#lets get geralt high and snuggle

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 10

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 9 🍂 Part 11

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: Curious Jules and general angst and awkwardness? No smut, that's a warning (y'all are thirsty 😘😘)

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: Proofing and editing 11 right now. It should be up before long and it's a good one! So @keanureevesisbae, enjoy this little intermission of fluff and girltalk while you get your popcorn ready for the next round! ❤️❤️❤️

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @omgkatinka @summersong69 @diegos-butt

You sighed and snuggled into the solid wall of man behind you, moaning when the arm around you squeezed you tighter and the fingers on your chest moved.

“Mornin’, Sugar,” he mumbled into your hair.

“Hey,” you said, a slow, lazy smile spreading across your face, “you’re still here.” Sy chuckled, and you immediately heard something mischievous to it.

“’Course, baby,” he said as he freed his other arm from beneath your pillow and raised himself up on his elbow, “if the choice is between ‘bed and boobs’, or ‘couch and no boobs’…”

“Oh, I see,” you laughed, but before you could continue, your train of thoughts was interrupted by Sy’s lips on your neck. You hummed as the feeling immediately brought the fire from last night back to life, and it made you a lot bolder than you normally would have been. Without thinking, you pressed your ass back, purposely rubbing against the – massive? – erection he was sporting.

“Darlin’, we talked about this,” he mumbled against your skin. You could feel his lips morph into a smile as he spoke.

“You’re not drunk anymore,” you teased.

“I’m not, but I was serious about makin’ it special,” he said before carefully nipping at the skin of your neck. The new sensation did nothing to ease the growing desire between your legs, and everything to make it much, much worse.

“Sy-“ Fingers captured your face and turned it up so you were facing him. A swift kiss on the lips shut you up. Normally, you’d get mad, but Sy could interrupt you like this all day, every day.

“Sweetheart, it’s our first time and-“

“Fucking Jules,” you hissed when you heard him say that. She’d told him? She was so fucking dead! After making a mental note to put ‘kill Jules’ on your to do list for the day, you turned your attention back to Sy, who looked at you confused, as if he hadn’t just said something he really shouldn’t have said. Oh boy.

“Su-“

“Do not ‘Sugar’ me, Sy,” you growled, “what the fuck? Julie told you?” That was high treason. And you’d be sure to let her know that. Actually, it probably wasn’t as big a deal, but you were angry, and she was going to get it.

“Told me what?” This was unbelievable. He was really going to pretend you were stupid?

“Don’t play dumb, Sy. She told you I’m…” It was never hard to say… Until you said it to the guy you were really hoping would help you get to where you’d never have to say it again. “I’ve never…” “She didn’t tell me that.” Tears burned behind your eyes. How could he be lying to you right now?

“Then how did you know it would be my first time?”

“I didn’t.” A cocky grin spread across his face. “I said it would be our first time, Sugar.” Oh…

Sy had gotten a call from a realtor about a house nearby, and had left after breakfast, leaving you with plenty of time to freak out before Julie arrived. Or so you thought. How was it possible that this woman didn’t have enough speeding tickets to wallpaper your entire house?

“Bitch, spill.” She immediately dashed past you, into the kitchen, where she put the kettle on.

“Good morning, Jules!” You said sarcastically, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face. It was amusing to see how Julie had already made herself at home at your new place.

“Seriously, Lara, none of that, you’ve been driving me absolutely insane. Please tell me you’ve finally slept with him?”

“Slept with, yes,” you said, “the other thing, however…”

“You… I… Wha… Lara… No… He…” Jules pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers and sighed very dramatically. “He was in your bed.”

“He was.” You giggled. For fuck’s sake, you actually giggled. Were you twelve? Some wide-eyed schoolgirl looking anxiously at the anatomy pictures in the biology book? Or were you a grown woman who… Oh, forget it.

“Why, pray tell, did it not happen?” Julie actually crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She was unnecessarily invested in all of this, you decided. But she was your best friend, and that was her job. And you were going to need her.

“He wanted our first time to special,” you said softly as a blush slowly crept up your neck.

“Oh,” Julie said, putting just a little too much emphasis and subtext into that one little syllable. As soon as she had her tea and you were holding your coffee, you moved to the living room.

“So the first time you kiss, you take him to your room and he spends the night?” Jules laughed as soon as she set her tea down on the coffee table.

“It wasn’t the first time we kissed.” For once, it was your time to shine. And God, it was worth it! Julie’s mouth fell open and she looked at you with complete bewilderment splattered across her face for a moment.

“It wasn’t?” You shook your head in reply and gave her the run-down of what had happened weeks before.

“I fucking knew it,” Julie hissed when you were done talking, “there’s no way he could have kept his hands to himself for that long.”

“Excuse me?”

“Lara, Sy has been sleeping on my boyfriend’s couch. I know things I shouldn’t know.” Jules’ eyes were glowing as she spoke. “That man used to take five minute showers before he met you. Now it’s ten. Do you think he spends those extra minutes washing his hair?” You looked at her sheepishly, not catching on to what she was trying to say until she made herself abundantly clear with a fairly obscene hand gesture.

“Jules!” If your cheeks hadn’t been red already, you were approximately one hundred percent convinced that they were now.

“I’m serious.” Julie seemed to feel a lot less shame talking about the subject. It was weird; normally it wasn’t a problem for you, either. When discussing Jules’ sex life, that is… “Now, about last night…” She looked at you, clearly filled with anticipation.

“We… made out?” Jules sighed. It was more than clear to her that she was going to have to take the lead in the interrogation – again. Only this time, she knew you’d answer. Because you needed her help. She asked all the questions she wanted to know – up to and including ‘how big is he, because I’ve seen him in sweatpants and girl…’, to which you had to answer that you didn’t really have any reference material, but you thought he was pretty big. That answer did not seem to satisfy Julie’s curiosity.

“What, do you want measurements, Jules?”

“If possible?” The woman was dead serious…  

[eggcompany]

Jaskier and his Snuggly Wuggly Killing Machines Part 12

Spin-off of our fic- Jaskier and the snuggly wiggly killing machines!!!

“What do you mean you haven’t given them tummy rubs? They’re wolves. They’re fucking puppies! Gods Jaskier, you are stupid.”

Yennefer shows the boys the wonders of tummy scratches. Well mostly Eskel and Geralt.

“What do you mean you haven’t given them tummy rubs? They’re wolves. They’re fucking puppies! Gods Jaskier, you are stupid.” Yennefer said exasperated. She put down the mug she was drinking tea from and walked over to where Geralt was helping Eskel build a castle with lego bricks. Jaskier sighed. He hadn’t thought about that. Sometimes he forgets the babes are actually… animals. Kind of. 

Jaskier had adopted the three wolf witchers almost a month ago. Rescued from a life of abuse, neglect, and getting passed from owner to abuser to pounds to adoption centers to a cushy life full of daddy snuggles and pampering from their Aunty Yen. Each being almost two hundred pounds of muscle and each being a snuggly squishy little baby. Eskel being a bit of a big brother, Geralt’s a bit of a toddler, and Lambert’s Aunty’s favorite kitten. 

“Eskel darling, come here. Do you want some tummy scratches?” Yennefer asked as she plopped herself down onto the floor, legs straight out. Eskel cocked his head to the side questioningly. Yennefer patted her lap. Eskel smiled and backed away from the colorful tower in front of him, careful of his wagging tail. 

“Here, belly up, please. I’m gonna scratch at your tummy. Pup’s usually like it. Tell me if you want me to stop. Ready?” Yennefer adjusted the hefty large body across her thighs, sliding a pillow under the soft dark hair. Eskel’s eyes were twinkling as he stared up, his tail squished lighty against the living room carpet. Eskel lifted up the plain brown hoodie he had on to show his aunt his scarred well muscled stomach. 

Yennefer smiled and placed her hands one on his sternum and one right over his belly button and felt the muscles jump. Eskel looked excited and curious. Right as Eskel lifted his head to see what Yennefer was doing she bumped her hands up so her short dull nails ran up and down his stomach. Eskel let out squeal and tensed. As Yennefer spread her scratches around Eskel turned into jelly in her lap. Eskel let out loud rumbling growly purrs. His ears were flat against his head and his eyes shifted to almost cross. Yennefer giggled a bit. 

“Aunty? What doing to Woof?” Geralt asked as he crawled over to look at Eskel who was squirming and panting. Yennefer kept her scratching, running dull nails from the top of his underwear to right under his pecs. She looked up at Geralt’s cute curious face. His hair was somewhat falling out of the ponytail it had been pulled up in, framing his face prettily. 

“I’m scratching his tummy. Feels good, huh, Cutie pie!” Yennefer said in a high silly sounding voice to the panting baby who now had his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Eskel didn’t even acknowledge that anything was going on other than the wonderful perfect sensation that was flooding his systems that made him feel like he was floating. 

