going on around your home. 

There was a herd of deer nearby. They were slowly making their way closer and closer to your garden. 

A fox had already snuck into your garden through a hole in the fencing caused by Lil Bleater earlier in the day. 

Eskel sighed, knowing very well he’d have to fix the fence in the morning. 

But then there was another sound, one closer than the creatures outside. It was a slow thump, quiet and gentle. It was almost…. a heartbeat. 

Eskel lifted his head, brows drawing together as he looked around the room. He wasn’t sure if he expected to see something or not. 

He sat up, brushing a few stray pieces of hair back out of his eyes, and looked down at you.

That was when he realized the sound was coming from you. It was a heartbeat…. in your stomach. 

His jaw locked, muscles tensing as he realized what it was that was making the noise. 

There was no way you were pregnant. You couldn’t be. You both were always so careful. And besides, it was extremely difficult for witchers to have children, but it wasn’t impossible. 

Eskel ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. No, no. He had to be dreaming. Maybe it was the lack of sleep finally getting to him. 

Still, he couldn’t help but look down at your stomach.

You shifted in the bed, spooking Eskel. He jolted a little but it didn’t seem to bother you. You rolled over on to your side, lips parting. 

What if you didn’t know you were pregnant? What if you were keeping it from him on purpose? What if it wasn’t his?

Eskel shook his head, realizing how dumb the thought was. You loved him. He could see it in the way you looked at him, the way you smiled when he was near and when you leaned into his touch when he was close enough. 

But what if you were keeping it from him because you didn’t want him to know? What if you didn’t want to have a child with him? With a scarred and mutilated witcher?

***

You woke up feeling someone brush their hand over your hair. You rubbed your eyes and peered up at Eskel. He was on his side propped up on one elbow facing you, occupying himself by brushing your messy hair down with his hand. 

“Good morning.” You smiled up at him, yawning and closing your eyes as you scooted closer to nuzzle your face into his chest. 

“Morning, doll.” He dipped his head down to kiss your head. 

Eskel didn’t want to frighten you, to scare you, but he really wanted to know if you knew. He needed to know. But he wasn’t willing to wake you up if you were going to go back to sleep. Your rest was more important than his sanity. 

So as you drifted off to sleep again, he focused on drawing shapes into your arm. 

A few more hours passed and you woke up once more. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked. 

You rolled over on to your back, swiping your hair away from your face. 

“Good.” You hummed, reaching up to cup his jaw. “How about you?”

“I, uh, couldn’t.” He cleared his throat, turning his head away from you to look across the room at nothing in particular.

“Not even a little?” You sat up, frowning.

He shook his head. 

“Too much on my mind.”

You found it weird that Eskel didn’t look at you. It was like he was avoiding your gaze, like he couldn’t look you in the eye. 

“What’s….. on your mind, Eskel?” You asked, tilting your head to the side a little. 

He shook his head, running a hand over his face. 

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.” You reached out to stop him from getting up, your hand finding his arm. “Look at me, Eskel.”

With a soft sigh, his yellow eyes flickered up to you.

“Tell me, please.” You drew your eyebrows together and pouted just a little, hoping he’d comply. 

He held your gaze for a few heartbeats before letting out a soft breath. He leaned back, shoulders slumping and eyes falling to his hands. 

How was he supposed to tell you that you were carrying a baby? His baby?

“You’re pregnant.” 

The audible gasp that left your lips was enough to confirm his thoughts. 

“How-How do you….?” You couldn’t form a complete sentence. Your hand came up to hold your stomach. 

“I can hear its heartbeat.” He answered quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You looked down at your stomach and then back to your witcher. You closed the space between you and him and cupped his jaw with both hands. You tilted his face up, swiping the unruly pieces of dark hair from his forehead. 

“Don’t get that tone, Eskel.” You murmured.

“What tone?”

“The tone that tells me you’ve been stuck in your head too much, that you’re having too many bad thoughts.”