Geralt scooted closer and sat on his knees and watched Yennefer scratch him and then looked closely at his brother’s face and then stomach. Then he sat back and looked at his aunty. 

“Can you make my tummy scratched? I wanna be fuzzy like Woof. Please?” Geralt said and started to wag excitedly and moved his hands and and down on the carpet. Eskel was panting and drooling a bit. Yennefer slowed her scratching until she stopped. 

Eskel yawned and wiggled. He hummed and pulled his hoodie back down. Jaskier walked over and smiled. 

‘Felt pretty good then? Come here pup, you can come take a nap with me. Bear, good manners! Such a polite boy.” Jaskier said as he sat down on the couch opposite to the quilt wrapped baby who was snoring softly. Eskel rolled over and looked content and happy as crawled over to Jaskier. The musician hauled the pup up onto his lap and situated him so he was resting against the arm of the chair. The warm weight of the pup on his lap calmed Jaskier. Something about the slow low rumbling of the babies purring really petted at something in his heart. 

Yennefer situated Geralt across her lap and scratched at his tummy the same way she had to Eskel. Geralt though, he didn’t start purring and melt. Geralt wiggled and whined and made a loud growly purring noise. His happy noise.  

“Oh you are just the oddest little thing! I love it! Oh Bear, you like tummy rubs huh!” Yennefer practically squealed as she ran her hands up to scratch at Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt smiled as his tail flicked erratically against the floor and his ears twitched and moved. 

Eskel dozed off and while Yennefer ran her palms down Geralt’s stomach, Lambert woke up. Lambert decided that he did not want belly scratches but just wanted to lay on Aunty Yen. 

Belly scratches became a very frequent event for the Pankratz Witchers. 

<- Last Chapter Next Chapter ->

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

when i’m with you (i have fun)

(Geralt and Jaskier get high - prompt fill for @passing-as-normal)

-tw marijuana...of course-

“Oh hell yeah,” the bard suddenly whoops, flying from the path and out into the field it borders. ���Geralt, wait a moment, won’t you? Let me gather some of this and then we can hurry on our way.”

“What is it?” the Witcher inquires. It smells familiar; he’s caught whiffs of this plant on Jaskier’s clothes before. Or in his hair. Sometimes it’ll sweeten his breath; on those nights he tends to be particularly talkative and affectionate. And handsy.

Geralt associates this smell with pleasant, happy evenings being petted at and cooed over by his little bard. 

“It’s the most wonderful herb in the world,” the younger man beams up at him, already stuffing the leaves into his pack one fistful after another. “And we, my dear Witcher, are going to have a lovely night at camp. Make sure to pick somewhere totally safe and monster free to sleep tonight. We’re going let ourselves go a bit and we are going to vibe.”

---

Whatever Jaskier had meant by going to vibe, Geralt was absolutely sure they’d reached that point. They’d burned through three pipe-fulls of the strange plant as they sat beside the fire and the Witcher felt good. He felt better than good. He felt so relaxed. 

“What is this stuff?” he asked. The bard giggled and pressed himself along the length of Geralt’s right side. The Witcher’s arm found its way around Jaskier’s waist before he could stop it and the bard snuggled even closer. “I feel drowsy and very...distant. My hand is attached to my arm but I’m not sure that it belogns there, you know?”

“That’s a good way to describe being high,” Jaskier giggled. His smile was wide and dopey. Geralt liked the easiness of it; all of the bard’s feelings were out in the open when he smiled like that. “I feel floaty and soft and very, very tactile.”

“Tactile?” the Witcher snickered. For some reason, one that he didn’t care to think about or bother with, he couldn’t stop laughing. Everything was extremely amusing. 

“I feel everything more when I’m high, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Like this,” Jaskier demonstrates, sweeping his hand through Geralt’s loose white hair. They both watch in quiet fascination as the strands fall back towards his shoulder and settle there. He does it again and Geralt releases a happy sigh. “See? It feels better when you’re stoned.”

“It does.”

“May I touch you some more?” the bard asks innocently. Geralt startles and glances sideways. “Just your face and hair. I promise it’ll feel good.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier was already straddling his lap, running gentle, calloused fingertips over his nose and cheeks. His eyes flutter closed and the bard caresses his lids softly with the pads of his pointer fingers. He feels the younger man’s breath against his skin a mere moment before he feels yielding lips pressing to the corner of his mouth. He seeks out the touch again, eyes still closed, chasing after Jaskier like it’s a game of tag. 

“Again,” he murmurs, bewitched by the overwhelming presence of Jaskier sitting against him, touching him all over and smelling so incredibly good. “Kiss me again, my bard.”

So Jaskier does. 

[kuripon]

precious time

Geralt/Jaskier | G | 1.2k words | cw: sleepy snuggles and kisses 

A loud thud hits the floor outside of Geralt and Jaskier's room. Geralt's eyes fly open, but he refuses to move, far too comfortable under the heat of the duvet with Jaskier wrapped, octopus-like, around him. Good thing they sleep in various states of undress (completely nude is his preference). He can feel his husband shift against him, the cold tip of his nose pressing into the back of Geralt's neck.

Jaskier sleeps so deeply, Geralt wonders if he's even heard the noise that woke him up.

Another thud sounds outside their door and Geralt sighs deeply. He supposes that he should get up and address the noise, but as previously noted, he's far too comfortable to move. Having hired experienced help at the bakery, it's the first morning in a long time that he's been able to sleep in and he wants to take advantage of it. But this must be what Jaskier deals with on a daily basis.

"DADDY!!!!" comes the screeching voice of Cirilla, his dear, dear... dear darling daughter.

Jaskier snorts violently awake, unable to ignore their daughter no matter the state of being he's in.

"Your daughter's awake," Geralt rumbles, careful to keep his voice down so as not to alert Ciri to their newly awakened status.

Jaskier blinks blearily at their shut, but unlocked, door and then snuggles back into the bed, pulling the duvet over his head. He presses an uncoordinated kiss to Geralt's shoulder and then shoves his face between his shoulder blades.

"Before sunrise, she's your daughter," says Jaskier, voice muffled against Geralt's back.

Turning in the bed, Geralt chuckles near silently as he wraps Jaskier tightly in his arms, joining him under the duvet. Their bed creaks under them as he dusts kisses over Jaskier's cheeks, watching through the low light as his nose wrinkles adorably in response.

"Geraaaaaaaalt..." Jaskier whines. "Jus' wanna sleep, please."

Geralt hums and presses a kiss against his forehead. "It's after sunrise, but I'll let it go this time." He rolls out of bed, briefly exposing Jaskier to the cold air of their room.

He watches fondly as Jaskier shivers exaggeratedly and gathers the duvet around him, stealing the blankets from the rest of the bed. Geralt helpfully climbs onto the bed and on top of Jaskier, choosing to ignore the muffled, sleepy whines as he tucks the duvet around his sleepy husband. Another thuds hits the carpeted floor outside their door.

"I'll be back later," he tells Jaskier, kisses the little tuft of brown hair still visible from the blanket burrito, and then goes to get dressed.

Opening their dresser, he rustles through their unorganized, half-folded clothing and pulls out a gray pair of sweatpants and a white sleeveless undershirt. While he pulls his prematurely gray hair up for the morning, hair band snapping into place, he opens the door and finds Cirilla laying flat on her back on the floor, throwing a stuffie in the air as she kicks her feet.

"Ciri." Up again goes the stuffie, her green and pink nightgown a tent over her knees.

"Daddy," she says, matching his grave tone.

Geralt growls and swoops down upon their daughter, picking her up from the floor and lifting her high in the air. Ciri screeches in joy, wiggling in her father's hold as she sails through the air.

"In this house, we eat children for breakfast," Geralt growls as they make their way downstairs to the kitchen.

"No, daddy, nooooooo!" Ciri yells, curling up against Geralt's chest.

"No?" He looks down at his daughter, amazed as always at how the gods' deemed him worthy enough to be her father.

"No!" she declares loudly. "We eat... chocolate chip pancakes."

Geralt closes his eyes and hums in consideration, just catching the puppy eyes from the little manipulator in his arms. Jaskier has taught her too well.

"Then chocolate chip pancakes it is."

"Yes!"

Ciri wiggles in excitement in his arms, Geralt soon letting her down so she can work out some of that seven-year-old-early-morning-energy. He watches her for a moment as she runs around the couch, her stuffie lifted high in the air as she makes swooshing sounds.

With a smile, Geralt turns to their kitchen, donning an apron and pulling out the ingredients. He makes sure Ciri is suitably distracted before reaching up high for where the chocolate chips are hidden deep in the cabinet. He smirks as he remembers that he has to hide it from Jaskier as well.

"Ciri," he calls out. "Do we want a light amount of chocolate chips, a regular amount, or a heavy amount?"

"HEAVY!" she yells back.

"As you wish, princess." He laughs and turns back to the batter as he hears Frozen II come on in the background. To think, he can tell the difference between Frozen and Frozen II from the first opening notes of the movies.

He sets the now chocolate chip filled batter to the side to rest for a moment before he starts up the coffee pot.

This is sure to wake up Jaskier for the day.

He gets through four pancakes before he senses him.

True to his intimate knowledge of Jaskier, he first hears the duvet dragging against the carpet before he sees Jaskier turn the corner into the kitchen, wrapped and covered in the duvet like some sort of sentient, walking burrito.

"Geralt," Jaskier rasps, his voice clearly still asleep. "Is that the nectar of the gods' I'm smelling? That bitter, life-giving ambrosia?"

Jaskier walks right into Geralt's open arms, caring little for the fact that there is still a pancake cooking in the pan.

"It's only coffee."

"Ambrosia, Geralt. Sweet, sweet ambrosia."

His husband is very dramatic and Geralt loves him for it.

"PAPA!" their daughter screeches behind Jaskier, scaring him further into Geralt's arms.

"Ciri," Jaskier says with false cheer, trying to cover up his momentary fright, but soon enough the smile on his face becomes genuine.

"You're awake, you're awake!! Come watch Frozen with me!" Ciri grabs the corner of the duvet and starts to pull Jaskier towards their living room.

Jaskier stumbles a little bit. "Just a moment, darling. I wanna speak with Daddy."

"Promise?" Those puppy eyes again.

"Promise." Jaskier bends down, the duvet falling to his shoulders, and offers a pinky to Ciri.

She curls her pinky around his gleefully. Jaskier kisses their entwined pinkies and states, "the deal is sealed."

Ciri echoes him a second later and then runs off to the living room and lands with a plop on the couch, leaving them once again in relative quiet.

Gods, Geralt loves them both so much.

Jaskier turns to Geralt and leans against him once again. Geralt wraps his arms around him.

"Now about that ambrosia."

Geralt brushes his nose against Jaskier's gently, humming softly. "It's gonna cost you."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm. One whole kiss."

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. "Abject highway robbery!"

Geralt chuckles and leans in for a good morning kiss, pressing his lips against Jaskier softer lips, morning breath be damned. He's so wrapped up in Jaskier that he fails to notice Frozen being silenced in the background.

A tug on his apron pulls him away from the kiss.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, my little love?"

"Something's burning."

"Hm-- Oh shit, the pancakes!!"

[parkkrys]

Late night softness (Jaskel)

Short snippet I did for my friends on the Feral Bards server. All grammar mistakes are my own, hope you like :) (Also this is game canon Eskel)

Also posted on A03 here

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

When they had first met, Jaskier thought he would never be lucky enough to have someone like Eskel to be his partner. The man is the definition of a gentle giant and Jaskier wanted to climb him like a damn tree much to Geralt’s dismay. 

“You weren’t supposed to meet Eskel, Jask,” Geralt had complained and Jaskier had been hurt as he looked at Geralt. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Geralt had stopped and Jaskier could see he was internally panicking and the only thought that crossed his mind was ‘Good let him panic the bastard’. Geralt only dropped it after that knowing that he had made his best friend hurt. 

Even if it had been years later, now with Eskel and him having been in a relationship for years it still bugged him that Geralt never gave him an answer that day. He never told Eskel of what happened, even after them being together for three years, instead he just simply focused on Eskel and just shoved it to the back of his mind. 

It was just moments like these where it was late at night and he was home alone curled up on the couch waiting for his boyfriend to come home. It was these moments where the thoughts would creep up on him and he always hated it. Jaskier only sighed as he stretched out to lay across on the couch that they had bought together a couple of years ago. It was actually the first thing they ever bought together and the thought of it always made his heart flutter wildly. 

God, even three years later and he felt like a high school boy with his first crush. 

When he had gotten a call from his boyfriend a couple hours ago with Eskel sheepishly telling him he would be a couple hours late, Jaskier had accepted it with good grace. Why kick up a fuss? It wasn’t Esekl’s fault that Vesemir wanted him to stay a couple hours late on the farm to take care of the animals, and who was he to prevent Eskel from his beloved animals? 

He always felt guilty for dragging Eskel away from the country where he loved being. Even if it was Eskel’s idea to move in with Jaskier in the city so Jaskier could keep going to school to become a professor. Even if Vesemir hired Eskel to help around the farm Jaskier still couldn’t stop feeling the guilt eat away at him every time. 

Even if Eskel always kisses the guilt away he still couldn’t help it. But he was too selfish to let Eskel go so he had accepted his fate to live with the guilt. Jaskier hummed as he listened to the tv run in the background, his eyes drooping as he settled farther into the couch. He wasn’t going to fall asleep, he refused to, he was just going to let his eyes rest for a bit is all. 

It had only felt like a few minutes that he closed his eyes when he opened them again but he knew it had been hours. The apartment was quiet, dark,  the tv was turned off and he groaned as he snuggled deeper into the warm body behind him. 

Wait. That wasn’t right. 

Jaskier hummed as he took notice of the blanket wrapped around him, an arm thrown around his waist holding him close and Jaskier sighed as he soaked up Eskel’s warmth. He didn’t even hear him come in. 

“Esk?” He whispered after a bit only to have Eskel hum before falling back to sleep and he couldn’t stop the smile on his face. This huge man was so bloody adorable. 

“Esk.” 

“Hmm what?” 

Jaskier shivered at the roughness of his lover’s voice, and Eskel only hummed again as he nosed the skin behind his ear. 

“Baby, we should go to bed. It’s more comfortable.” 

“Here’s fine,” Eskel hummed and Jaskier huffed in laughter. 

“You won’t say that in the morning love, trust me, it’s more comfortable in bed,” Jaskier tried to coax but the arm around his waist only pulled him tighter to the big lug behind him. 

“Don’t wanna get up.” 

“If you get up I can make your favourite breakfast in the morning.” 

“The one where it’s the only thing you don’t burn?” Eskel asked and Jaskier huffed in mock offense. 

“Good sir how dare, see if I cook it for you now.” 

Eskel only chuckled, his voice much deeper since he is now slowly starting to wake up before he placed a kiss on the back of his neck before he was sitting up, dragging Jaskier with him and Jaskier squeaked a little before Eskel’s lips were on his for a sleepy kiss. 

“Sorry my little bird, but I have seen you burn water.” 

“That was one time!” 

“One time is enough,” Eskel teased before he was up on his feet, Jaskier still in his arms. 

Jaskier only wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's neck, kissing his jawline in thanks as Eskel only hummed in contentment, walking them to their shared bedroom. This show of strength usually never failed to get Jaskier going, but it wasn’t needed for this moment, this was soft and Jaskier certainly wasn’t going to ruin it. 

“Is everything okay at the farm?” Jaskier softly asked as Eskel placed him gently onto the bed before he was crawling under the sheets. 

“Yeah, Lil Bleater decided to run off so we had to find her.” 

“That trouble maker I swear,” Jaskier teased as he himself crawled under the sheets, curling up so his head rested on Eskel’s shoulder, a leg thrown over top of his. 

“Pretty sure she learned her dramatics from you.” 

“Excuse you!” Jaskier gasped as he wiggled and Eskel grumbled as he tried to pin him down, “Just for that I am going to teach her to eat your favourtie scarf.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Watch me oh lover of mine, you started this war, I am going to end it,” Jaskier declared before Eskel just rolled on top of him, his head on Jaskier’s chest to stop him from moving. 

“Go to sleep Jaskier,” Eskel only told him and Jaskier huffed as he ran his hand through Eskel’s hair, his fingers mapping out whatever skin he could find. 

“How am I supposed to? I’m too busy planning my vengeance.” 

“Then I call a truce,” Eskel grumbled as he kissed the bottom of Jaskier’s chin, “Now will you go to sleep?” 

Jaskier only sighed, “If I must.” 

“Yes, you must,” Eskel teased before they both chuckled, “Love you songbird.” 

Jaskier wanted to fly every time Eskel said those words, “Love you too.” 

There was silence after that and Jaskier could only smile when Eskel started to slowly snore. He loved this man with every fiber of his being and he could never come to regret it. He only yawned before he allowed himself to fall asleep, another day awaited them anyway. 

[jaskiersvalley]

I'm OBSESSED with your writing and your stories, I'm so glad I found your blog, now I always have something new to read!! ❤️❤️❤️

I remember watching you blitz through the blog, leaving likes on a lot of the stories. It really made my day! Now, who knows how many months late, I bring you some silly Witchers and their mutagens.

Kaer Morhen’s Open Door Policy

When Jaskier was invited to Kaer Morhen, he’d thought the open door policy that Geralt mentioned meant that anyone was welcome to stay for the winter. It warmed his heart that the Wolves were so welcoming and generous with their winter lodgings. What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was that said open door policy was a literal thing. He arrived in Kaer Morhen with Geralt, they were stomping snow off their boots when someone rounded the corner at some speed. Slowing down, the man made a beeline for them.