You pressed your lips together, studying his golden eyes.

“I didn’t tell you when I found out because I wanted to wait. I wanted to do something special. I was going to make you dinner and we were going to go for a walk to town and I was….” You trailed off, the excitement in your veins fizzling out when you saw that he still looked sad. “I promise I was going to tell you, Eskel. I’m-I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.”

“It’s not that, Y/N.” He shook his head, gently pulling your hands from his face. “I just…. What if I’m not good enough?”

Tears blurred your vision of the handsome witcher before you. You quickly wiped your cheeks before leaning in to kiss his lips. Your hand came up to the back of his neck, fingers gently tangling in his dark hair. 

“You are going to make an amazing father, Eskel.” Your words were whispered against his lips, your breath warm. 

His hand found your jaw, calloused pad of his thumb brushing across your cheek. 

He finally smiled, then chuckled softly, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. 

“I’m going to be a dad.”

Geralt 

You hummed softly, folding Geralt’s clean clothes as he gathered things from the other room. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to your witcher move about in the main room, gathering what things he might need for the Path. 

You put one of his shirts down, your fingers brushing over the gray material. Your eyes were focused on the buttons but your mind was elsewhere. 

You had put off telling him that you were expecting, thinking you’d be able to find the time to tell him the exciting news. However, duty called and the witcher was needed. Word had traveled that a town a few hours away was under attack by a pair of wyverns. Geralt had mentioned needing to leave soon for his duties, but this meant he’d leave sooner. 

“Dove?”

You lifted your head, finding him standing in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, holding a few vials in his hand.

“Yes, love?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet all day.”

“Just busy.” You answered, offering him a gentle smile. 

He nodded, looking down to the vials.

“I know I’m leaving sooner than expected…. and I am sorry.”

“Don’t be, Geralt.” You shook your head. “It’s your duty. Don’t apologize for it.”

Geralt sighed, moving into the room. He put the vials down on your vanity and came to the bed. He pushed the clothes that you had neatly folded, messing them up.

“Geralt!” You teasingly smacked his arm. He smiled a little, sitting down in front of you.

“We had plans.” He said, taking your hand in his. “We were going to take a little trip to the coast. You were finally going to teach me how you make such delicious bread.”

“I can teach you another time.” You squeezed his fingers. “And there will be time later for the coast.”

He nodded, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. 

“I had a surprise for you, you know.” Your heart began to beat faster and you felt a little tingly. The smile on your lips grew. You brought your hand up to his cheek, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb over his skin.

“Do I get to know what it is?” He raised his brows just slightly. 

“We are going to be having a little one.” You giggled. 

His eyes widened and he looked down to your stomach. 

“You're…. You're pregnant?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “We’re going to be parents, Geralt.” 

A smile broke out across his lips, his hand coming up to rest on your stomach. 

“Are-Are you sure?” He asked quietly, husky voice tender and sweet. 

“I’m positive.” You nodded. 

Geralt brought his eyes back down to your stomach before pulling you in for a kiss. His hand came up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb trailing over the apple of your cheek. His hand that was on your stomach slid around to your side before he carefully drew you into his lap. 

“I can’t believe it. Is it a boy or girl?”

“Love, we won’t find that out until the baby is born.” You giggled softly.

“How long until that?”

“Oh, we have a while.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @MishaFaye  @whitewolfandthefox @ayamenimthiriel @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @wolfyland07  @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @romancebibliophilia @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @crazybutconfidentaf @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural  @Magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @thefirelordm @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @badassspaceprincess @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @runawayolives @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @she-wolfoftheinquisition

[fictionplumis]

Okay, so, I’ve had this thought in my head and I’ve been trying to RP it on Omegle but fucking Aiden/Lambert people are SO hard to find, let alone Aiden/Lambert people willing to tossing in other characters so I’m just going to throw this out here for you all, a way that Aiden ends up meeting the other Wolves and wintering at Kaer Morhen if we just ignore canon so one does when canon is dumb. 

So Aiden and Lambert travel together. And they get close. Lovers or not doesn’t matter, they trust each other, right? It’s this whole thing. Now Cats rare venture into Kaedwen because that’s obviously Wolf territory and if their Paths crossed, there might be trouble. (As for who starts that trouble, well... Anyone’s guess, really.) And no Cat is stupid enough to go near the Blue Mountains. Or up the fucking pass. But Aiden isn’t just a Cat, he’s a Cat that has a Wolf friend, so they have this thing where Lambert heads to Kaer Morhen early and Aiden will travel with him right up until the pass stops being a straight-shot and turns into all these mazing trails that so often lead to an unpracticed traveler’s death. They go early so that when they part ways, Aiden has enough time to get out of Kaedwen and start heading south before the snows hit, and it makes sure they don’t accidentally run into another Wolf together. 

It’s not something they’ve really discussed at this point, y’know? Like Aiden doesn’t ask about going to Kaer Morhen or whether Lambert would be okay with the others knowing. Partly because he doesn’t want to make Lambert choose between his trust in his friend and his loyalty to his pack, and partly because the answer kind of scares Aiden. And Lambert doesn’t offer, because he doesn’t know what the others will think and while he wants to assume they would trust his judgement, he’s kind of scared to put their trust in him to the test. 

So they just don’t talk about it. 

As people with “healthy communication” do.

I think you know where I’m going with this. 

So one year, Aiden goes up with Lambert, they part ways, and after traveling down for the day, Aiden sets up camp a little ways off the path and the next morning he’s waking up to a sword at his throat. 

Now Aiden is smart. And he thinks, because he knows Lambert, he obviously knows Wolves. (And he does, really.) So he knows he’s not actually in danger, because he hasn’t done anything and he’s not acting like a threat. No matter how much they protest, Wolves have morals, even the Butcher of Blaviken. And unlike other Cats, Aiden has exactly one (1) loyalty, which is why when Geralt demands he explain himself, he lies. He’ll be damned if he’s outing Lambert before he’s ready. 

So Geralt threatens, and Aiden rolls his eyes and is like, “Yeah, except, I know you won’t kill me. I’m just minding my own business. I’m just vibing on this mountain, you won’t kill me for that. What was I doing? I was sleeping before you rudely woke me up. Why did I come up here? I was curious, please don’t make the obvious joke. Anyway, I’m just heading down now, so it’s fine, I’m no threat.” 

And Aiden is a Cat. He’s pretty good at lying. But you know what he’s really not good at? Telling the truth. So when he says, “I mean, it’s not like I actually reached Kaer Morhen or anything,” it comes out sounding a little bit sus. And he realizes that and quickly backs it up with, “I didn’t. I have no idea how to get there.” 

Which, obviously, makes it sound WORSE. 

And Geralt’s immediately like, “For a Cat, you’re a shit liar.”  And Aiden just takes a deep breath and resigns himself to his fate with a muttered, “Believe me, that’s absolutely not the problem here.”

The solution, in Geralt’s mind, is to tie the Cat up and bring him up to the Keep to let Vesemir decide what to do with him. Because unfortunately, Aiden is right. Geralt can’t just kill him for being there, but he also can’t just let the Cat go when he managed to get to Kaer Morhent. So Aiden’s hands are firmly bound and sprinkled with a fair bit of dimeritium powder to keep him from using Signs, and off they go. 

So I headcanon that Wolves have a better sense of smell and Cats have better hearing. 

The only reason Geralt didn’t smell Lambert on Aiden is that Aiden smells very heavily of sweat, and horse, and pine needles, and the environment smells very heavy of the coming snow, and any little whiffs of Lambert can be passed off as imaginary scents because he knows he’s getting close to home. 