“Lambert,” Geralt greeted before he was veritably bowled over in a hug. If Jaskier squinted, he could have sworn Geralt was given a long sniff and maybe even a lick, perhaps over the lips. But surely he must have seen wrong because Jaskier himself wasn’t given such a greeting.

Two more figures appeared and introductions were made to Eskel and Vesemir. It was quite nice really, even if a lonely winter with just the five of them. However, if gave Jaskier a chance to get used to the ways of the keep. Mostly, it was learning to leave doors open a crack and how to keep the hinges well oiled at all times. If he didn’t, it was guaranteed someone would turn up.

At first Jaskier had thought it was because he wasn’t trusted, not an accepted member of the pack. But that thought was quickly thrown out the window, especially when he was dragged into the cuddle piles in front of fires. Those were rather nice, if a little too warm and sweaty for his liking. Yet, every single time he forgot about keeping a door open, whenever it snicked shut behind him or clicked open as he stepped through, within ten seconds one of the other residents appeared. Usually it was Lambert, rounding the corner at quite a pace even as he tried to make it look like he hadn’t dropped everything and run. It was rather offensive in a way, at least that was what Jaskier thought until he was sat quietly in the library, Lambert browsing for something when his head snapped up all of a sudden and he was off at full pelt. That wasn’t the first time Jaskier saw him running. On more than one occasion Lambert almost bowled him over in corridors as he rushed towards whatever he had heard.

“Doors,” Geralt had explained quietly one night. “If we hear a door open or close, there’s this overwhelming urge to go see who it is, what had happened.”

Now that Jaskier knew, he paid more attention. Any door had Lambert running. Much more sedately, Eskel would usually follow, lumbering towards the source of the noise and trying desperately to look like he wasn’t doing exactly like Lambert. However, he had a weakness, as Jaskier discovered. The cupboard doors in the kitchen. If Jaskier, or anyone else for that matter, happened to go and look in one, Eskel was bound to bumble into the kitchen within a short space of time, looking bashfully hopeful. It was cute, Jaskier even started indulging and giving Eskel snacks because the way he softened and smiled at the offering was far too endearing.

“You’re only encouraging him,” Vesemir grumbled as he watched Jaskier hand Eskel half a slice of honey coated bread. Rather than argue, Jaskier gave Vesemir the other half, not commenting on how the old Wolf appeared for seemingly no reason in the kitchen. The treat certainly silenced him.

For a first winter, it was a good one. Jaskier was satisfied when he left that he was getting the hang of the odd open doors policy. It was the next winter that proved to test his patience. As well as the Wolves, there was a Cat there too. Haughty and aloof, Aiden spent most of his time perched up high somewhere. He slowly warmed up to Jaskier though, cautious at first. However, Aiden seemed to be rather fond of the open door policy, only ever opening or closing a door when he wanted attention. And that was rather frequently. More than once a day Lambert would go running because Aiden slammed a door somewhere, wanting to play.

It was all very well until Jaskier had to use the privy. That was one door that the Wolves learned not to run to. Even though Lambert still twitched, head swivelling it its direction before grumbling and returning to what he was doing. Jaskier was trying to just have a peaceful moment to relieve himself, a considerate two stalls down from an occupied booth when he heard someone else come in.

“Lamb?” Aiden’s voice drifted through the air, a little plaintive and lost.

“What?” Not all that unusual for Lambert to sound irritated.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up at the question. What could Lambert be doing in the privy other than the obvious one of four things?

“I’m taking a shit.” Well, that answered which of the four it was but Jaskier could heard the sounds of a body leaning heavily against the door.

“Oh.” Aiden sounded almost disappointed. “I thought I heard some rustling like a snack being opened.”

“I promise I’m not fucking eating while taking a shit. Who eats in here anyway?” Grumbling, Lambert scoffed. “Don’t tell me, I bet it’s Geralt.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Geralt most certainly does not eat in the privy.”

The sound of a body moving and Jaskier knew Aiden was stood outside the door to his cubicle. “Jaskier. You’re in there.”

“No I’m not.”

For a moment there was confused silence before Lambert growled. “I swear Aiden, if you don’t leave us alone-” his threat was lost as Aiden moved back to Lambert’s door and there was an odd scratching sound. “No. Aiden. Don’t you dare. You can’t sit on my lap here! Not again. We almost broke it last time. Get out. Get out!”

The sound of a door being kicked shut and a huff from Aiden gave Jaskier a good idea of what had jut happened and he was scared to go out. However, not a minute later another voice joined the fray.

“What happened?” Eskel asked.

Jaskier buried his face in his hands in despair. So much for a peaceful piss.

The whole door thing was becoming quite ridiculous. Especially with Aiden slamming them to get Lambert’s attention. And then being offended whenever he encountered a closed door. Those were all gently knocked on and a head poked through if there was no answer. It meant nothing was private and Vesemir had to use a broom to get Aiden off the top of his wardrobe one evening when the Cat had gone missing all afternoon. He seemed to have no respect or care for anything, not when it came to prime napping spots.

It got to the stage that the common areas had their doors removed and Vesemir started hanging heavy furs in their place. Which did actually make the rooms warmer and there was no more needless running around. Though Eskel still bumbled into the kitchen in the hopes of a shared snack. Jaskier had rapidly cottoned on to the fact Vesemir fought such an urge in a novel and simple way. He was almost always either in the kitchen or within sight of it. So he could see if there was an opportunity for a snack without having to move. The old Wolf was clever, Jaskier had to give him that.

Some days, Jaskier did crave a bit of silence and solitude. Those were rare and far between days but they did happen. When they came, he took to wandering through the crumbling corridors of Kaer Morhen, trying to imagine what it had been like in its glory days. Quite amazing, he should think. So lost was he in his musings, Jaskier didn’t notice until too late that the floor wasn’t solid below his feet. It gave way and he fell with a yelp, landing awkwardly on his ankle. The pain was quite blinding, rendering him into a whimpering mess, throat tight and unable to call for help. Even when he managed to gather himself up, it didn’t seem to help. His voice just didn’t carry and the Wolves probably couldn’t hear him. It was cold, dark and Jaskier was in pain which made it difficult to think. There was a door not far from him and, in a moment of sheer desperation, he pulled himself towards it on shaking arms. Near enough, he reached for it and, with all his might, slammed it shut. It bounced open from the force and echoed through the room. Mustering up a little more energy, Jaskier shoved it again and the crack of door hitting frame made him wince. That would have to do. Jaskier managed to lie down, pillowing his head on his arms, shivering.

His hopes were answered when he heard the steady stomp of running feet skidding to a halt.

“The fuck?” There was the sound of a deep inhale as the area was scented. “Where you got to bard?”

“Down here,” Jaskier called back and squinted towards the hole he had fallen through. “My ankle.”

“Why would you do that? Wait. Never mind.” Lambert turned away and, a hand cupped against his cheek and lips he let out what could only be called a howl before his attention was back on Jaskier. “What did we tell you about wandering off?”

More feet, more people and Jaskier teared up in relief. He watched as Aiden hopped down the hole and took stock of the damage. A soft cry of pain left Jaskier as he was picked up and his ankle was jostled. In a few, seemingly easy, jumps, Aiden was passing Jaskier over to Geralt who cradled him against his chest. There was a still body-warm jacket draped over Jaskier and he burrowed into it, finding Eskel’s scent mixing with Geralt a comfort.

In the infirmary he was patched up, fussed over and, in the end, bundled into a pile in front of a fire where the others snuggled protectively up against him. By the next morning all the doors were back in place and Vesemir ground his teeth when Aiden slammed the kitchen one for Lambert’s attention.

[officerjennie]

Title: As the Clouds Whisp Overhead

Summary: Jaskier gets off on Geralt's soft thighs and tummy. Literally. Geralt relaxes back and lets him, enjoying the show. Weight gain spoken of positively. Pairing: Geraskier. WC: 3.5K+

CW: smut, brief mention of weight loss due to difficult times (past)

It had been a rather easy spring, all things considered.

Geralt lazed in the field, not really watching the clouds that drifted overhead, his eyes closed and breaths deepening into an almost meditative state. The smell of wine and cheese was almost drowned out by the wildflowers about them but it was still there, as was the scent of apples, salt, the road, and the lingering oils that Jaskier had insisted on wearing ever since he’d discovered Geralt’s nose was sensitive to the others that he used to reek of.

Said bard was currently shuffling their lunch about, putting most of it away for later, humming one of his newest tunes as he folded back up the blanket he’d apparently bought for just this occasion. Though they’d eaten plenty of meals without it or the basket he’d purchased at the market as well, Jaskier had insisted that a picnic was a special affair and deserved the right accessories to make it just right.

Geralt had just let him do as he wished, not worried about his friend’s coin purse - and not worried about his own, for once. Usually the end of winter spelled a time of heavy work for him but he’d lucked out on a couple of easy and well paying jobs right off the bat - so he thought a bit of down time wouldn’t be the end of the world for them.

The song on Jaskier’s lips was one he hadn’t quite finished yet. Geralt had already heard several different renditions of the first verse alone, lyrics tweaked here and there, the exact lilt of his voice changing back and forth as he tried to settle on what he believed would sound the best. And despite his occasional grumbling over the repetition it was a rather relaxing tune, one he didn’t mind listening to.

Beyond that, there was a sort of...intimacy that came with being trusted with Jaskier’s unfinished works. The knowledge that Jaskier wasn’t always his best around him, was able to fuck around with a song and riddle the air with curses of “bollocks” and “cock” while he tried and failed and tried again to make it just right. That Geralt could see him like this and not the perfected performance that he was to the rest of the world, the mask that was firmly in place right up until the moment he didn’t want it to be.

And that moment just so happened to frequently involve witchers, whether directly or indirectly. How many times had he gone feral on someone for just saying the wrong thing about one of Geralt’s colleagues? Just early that spring he’d jumped someone for spitting on the ground over Lambert’s name, and Jaskier hadn’t even met him yet.

Something like pride welled up in his chest at the thought, though it was a quiet thing. Jaskier should be more careful, he shouldn’t be fighting their fights - but it meant the world to him all the same that he wanted to. Especially for his brothers.

“You know, I’ve never been one for cheese and crackers as anything more than a snack, but that was simply delightful.” Jaskier’s voice came closer as he talked, and the flowers and grass were disturbed next to him as the bard flopped over at his side, quickly snuggling in when Geralt moved his arm to make room for him. “We’ll have to go back and ask again what the name of that cheese was. Never have I ever given so much thought to pairing and wines and all that stuff - my youngest sister was always more interested in that sort of thing, and really if I heard her say one more time that my palette wasn’t refined enough I might have had to hide frogs in her bed again.”

Jaskier settled in nicely at his side, slotting in like they were made for each other, fit perfectly together. He chattered away and Geralt mostly tuned him out, something Jaskier loved to fake hurt over though they both knew it was just that: fake. Over the years Geralt had perfected hearing what he needed to hear and simply listened to the tune of Jaskier’s voice, the song of his highs and lows, his sighs and breaths and every heartbeat becoming the song that was his bard.

Meditation came easier around Jaskier than it did anyone else. Even around his own family it was a struggle. Lambert was a little shit at the best of times and Eskel simply existed larger than he wanted to, and Geralt was always tuned into his brothers, paying attention to them because he knew just how limited theri time was together. But with Jaskier, he could rest, relax, simply let himself be like he’d never experienced with anyone else.

His arm rested at Jaskier’s back, hand loose on his side, barely hanging on and feeling his bard breath in and out as he spoke. Jaskier’s fingers tapped a rhythm where they were rested on his chest, though eventually they moved, sliding down to rest against his stomach and making Geralt hmm at the pleasant warmth they brought.

They’d stripped earlier to bathe in the nearby river and had mostly dressed, though Jaskier had forwent his doublet as Geralt had his armor. It was nice, being out in the wild, away from the faux sense of safety that inn rooms allowed them and yet still able to be this content without his armor on. Just their loose clothing, not enough to be considered decent in any sort of societal setting, simply existing and being and just…

Geralt was content, and he didn’t consider that a bad thing. Not in the slightest.

A breeze rustled the field about them, loose silver hair tickling his face though Geralt didn’t have the bother in him to brush it out of the way or tuck it behind his ear. The air smelled nice for once, no clogging dust on the wind, no rotting anything nearby nor farms to make his nose want to clog itself. Since the summer was still a ways off the sun wasn’t too harsh on his skin, his chemise enough to keep any possible chill away though it was warm enough in this part of the country, everything pleasant and not too much.

There was also a lovely set of fingers that had wormed their way under his chemise. Jaskier hadn’t bothered to push it up, had just scooted his hand underneath, and with very gentle circles had begun to rub patterns into the soft flesh there. It was enough to make Geralt melt beneath him, a soft hmm on his lips accompanied by a sigh as he felt his every muscle relax at the touch. The winter had been extra good to him, Eskel having returned with more coin than expected from his path which had meant more meat for their stews, and the lot of them had eaten extra well.

Jaskier had never shied away from letting him know exactly how much he appreciated it when he ate well. There had been a few times on their own path that food had been scarce, and despite witchers having an accelerated metabolism Geralt had always done his best to see after his bard first and foremost - so when times were tough his body showed it, and Jaskier had played his fingers raw when he saw the worst of it just to make sure the both of them could eat their fill.

But there had been no such worries or struggles yet this year, what with the good winter and the well paying contracts that had followed. Geralt’s stomach was full and soft, protecting the muscles and other important organs underneath, and the rest of him was showing the spoiling as well. His thighs had grown softer, somewhat straining against the material of his pants but it wasn’t quite uncomfortable yet - he knew well enough to keep his clothes somewhat baggy, to make room for the waxing and waning that came with the path. His chest, too, had grown softer, encouraging Jaskier to nuzzle into it at any given opportunity.

Those calloused fingers found some of the scars that ran across his belly, caressing them gently. Some stretch marks veined their way across his skin as well, hidden at the moment by his chemise but Jaskier felt his way across them all the same, giving off a gentle sigh as he snuggled in closer and traced his love wherever he could reach.

Geralt could not have thought of a more peaceful way to spend the afternoon. The clouds blurred as his eyes slid closed at the tender affection, his breaths deepening. Deep breaths in through his nose, smelling the wildflowers. A rabbit was nearby, chomping as quietly as it could on some grass, its hops barely whispers as it braved further away from its burrow. Geralt could hear the gentle chuffing of its babies hidden away, the call of a hawk overhead that sent the rabbit scurrying. The scent of budding trees, of a little mouse that had found some seeds to munch. The scent of his bard, his oils and shampoo and the hint of river on the both of them, and the growing scent of-

A snort brought them both a bit out of the peace, and Geralt cracked his eyes just enough to smirk down at the startled confusion growing on his bard’s face.

“Really?”

Those pretty pink lips pouted up at him as if Jaskier wasn’t fully aware of what was growing in his pants. Geralt made a show of raising one of his eyebrows, raking his gaze down, down his bard, straight to stare at his crotch just long enough to get his point across before flicking his eyes right back up.

It took a few seconds for his bard to catch up, Geralt watching the thoughts clear as day on Jaskier’s face, until red spread pretty across his cheeks and darkened the speckle of freckles there. Jaskier sputtered a bit and Geralt had to bite back a wider grin, starts to words that had no finish dropping between them before Jaskier cut himself off with a whine, ducking in to nuzzle into his chest and push the rest of his body closer.

“That’s not fair, Geralt - what, can you, I don’t know, smell it or something?”

Geralt didn’t respond to that, just reached up to tug a stray curl back behind Jaskier’s ear. His bard peeked up at him with another adorable pout jutting out his lower lip, his nose scrunched up as he waited for his ‘ridiculous suggestion’ to be shot down.

But it wasn’t shot down. And Jaskier frowned, and then he squeaked, climbing on top of Geralt to straddle him and poke a very firm finger straight into the chest he’d just been nuzzling.

“You and your- your entirely unfair witcher ways! Are you telling me you could tell all this time? Every time?” Geralt didn’t stop his grin this time and the indignation just grew, hand gestures growing wider. “That is- Geralt, how am I suppose to walk through life knowing you can smell my erection? How am I ever supposed to get up of a morning knowing my every waking naughty thought will be given away? Which yes is entirely too often but you’re entirely not fair, have you looked in a mirror in the past decade? Cruelty, unfair, entirely too sexy for your own good, for anyone’s own good-”

Jaskier went on like that, ranting like only he could, while Geralt eventually tuned his words out just to listen to the lilt of his voice. And the bard made a rather pretty picture himself, straddling him like that. His chemise was loose, showing off curls of dark hair that Geralt could run his fingers through for an eternity and never be bored of it. Broad tanned shoulders, a soft stomach barely hidden underneath his clothes, his pants a wonderful shade of green that fit in with the waking world around them.

A very pretty picture, but a noisy one at the moment. Geralt sighed but Jaskier went on, wildly flourishing his hands as if it was the end of the world that Geralt could smell his arousal. An arousal that had notably not died down, still pressing against the fabric of his pants, catching Geralt’s eyes and making him tilt his head in that way that Jaskier insisted was ‘adorable’ - though Geralt didn’t think he was capable of such a thing.

His thigh twitched with a rather mischievous thought, and as Geralt’s gaze traveled back up to Jaskier’s face, cheeks still stained pink from his rather unnecessary embarrassment, he thought there perhaps that voice would do better singing for him than ranting about his dramatics.