Aiden is the one that hears the forktail first. His, “Uh, Wolf...?” is met with bids for him to shut up. Aiden hears the second forktail but doesn’t get a chance to say anything before their medallions are humming and the damn thing is swooping down from the sky at them. Geralt assumes it’s one, which is not a problem for him to handle. Then the second one lands. And Aiden is in panic mode because he’s bound, can’t use his Signs, and all of his weapons are stashed in Geralt’s saddlebags. 

The smart thing to do is leave Geralt to his own demise and just fucking bolt. Wait for the dimeritium to wear off or chew off the ropes himself and he’s home free. 

Instead he goes running in, darts past Geralt, stealing the knife at his belt in the process, and goes about trying to use his Cat skills to cut off tails and distract the damn things for Geralt to kill. Good thing his hands were tied in front of him. 

Anyway, they get tossed around a bit but there’s no major injuries and Aiden even gives the knife back with very little fuss and Geralt begrudgingly admits that Aiden saved his ass and yeah, sure, alright, thanks for not bolting back down the mountain like an asshole the first you chance you got. But he’s also starting to think that maybe this Cat is a little too okay with going to Kaer Morhen, and now he’s suspicious that Aiden wasn’t lying, he was just trying to manipulate Geralt into showing him the way, so no, Aiden is not untied and no, Geralt is not any friendlier. 

They reach Kaer Morhen. Geralt drags a sulking and cold Aiden inside, kicks his legs out from under him, and yells for Vesemir to come talk to their unexpected guest. 

He gets Vesemir and Lambert. No one besides Aiden notices the way Lambert twitches when he sees Aiden. But he’s not actually hurt and he looks pretty calm, so-- 

Geralt starts explaining that he found Aiden camping on the pass, and that Aiden refuses to tell him why he was up there. And Lambert kind of gives Aiden one of those are you fucking kidding me looks. Like this dumbass really didn’t hand over Lambert’s name immediately? Say he was a friend? Aiden only sees the look out of the corner of his eye because he’s not stupid enough to stare at Lambert and make everything obvious, so he just smiles at Vesemir and is like, “What can I say, I like to be mysterious?” And Vesemir is very much not thrilled about this, or about how cagey the Cat is being, or about his flippant remarks, or how calm he seems about this. 

And finally Lambert is like, “Why the fuck don’t you just tell everyone why you’re here?” 

Everyone thinks it’s just Lambert getting frustrated and joining in on the interrogation and Aiden is like, “Really? You want me to tell them?” 

Lambert tosses up his hands, “For fuck’s sake, yes! This back and forth is giving me a headache!” 

So Aiden tells them. And Lambert mutters his concession that yes, it’s all true, can we all move on with our lives now? If he kills us in our sleep, I’ll take responsibility, blah blah blah, I trust him, yes I know it’s stupid, fuck you Geralt, also fuck you Vesemir, he’s staying in my room, end of story. 

Which is how Aiden stays at Kaer Morhen. And how the Wolves find out that Aiden is really just that loyal to Lambert. And also Aiden has the habit of sounding like he’s blatantly lying every time he tells the truth. 

No Eskel, while I do know how to make pink dye from the berries around the keep, I did not dye your goat pink. The pink staining my fingers are the berries I’ve been eating. Lo and behold, the culprit is actually Lambert, who gave Aiden the berries to eat in the first place. 

Of course I wasn’t cheating at Gwent, Geralt! Who do you take me for? It was just a very, very lucky hand. And actually, it was, and Lambert can’t breathe he’s laughing so hard because he knows Aiden actually planned on cheating and saw him slip cards up his sleeve, but never actually used them, but when Geralt demands Aiden pull up his sleeves, there they fucking are, painting the very wrong picture of guilt. 

Oh yeah, Lambert and I are totally sleeping together. Have been for years now. You just haven’t noticed so far because Lambert sleeps with his window open this early in the season and it’s too fucking cold in the room for me to get it up. That one gets cleared up as soon as the snow starts and Lambert keeps his window firmly shut. God forbid someone walks through that hall, they hear a lot of things they wished they didn’t.