He’d been called an asshole before, and Geralt had never disagreed with the label. But he was lucky enough that Jaskier for the most part never minded - and he greatly doubted Jaskier would mind his next movement.

As Jaskier waved one of his delicate looking wrists in the air, dandelion seeds drifting on the wind about them, Geralt shifted beneath him until he had room to lift up one of his thighs. Before Jaskier could catch his movement it pressed up into him, cutting his bard off with a gasp, his eyes fluttering as Geralt’s smile showed teeth.

“That’s-” Jaskier pressed right down onto his thigh, his hands coming down to support him, and he didn’t waste any time in making it more enjoyable for himself. Shifting down, one hand placed on Geralt’s chest to support him, Jaskier straddled his thigh and slowly ground down onto it. A pretty moan escaped his lips and his tongue darted out as if to catch it.

It was a lovely show, watching as Jaskier pressed down onto him, sought out his own pleasure by rubbing against his thick thigh. Geralt pillowed his head on his arms and just watched, not moving his leg, letting Jaskier set his own pace and feeling pride bubble up in his chest at how pretty he sung for him. On a particularly rough grind Jaskier whimpered and rutted against him faster, making Geralt’s own cock twitch - but he wasn’t really in the mood for pleasure, so he ignored it in favor of the show.

Though he made for a beautiful picture, back lit by the sun and clouds, a pretty blue above that couldn’t quite beat the beautiful blue of his eyes, Jaskier wasn’t purposely looking good for a show. He didn’t touch his own skin like he did when he rode Geralt, didn’t skim his hands down his chest and stomach to show it off. Didn’t bite his lip or run and tangle his fingers into his curls. The emotions that crossed his face were not stressed or controlled, his noises slipped out without thought, his body moving without any purpose beyond pleasuring himself - and it made it a moment Geralt wanted to sear into his memory forever. That Jaskier could let go like this for him. That he trusted that Geralt didn’t mind, trusted that Geralt did not judge him for his desires. How human Jaskier allowed himself to be, imperfect and all the more beautiful for it.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed on an exhale, his movements already shaking, his cock dripping enough precum that it soaked into the front of his pants. Geralt could almost feel it wetting his own. “Geralt I- fuck you’re gorgeous, so gorgeous, I want to-” his hips stuttered, breath catching on a moan, brown curls caught on the wind and dancing. “Can- can I get off on your stomach? Gods it’d be so soft, feel so good, I- fuck.”

That was something he’d never requested before. Geralt quirked an eyebrow, belying another twitch of his own cock, but he grunted out “If you must.” And he had to bite back a chuckle at how quickly Jaskier’s fingers went for the ties of his pants.

Jaskier’s cock was leaking profusely though that wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. It looked like it was aching from it, hard and red and angry when he fished it out of his pants and smalls, and Jaskier whined as he couldn’t help but stroke himself a few times. His hips bucked with it, a greedy and wanting noise slipping from between his wet lips - but then he was slipping down Geralt’s leg to straddle his hips, and his cock was pushed against the soft skin of his stomach.

It didn’t slide against him very easily. The precum leaking from the tip helped, but Jaskier didn’t seem to care, holding onto his cock and gently rubbing it against him, jaw wide and loose like it was the single most pleasurable act Jaskier had ever experienced. Geralt cocked his head and tore his gaze away from Jaskier to watch his cock rub circles on him, precum dribbling faster and catching in the hair that curled white all over his abdomen.

Honestly, Geralt didn’t quite understand it. Wasn’t entirely sure what had Jaskier’s breath coming so fast, his heart beating so quick at rubbing against his soft stomach. But he didn’t really care. Jaskier’s hips jerked and he fought to keep himself reigned in, to keep his movements steady and slow, and Geralt just watched him and let him. Let him take this pleasure, smelling the arousal coming off of him in waves, listening to the rhythm of his breaths and body and heart. And Geralt memorized every little detail, from the flutter of his long eyelashes to the way his fingers dug into Geralt’s side, nails just at the edge of biting him.

Jaskier whimpered, long and shaking, when he came. It was desperate, his face scrunching up, eyes shut tight as if he was grasping onto the pleasure with all of his might. Geralt reached out to take hold of one of his hands, letting Jaskier clench his fingers as hard as he needed, bringing them up to brush his lips against the knuckles as Jaskier spilled all over his stomach.

His bard almost collapsed onto him, but Geralt moved him before that could happen, bringing him down with a shush at his further whimpers and letting him rest once more in the crook of his arm. And Jaskier came down slow, heartbeat eventually matching the rhythm of his deepening breaths, eyes still scrunched up tight as if he didn’t want to let go of what he’d been feeling.

When Geralt ran his fingers through his curls, they were damp with sweat. He hummed, not minding, just holding him close as he melted against him.

Eventually, Jaskier stretched, letting his arm flop against Geralt’s chest and legs tangle with his once more. He almost made an effort to open his eyes. Almost. Instead he frowned lightly, nuzzling into Geralt and as he moved impossibly closer.

“Want me to return the favor, love?” His words were light things that could have been carried off by the wind if Geralt’s hearing had been even slightly worse.

In truth, Geralt was turned on. How could he not be when Jaskier had ridden his thigh and stomach so beautifully? But he thought it over for a minute, the cool breeze tickling his face with a few stray white hairs, the scent of wildflowers coming back to him as the one of arousal dissipated.

“No,” he said finally, pulling Jaskier closer to kiss the top of his head. Despite the interest his body had shown he found he wasn’t in the mood himself, content enough to let Jaskier have his pleasure and leave it at that.

Jaskier just hummed, not questioning him further, and a small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips knowing there would be no hurt feelings over it. His bard’s fingers eventually went back to lazily tracing patterns into his skin, though he made a bit of a yucky face when they found the sticky mess he’d left of Geralt’s stomach hairs. Still they were both far too content to clean up just yet, not even wasting the energy to tuck Jaskier’s softening cock back away in his pants as they laid there, relaxed, enjoying the non-harsh sun and the clouds that lazed across the sky overhead.

“Coin for your thoughts?” Jaskier whispered into his chest after a time, and Geralt grunted, not even opening his eyes to look down as he responded.

“A bigger food budget.”

A moment later, and Jaskier’s laugh filled the field around them, sharp and uncontained, a laugh that was so far away from the performance he played that it drew a chuckle out of Geralt as well. That they could be themselves around each other, that they could be so carefree and human, was the most joyous thing Geralt had ever found in his long, long life - and that they’d discovered a new way to have fun was exciting, and Geralt was certainly going to take advantage of this new discovery. How could he not, when his reward was a well-pleased bard melting in his arms.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

9 or 23 of the ways to say i love you with actions if you're taking prompts please? ❤

9. Softly placing a hand on their chest to feel their heartbeat.

23. Brushing a stray strand of hair out of their eyes.

Geralt’s heart races whenever he’s coming down from a potion high. Jaskier can feel it slamming against his palm when he gently lays his hand on his witcher’s chest. For a witcher, a racing heart is slower than a resting human heartbeat, but it still feels strange when Jaskier is used to Geralt’s witcher slow heart. Jaskier curls up against Geralt’s side in their darkened room, ignoring the lingering smell of blood. From the tavern below, he can hear music playing.

He doesn’t realize Geralt is conscious until his lover murmurs, “Thought you were playing with Priscilla tonight.”

“She can survive without me.” Jaskier touches Geralt’s chest again. His heart is starting to slow, just a little.

“But you were looking forward to it.”

“There will be other shows. How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank a fuck ton of Black Blood and let a bruxa gnaw on me.”

“You know, you’re supposed to stab the monsters before they bite you, my love.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Geralt reaches up to push Jaskier’s hair out of his eyes, his hand sliding down to cup his cheek. “You were worried.”

“I never get used to seeing you like this.” Jaskier lays his head down on Geralt’s chest, carefully avoiding the bandages around his neck and shoulder, and listens to his heart slowing in his chest.

"You don't need to worry. I'll be fine."

"I know." Jaskier snuggles closer. “Just rest, my love.”

Geralt hums quietly, his fingers still stroking Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier eventually drifts off with his lover’s hand in his hair and his heartbeat beating steadily under his ear.

101 ways to say "I love you" prompts

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Big brain moment: a Geralt and Ciri fic of teen Ciri throwing a fit and blasting Paramore 🤣 Geralt flustered and frustrated/Jaskier talking him down and getting him to give Ciri a little space

oh? you mean? write yall a scene from my puberty years? 🤣🤣🤣 I mean not quite, but I also angrily blasted Paramore and glared at people ‘with purpose’ lmao

Warnings: teen Ciri and Geralt having a mild fight - well the end of one, its pretty chill, there's cute dumb dads at the end

___________________________

“Leave me alone!” Ciri screamed as she slammed her door in Geralt’s face. 