[penroseparticle]

Would it be appropriate for me to be That Dumb Bitch™ and ask for all of the music asks? Because I know I'm gonna ask them all on Anon anyway and I really love your opinions,thoughts, and suggestions on music

Thank you so much💜 ily(platonically)

And I hope you're drinking water

ILY too anon

We both know I’m drinking Diet Cokes rather than water. But I appreciate it! And of course you can be That Dumb Bitch. I approve of all Dumb Bitches as I am one too. all 30 questions coming right up!

your favorite album opener I know it’s pretty basic to answer Arctic Monkeys is a good band, but I am pretty basic so here we are. AM is a near perfect album, which is not news to anyone, but few people know that Do I Wanna Know? is the first track on the album. Masterful. 

a song starting w/ the same first letter of your first name Cheat, by Emily Burns. It’s just a quiet, competent, earworm. And it’s a pretty nice message too- if it were me I wouldn’t have cheated, end of. I like it.

a song outside of your usual genre I’m not super into Metal. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy it, my brother pretty much exclusively listens to hard rock and metal and such, so I have some stuff I like. But it’s just one of those genres someone has to introduce me to songs in. That said, I really like Cold Water by Protest The Hero. Good stuff!

a song that reminds you of your favorite season Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy is SUCH a Fall song, I swear.

a song from a lifelong favorite artist I think my lifelong favorite artist is Ms. Lauryn Hill, if we’re going by the artists I’ve loved longest- that’s obviously influenced by my mother, who LOVES Jill Scott, Lauryn Hill, etc. I’m going with a Fugees song, not an independent, but it’s still fantastic- the classic “Killing Me Softly With His Song”.

your current “on repeat” song Montero by Lil Nas X is still on repeat and I’m not ashamed.

a song your friend introduced you to that you ended up loving Shout out Anna for introducing me ti Leikeli47! Girl Blunt was the song and now I just love her in general but Girl Blunt is good. I think my fave is Wash and Set though, so have a freebie on me.

a song that speaks the words you couldn’t say I have a hard time asking for things for myself so Rose’s Turn has always been a song I think but don’t say out loud. Starting now it’s gonna be my turn? Too unrealistic tbh.

a song that captures your aesthetic (can be ideal!) Bambi by Hippo Campus

a song about the place where you live I have played Welcome to DC so many fucking times (By Mambo Sauce because this city is a fucking joke) and I am thoroughly sick of it. When youth hockey teams use a song as their warmup song it gets old REAL fast.

a song from an international artist I LOOOOVE Maluma, sorry not sorry, and El Perdedor is one of my favorite songs of all time tbh.

a song you can scream all the words to Love In The Morning by Chris Jobe. I just really enjoy the song idk why. Also it’s a very simple song and it’s easy to sing.

a reboot of a song/songs you already loved (remix, mashup, acoustic, etc.) I love Passionfruit, but Drake is a... problematic artist to enjoy nowadays. Yaeji did a very slow, lilting, quiet cover of it that I quite like. So now for my Passionfruit fix I support a small artist and not, you know, Drake

a song with the name of a place in the title Oh god. Vienna is literally the name of like 4 songs that I love (The Fray, Billy Joel, Lambert, and Ultravox, so I’ve gotta go with that one tbh. Lambert is instrumental and Ultravox is some chill ass 80′s stuff, and everyone knows the Billy Joel one.

a song that reminds you of traveling Feel It Still by Portugal the Man reminds me of a trip I took to NYC because someone I went with loved the band.

your favorite childhood song My favorite childhood song is What Kind of Pokemon Are You? From the 2.B.A. Master album for pokemon. It is my fave because that cd is the first piece of music I ever bought for myself.

a song that reminds you of a good time Midnight by Caravan Palace. I have seen Caravan Palace three times live, more than anyone but Betty Who, and I ALWAYS have a fantastic time at their concerts. Just. So good.