He sighed and leaned on her doorframe, “Ciri, I just want to make sure you’re-”

“I can't hear you!” she shouted, cranking up her music. 

Gods Geralt hated that fucking band now. It was fine as far as his daughter’s tastes went, at least at first. But she had clung to it and now refused to listen to anything else. Which he was used to, he married Jask after all, but she would blast these angry songs and glare at him as the frontwoman screlted about rebelling and being let down by whoever she was singing to. 

“Ciri! Turn it down or I’m pausing the wifi!”

“No! I’m mad and you have to deal with it!”

He rolled his eyes. This was why he hadn’t lasted with her mother. How the fuck is he supposed to raise someone just as stubborn?

Jaskier came round the corner and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, “Maybe give her ten minutes?” he whispered.

Geralt took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before hollering through the door and hopefully above the noise, “Ten minutes! Then we both deal with it.”

There was an angry groan from inside the teen’s room before she relented, “Fine.”

Jaskier snickered and lead Geralt down the hallway to the living room where he pulled his husband onto the couch, “Before you say this is Yen’s fault-” Geralt gave him a wary glance but kept his mouth shut, “- I knew you in high school. This is your genetics, darling.” 

Geralt groaned and practically tackled Jaskier into the arm of the couch, wrapping him in a nearly bone crushing hug, “I don’t know how to talk to her when she gets like this.”

Jask ran his hands over his hair, “I know darling. To be fair neither do I.”

They laughed, both a little bitterly, and fell into a comfortable silence as Ciri’s music shook her door and filled the whole house.

“Maybe you could ask her about it?”

“About what?” Geralt asked, resting his chin on Jask’s sternum to look at him. 

“Her music. ‘Don't look up just laugh and think there’s no place else you’d rather be.’” Jaskier looked at his husband as if he was supposed to understand, “You’re always on display, for everyone to watch and learn from… you cant go back’? Geralt, honestly, sometimes you’re absolutely brilliant but you’re as thick as a brick of cheese. Ask her why she likes that song.”

Geralt sighed and laid his cheek down, mumbling into his husband’s shirt, “Why don’t you?”

Jaskier laughed and patted his back, “Because I’m not the one she’s mad at,” he paused to kiss the top of Geralt’s head, “For right now…” 

“Think it’s been ten minutes?”

“Not yet. More snuggles. To prepare for the angry teen.”

“Good call.” 

[alittlebitmaybe]

tying you to me

For @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: crafting

Pairing: Geraskier, implied Geralt/Yen in one line

Rating: T for language

Warnings: None

Summary:

As they lay in bed, Jaskier snuggled and breathing humid against his chest hair, Geralt remembers the pattern from Novigrad. A sweater with stretchy ribbing around the wrists and bottom hemline, a high collar. Intricate cabling criss-crossing up the front, making the fabric thick and sturdy. The scroll is stuffed into one of his saddlebags where he’d put it after purchase when he’d cursed himself for wasting the coin.

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

Or: Geralt doesn't know about the boyfriend sweater curse.

Read more on AO3 or below the cut!

Geralt learned to knit out of necessity. Winters in Kaedwen, especially up in the mountains, are bitter cold, and require not only animal skins but woolen socks, hats, scarves, blankets. They keep a flock of sheep for the very purpose. And before—when there were others, even occasionally a proper staff—it would be part of the normal workings of the castle to have several sets of hands dedicated to knitting up useful garments to keep them from freezing their balls off when the frost came.

There are fewer hands now, but also fewer balls in danger of freezing. Geralt and Vesemir handle the bulk of it, these days—Eskel with fingers too big and clumsy to be much help, Lambert too fidgety and quick to rip out all his progress into a tangled mess of wool in a fit of frustration. In the evenings they sit by the great hall fire in mostly silence and take turns spinning the roving into yarn, winding skeins, chipping away at the endless miles of plain stocking stitch, and seaming panels together. (Sometimes Geralt will embellish the design with cables, or a moss stitch—unconventional patterns he’s started to see in the larger cities, sold by the fancier merchants. He may have paid a few crowns for the scroll describing the pattern for one particular sweater he saw in a shop in Novigrad. He has not mentioned this to Vesemir.)

It may be necessity, but Geralt would choose it even if it wasn’t. These are the things his hands are good for: wielding a sword; harvesting various glands and organs; curling into fists; crushing windpipes; skinning rabbits. Bandaging Ciri’s scrapes. Bringing Yen’s pleasure. Curling around the back of Jaskier’s neck, drawing their lips together. And, when it’s over, when there’s nothing to kill and no one to care for, he can create. He can put it all to the side and count off to himself, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit, knit, knit, around and around, back and forth, and this thing will grow from the rhythm of his fingers, from the steady loop and pull that he’s done thousands of times, taught by some witcher instructor decades ago whose name he no longer recalls. He had bushy eyebrows that waggled as he worked. That’s all the memory that’s left of him.

Anyway, it’s easy to allow the hours to pass until Vesemir excuses himself to bed and the fire burns down and takes the light with it. One such night, just as Geralt is squinting at his work to finish this one last row, the hall door creaks open.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says sleepily, “are you still in here? ‘S late, love.”

Knit, knit, knit. “Mm,” says Geralt. “I’m here. Just finishing up.”

“I’ll wait for you, then.” Jaskier pads in his sockfeet across the stone to the armchair Geralt occupies. He sits himself on the rug with his back against Geralt’s legs, knees pulled up to his chest. “Brr. ‘S chilly, too.”

Geralt drops the needle in his right hand, maintaining tension on the working yarn with his left. He runs his free hand through Jaskier’s bed-mussed hair, brushes against his cold ear, down to the soft skin behind it. “Not wearing a coat.”

“Well I wasn’t heading outside, seemed like a—” He yawns, jaw cracking. “—a lot of trouble just to come downstairs. But I now see my mistake.”

“Always have to wear a coat at night,” Geralt says. “Or be under blankets. Or both.”

“Or acquire a personal witcher furnace, unless he’s down here ‘til gods know what hour making yet more mittens for the princess.”

Geralt looks down at the large rectangle he’s been working on. “Lap blanket,” he says. For Ciri, when she’s studying in the library. It gets drafty in there even with the fire blazing.

“For the library?” says Jaskier, tipping his head back to see Geralt. “Good thinking. She’ll love it.”

Geralt releases him and goes back to his work, but knits at most ten stitches before Jaskier shivers again, his teeth chattering before he gets himself under control. Setting the blanket aside, middle of the row be damned, he concedes, “Let’s go back to bed.”

“No, you’re—you’re not done with—” Jaskier cannot finish his sentence for the yawn that overtakes him. “M’kay. Let’s go.”

As they lay in bed, Jaskier snuggled and breathing humid against his chest hair, Geralt remembers the pattern from Novigrad. A sweater with stretchy ribbing around the wrists and bottom hemline, a high collar. Intricate cabling criss-crossing up the front, making the fabric thick and sturdy. The scroll is stuffed into one of his saddlebags where he’d put it after purchase when he’d cursed himself for wasting the coin.

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

*

The next evening, after dinner has been consumed and cleaned up, Vesemir and Geralt move to the fire as usual. Vesemir is working up a new hat for Lambert, who has the shortest hair among them and has one practically pasted to his head all winter long.

Geralt spares a glance to his blanket-in-progress, and then veers toward the wooden chest that stores their yarn stash. He puts aside plain ball after plain ball, until finally he admits defeat and turns to Vesemir and asks, “Do we have any dye?”

“No,” says Vesemir, not looking up. He knits with the yarn looped around the back of his neck to keep the tension, instead of around his fingers. He says it’s easier on his old joints. Geralt thinks it looks preposterous, but it gets the job done. “Not a drop. And that’s never bothered you before.”

“I’m thinking of making a gift,” says Geralt. “I think they’d prefer it to be dyed.”

“Ah, the bard. Yes. I suppose he would.”

“I want him to actually wear it.”

“Indeed.”

“He says coats are too bulky and ponderous, and they dampen his spirits.”

“Foolish boy. He’ll learn.”

“So we have no dye? Of any color?”

“None,” says Vesemir. “Though it may be that there are some old skeins in the back of the cupboard by the linens. I recall that some of our forebears had rather expensive taste, for witchers. Quite wasteful of them. If you ask me.”

Geralt murmurs his thanks, pulls on a cloak, and makes his way through the frozen corridors to the cabinet in the laundry. Along the way he passes the study, and overhears Eskel dominating Jaskier in another round of Gwent.

“Eskel, you dirty cheating bastard, there is no way you just had that card.”

“Where d’you think I kept it, bard?”

“Up your sleeve, behind your ear, under the table, I dunno—”

“Down your pants,” Lambert chimes in, and Geralt hears Ciri giggle. She’s been spending too much time with the witchers now that Yen has departed for the season. Geralt should probably intervene more often.