a song that reminds you of a bad time Season 2 Episode 3 by Glass Animals is how I describe depression to people- it’s not just that I’m like, blank or sad or bland. It’s that I go through the motions and it doesn’t feel like anything. I do things I love and it feels like nothing. You kind of just can’t do anything to get out of it, your stuff just stops working.

a song from an artist whose old music you enjoy more than their new music So it turns out that my favorite album by FAR for OkGo is Of The Blue Color Of The Sky, a fairly old album of theirs. I like most of thier stuff and obviously all of their videos are great, but my favorite song of theirs is from this album- Needing/Getting.

a song that empowers you I like other Lady Gaga songs more but Donatella makes me feel like I can punch through Concrete idk why

a song from a local artist DID YOU KNOW GINUWINE IS FROM DC. ANYWAYS STREAM PONY

a song you related to in the past and present, but for different reasons Let’s Dance To Joy Division by The Wombats is a song I’ve always related to. Back in the day it was just loud and fun and very good, and now I really think the message of “Everything sucks but we’re gonna celebrate what we can” is something I try to absorb as much as possible now.

your favorite cheesy pop song Classic by MKTO is an objectively bad song that I constantly have in my Spotify Wrapped. I legit can’t explain it. Is it good? no. Is it original? Also no. Is it interesting? No! I don’t get it but I’m under the spell

a song from a soundtrack (musical, movie, video game, etc.) A PROMISE FROM FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES WAS MY NUMBER THREE SONG ON MY SPOTIFY WRAPPED LAST YEAR SORRY MOM SORRY GOD

the song currently stuck in your head OR the song you are listening to right now My music is on shuffle but it just hit Hot Girl Bummer by Blackbear

a song that taught you a lesson Which to Bury, Us Or The Hatchet by Reliant K is one of my favorite songs and really is an object lesson in letting things go. What’s more important? The person or the problem? And sometimes it’s the person, so you bury the hatchet, and sometimes it’s the problem, and you bury us (the relationship). It’s a good song imo.

an instrumental song Teleblister by Clever Girl

a song you always skipped, but ended up loving once you listened to it My favorite song from The Blessed Unrest by Sara Bareilles is Cassiopeia and I straight up skipped it every time I listened for the first like, 6 months I listened to the album.

your favorite album closer good kid, m.A.A.d city is a perfect album as well, and Compton is the last song on the album. Perfection.

your all-time favorite song Such a hard question, and not always easy to answer to be honest. It fluctuates. But for me I think my all time favorite song is currently  

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Hello, sweetheart! I have a prompt for you ❤️ Geralt has chronic pains since the mutations. Sometimes he can't get up, because everything hurts so much. Sometimes he does not eat for days (weeks...), because he cannot go out hunting. As the years have passed, he has managed to mask the pain on his face. Nobody needs to know. His brothers have already looked for a cure, but the potions only ease the pain for a few hours. +

+ When Jaskier started following the witcher on the path, whenever the pain became unbearable, Geralt told him that he had picked up a contract. A contract that would perhaps take days. And then he went into the forest as far away as possible, so that no one would be able to hear his cries of pain.+

+Jaskier knew he was lying. But he just didn't know what he was lying about. Until one day, tired of this situation (he's his best friend, for God's sake!), Jaskier decides to go after Geralt and find out what's going on. You can change anything you want ❤️

BAAAAAAABBBBEEEE 

listen I lived the chronic pain life for a while and if someone would have just told me to shut the fuck up and confront the problem things would have been WAY easier lmao 

Warnings: Lots of swearing. ye ole self-depreciation. chronic pain.

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His back had ached for the last six decades; this sort of twisting torment was nothing new. His second round of trials had induced horrible spasms and, according to Vessimir, Geralt had broken the restraints usually used for young witchers and damn near writhed off the table before the sorcerers had restrained him. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in sixty years because of it.

Eskel and Lambert had sourced out different potions and spells over the years, sometimes putting him under Axi just so he can sleep despite his body, but with the extra mutations came heightened adaptability. If he took any potion too frequently it stopped working, used any spell too often it would barely touch him. While this made his job much easier, and much safer, he was in a never-ending nightmare of shooting and radiating stabbing pain emanating from various points in his spine. It was worse than any stab wound or monster bite he’d ever endured on the bad days, a dull throb on the good days. 

Traveling with Jaskier was surprisingly helpful in this aspect. He made it easier to get rooms with real beds and didn’t care that Geralt’s limbs draped over him in the only comfortable sleeping position he could find most nights. He insisted on getting Geralt hot baths he would never be offered on his own and once blackmailed someone into letting Geralt into a sauna. Of course, Geralt had never told him, there was no point, but having an advocate when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend himself was nice. 

However, as with most things in Geralt’s life, things eventually went to shit. A fall off a two-story roof chasing a vampire the week before had depleted the few potions Eskel had scrounged up for him last they spoke and, bed or no bed, there was no way Geralt could stay with the bard and pretend he was fine. The longer he tried the more explosive his behavior, and well that wasn’t fair was it?

He had gotten up early, before the pain had time to settle in the pit of his stomach and make him nauseous, to head off to the foothills. Giving Jaskier a lie about a contract a town over and meeting up later, he headed to collect Roach and disappear. 

Mounting was a miserable affair, even with a hay bail to help him up. His leg nearly gave out from what felt like one of Yennefer’s electric shocks running the length of the limb before he had the bulk of his weight over the saddle. But once he was on, he was relatively fine. Not trotting fine, but comfortable enough to go at a steady pace out of town without groaning or screwing up his face in agony. It wouldn’t do to scare the townsfolk if he wanted to come back and collect his bard. 

He let Roach meander as far as she wanted off the road running parallel to a stream, letting her choose where they’d be camping for the night once they were far enough from civilization. 

He hated doing this, letting his guard down and in the wilderness no less, but he was holding himself upright on the pommel by the time Roach found a sandy bank next to the stream. He practically fell out of the saddle, unbuckling the girth and giving its bulk just enough of a tug to let it fall off the mare’s back. Even the little effort put into untacking was agony, but he needed his bedroll off the saddle and Roach needed a break. He collected the wood he would need for a fire before he let himself rest, knowing that as soon as he stopped moving the muscles would tighten and cramp up, making it impossible to move until morning. 

He was peeling his shirt off ever so gingerly when he heard a twig snap. Dropping the garment back over his shoulders he gingerly turned to peer into the woods in the sound’s direction. If something or someone came upon him now he was at their mercy unless he could muster enough energy for a sign. 

“A contract, huh?” Jaskier stepped out of the treeline with his arms crossed and a surprisingly parental look of disappointment on his face.

Geralt relaxed a little, plastering the mask of calm on his face as he got back to tugging his shirt over his head, “You followed me?”

Jaskier deflated, dropping his bag and lute next to Roach’s tack as he moved to help Geralt out of his clothes, “I knew you were hiding something from me, but this? Geralt? How long have you been injured?”

The witcher laughed, wincing at the dull ache through his entire torso from the previous effort of keeping himself in the saddle, “Half a century? Give or take.”

“What?” Jaskier sounded offended, why was he offended?

Geralt just grunted, clenching his jaw to keep from yelling as he stood and waded into the stream of snowmelt. All the air left his lungs when he lowered himself into the freezing water, but as it lapped over his back and sometimes even his shoulders he felt a small bit of relief. Being able to lean back a bit and be supported by the current was almost intoxicating after all his muscles had nearly turned to stone over the course of the week.

Jaskier was now standing at the bank with his arms crossed and a look of fury on his face, “I’m your best fucking friend- don’t look at me like that we’re using the ‘f’ word today- and you tried to hide a debilitating long-term injury? Geralt what the fuck?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Geralt huffed, doing his best not to get angry. He hurt and he was vulnerable and Jaskier was using the ‘f’ word and getting his hopes up.

“Oh shove it up your arse. You make everything else my problem, why not this?” Jaskier was on the verge of yelling and Geralt still couldn’t figure out why. 

Geralt stared forward in silence, calmly noting his hands shaking from the cold, or maybe it was the pain, he didn’t really know. 

Jaskier swore and turned to rummage through their things, arranging and rearranging things as he waited for Geralt to get out. 

However, Geralt didn’t want to get out. He wanted to be left alone to be miserable in peace. He wanted to have one fucking day where he didn’t have shooting pain running through most of his body. Long ago he’d given up hope of a day free of pain, now he just wished for an aching sensation rather than this bullshit. He also found he was liking the water. It wasn't as cold as it first was and his breath was coming easier. 

Jaskier rolled up his trousers and waded out to the middle of the stream where he sat, “C’mon Geralt, you can’t stay here all night. You’ll die.”

Geralt frowned up at him, “I like it in here. Hurts less.”

“Dumb Fuck, you’re turning blue. Out. Now.” Jaskier held a hand out and Geralt found raising his arm was nearly impossible. He got it about halfway to the bard’s palm before he stalled out, shaking and staring at his hand in horror. 

“I- Jask I can’t-”

Jaskier sighed, “You’re damn near hypothermic, here.” He reached down and hauled the witcher out of the stream, ignoring his grunts of pain as he walked him back to the fire he’d started. Jaskier went about stripping his soaked pants off, toweling him off with his old shirt, and redressing him all while glaring at him. Jaskier made him sip some boiled water before he bundled the both of them in one bedroll, wrapping himself around the still shivering witcher as completely as possible.

“Th-thank you.” Geralt gasped as Jaskier angrily shoved his arm beneath Geralt’s lower back, the warmth alone was lovely but something about the way his spine laid over the extra bulk was even better.

“You’re welcome.” Jaskier growled, head tucked into Geralt’s chest, “I’m still furious with you. It’s been over a decade and you didn’t think to tell me?” 

Geralt swallowed back tears as he felt some of the tension ease in his back, “No one else really cares…”

Jaskier tilted his chin up to look at the witcher like he was sprouting a horn out of his forehead, “The fuck do you think I’m doing here? You think I enjoy being run out of towns and almost dying every other day? Shit, Geralt, you’re smart but sometimes you’re fucking thick.”

If it wouldn’t have hurt Geralt would have playfully smacked his shoulder, but moving any part of his body was a risk at the moment, “Thought you liked the adventure.”

“No, dumbass. I care about you. A lot.” Jaskier settled his head back down over Geralt’s chest, “In the morning I’m taking you to a healer. Or a sorcerer or mage or anyone who will give us answers.”

“Julek…”

“Shut the fuck up and sleep. Cute nicknames won’t get you out of this one. I’m still furious.”

[g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n]

Which Witcher character would you get along with most? Which one wouldn't get along with you? Which one would you want to be friends with? Would you wear dresses or doublets? ;)

I just want to say that none of these people would want to be friends with me...

✨But they have no choice!✨

I feel like I’d definitely get along with Coën simply for his sass and he honest to god acts like my mom so it’d be pretty easy to have conversations with him and stuff.

I’m so sorry but I genuinely think Triss would fucking hATE me because I’m a little fucking rat and I’d annoy the shit out of her with dumb shit.

I just— god. I want to be friends with all the Kaer Morons but the best answer I have for this is just so fucking bad—

Out of all these rich and fleshed out characters we get, of all the incredible shit we get from all of them, you best beLIEVE I’m gonna pick this little asshole.

Lambert. I’d wanna be friends with Lambert and it’s fucking awful. And the worst part is? I’d probably succeed simply for the fact that oh my goD I am also a fucking dickhead and have a little bitch complex—

Good GOD.

As for the last question who says you can’t wear both? (I’d probably pick doublet because I am not comfortable showing my scrawny lil arms ever and I want to wear silly little matching pants)