“—maybe you magicked me with a sign thingy so I wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you didn’t have it in hand a turn ago, I’ll swear that on—”

“Yes, Lambert, I’ve got Gwent cards lining my codpiece, naturally, even a few stuffed between my—”

Geralt rounds the corner and their voices fade away.

As Vesemir said, there is a small box pushed all the way to the back of the cupboard in amongst the linens. He opens it without much hope, but is surprised to find it full to the brim with yarn of deep reds and blues, all of some soft texture very unlike the itchy wool they’re accustomed to. Sniffing it, he decides it is from some type of goat. He also decides, based on its lack of musty odor, that it is not nearly old enough to have belonged to one of their forebears.

Well, in exchange for the use of the yarn, he’ll allow Vesemir his secret.

He carries the whole lot back to the great hall.

“You found it,” Vesemir remarks, now nearly done with the hat.

“Right where you said,” says Geralt. “You don’t mind if I use it?”

“As much as you like,” he replies disinterestedly, “if you’ll leave me the fuck alone while you do.”

Fair enough.

Geralt selects the red—a deep burgundy that will pair with the blush on Jaskier’s cheeks after a few glasses of wine. He pulls the scroll from his trouser pocket, and begins casting on as the pattern instructs.

*

When he hears Jaskier’s tread in the hall, he hastily pulls the half-finished lap blanket over his new project.

“Bedtime, Witcher,” says Jaskier, peering over his shoulder. “Didn’t make much progress on that tonight, did you?”

“It’s a big blanket,” Geralt grunts. “Eskel’s been practicing sleight of hand since we were boys. Don’t play him for money.”

“I bloody knew it,” Jaskier exclaims. He wheels around and stomps back out of the hall, suitably distracted. “Eskel! You’ll never believe what Geralt’s just told me!”

*

The sweater is slow going, since he does have to put real work into the blanket every once in a while to keep Jaskier’s suspicions to heel.

Over the next few weeks, it becomes near an open secret in the keep what Geralt is up to. Lambert catches him cursing late one evening as he is ripping back several rows to fix a cable he’d mistakenly crossed the wrong way.

“Whazzat,” Lambert says, crunching on a mouthful of tree nuts.

“Fuck off,” Geralt says. He squints and carefully tries to secure a dropped loop back on the needle. If it ladders down, he’s done for—there’ll be no fixing it while maintaining the pattern. He’s not nearly good enough for that.

“Looks like you’re fucking it up,” Lambert chews.

“I am. That’s why I told you to fuck off.”

“Thought that’s just how you decided to greet me now. That’s what Vesemir does.” He shoves another fistful of nuts into his mouth, though Geralt isn’t sure he’s swallowed the first.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

He manages to pick up that last loop before disaster strikes, and moves the stitches around on the needles to make sure they all look right. Then he shoves the left-hand stitches all the way up to the tip so he can continue.

Lambert leans down to examine the fabric, then runs his finger down the pattern with his eyebrow raised. “This is some fancy shit, Geralt, you giant poof.”

“It’s not for me,” he says.

Lambert swallows, belches, and says, “My point exactly. ‘S for Jaskier, innit.”

Geralt doesn’t bother answering as he approaches the cable he’d made a mess of the first time around. Lambert claps him on the shoulder with the hand he’s been using as a nut-to-mouth delivery tool, which leaves salt behind on his tunic.

“That’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks,” says Geralt wryly.

“Anyway, I’m outta here. This boring bullshit still gives me hives.”

He exits the hall and the door shuts heavily behind him. Geralt finishes recrossing the cable and, turning to check his pattern, finds it covered in greasy fingerprints.

Eskel, on the other hand, sits himself in Vesemir’s usual seat one night and sets to quietly whittling a whistle. After several hours, Geralt holds up the near completed front panel of his sweater and says, “Do you think Jaskier will like this?”

Eskel doesn’t even look at it. “Geralt, you could spit on a log and hand it to him and Jaskier would love it.” His knife stills. “Maybe don’t do that, though.”

To their credit, none of the other witchers say a word—possibly for lack of caring—and Geralt is able to rely on them to keep Jaskier occupied most nights while he finishes the front and back panels and seams them up.

Before he begins work on the sleeves, the pattern warns, the wearer should try on the body to ensure proper fit.

“Well, shit,” he says aloud. He can’t ask Jaskier to try it on and ruin the surprise. He holds it up against himself, trying to judge if they are similar enough size to judge whether it will fit Jaskier. Geralt, certainly, is wider in the chest and shoulders, but as long as he can get it on without stretching it too much he should be able to check the length. And, if it fits Geralt or is loose, it will certainly be too large on Jaskier.

It will have to do.

The next morning he rises early and takes the sack in which he’s been storing his project to Ciri’s bedroom. He knocks softly.

“Ciri?” he calls, mouth close to the door. “Can I use your mirror for a moment?”

“Mnnngh,” he hears. He takes this as an invitation.

The only visible part of her, when he lets himself in, is a tangle of hair escaping from under the pile of furs on the bed. He sets his sack delicately in front of the only full-length mirror in the keep and says, “Morning, Princess.”

“F’ off,” the fur pile groans. “No it’s not.”

“You really have been spending too much time with Lambert,” Geralt comments mildly as he pulls the unfinished sweater out and checks it for damage in transport, though he knows it was safe in the bag and only traveled up some stairs. “He’s a bad influence.”

“I’ve always been like this when rudely awakened at the crack of dawn,” Ciri says, muffled. “Don’t think any of you are special.”

“You cursed at the royal servants?”

“Quite regularly.”

Geralt shrugs the layers off his top half down to his undershirt while she continues to stretch and grumble wordlessly in the warmth of her bed. He pulls the sweater over his head; the neckline snags on his ears but otherwise he should be okay to try to get his arms in. He squeezes his right arm in and up, aiming for the proper hole—

“Geralt,” Ciri says icily, “what, by the gods, is that?”

He turns around, contorted in the confines of the too-tight sweater. She’s sitting up with her hair a wild tangle and her eyes wide in horror. “What’s what?”

“That garment!”

“It’s…a sweater? I’m making it.”

Geralt thinks he may be missing something very important.

“For yourself?”

“…No, for Jaskier. He needs another—”

“Don’t you care about the curse?”

Geralt finishes fitting himself into the sweater and tugs it down over his stomach while Ciri continues to stare at him in expectant horror. Thus no longer trapped, he decides to engage. “The what?”

Ciri slumps forward, briefly puts her face in her hands. “Good gods, Geralt, you really can’t be helped. But I also cannot allow you to give Jaskier a handmade sweater. Despite your…personal challenges”—at this, Geralt tilts his head and opens his mouth to ask exactly what the hell that means, but she barrels on—“I really have become fond of the two of you, so I cannot let you carry on with this foolish nonsense.”

Her voice goes more posh the longer speaks. Geralt thinks she will make a fine queen someday. “Ciri, I—”

“And really,” she continues, “it’s like you’re trying to sabotage a good thing. He does nothing but care for you, and this is how you repay him? Honestly. Melitele’s tits!”

“Melitele’s—? Where did you learn that one?”

“I’m hardly sheltered. And you’re one to talk, caring about my language when you’re about to lose Jaskier for good!”

“For good? Lose Jask—okay, Ciri.” He sits down at the foot of her bed, probably looking downright silly confined to a sleeveless sweater that is at least one size too small for him. He can feel it constricting the rise and fall of his chest and stretching tight in his armpits. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What curse?”

The expression she aims at him is sharper than at least four of the blades in the armory. “The sweater curse, Geralt. If one makes a sweater for a person one is interested in romantically, that person leaves within a fortnight. Everyone knows this.”

“Oh, of course. How stupid of me,” Geralt says.

Ciri raises an eyebrow that says Yes, obviously.

“So you’re telling me that if I finish this sweater and give it to Jaskier, he will suddenly no longer be able to stand the sight of me and will stomp off on down the mountain, even with the good foot of snow and ice blocking the path.”

She sniffs. “Indubitably.”

“Hmm,” says Geralt. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He claps his hands on his knees as he stands and moves back to the mirror to inspect the sizing more closely. The armholes are definitely a bit small—he’ll have to let out the seam to increase the circumference—but the rest, if he tries to overlay Jaskier’s body onto his own, seems like it should be about right.

Ciri leaves the bed with a fur wrapped around her as a cape and comes to his side. “You’re impossible,” she declares, though the royal snootiness is diminished somewhat by her morning breath and tangled hair. Then she reaches out and touches the textured pattern between the cable running up the front. “Though, you know, it is quite beautiful, if horribly misguided.”

He grins indulgently at her. “Thank you, Princess.”

*

“Have you heard of the sweater curse?”

Vesemir snorts. “Poppycock. Who told you about that old superstition?”

“Just came across it.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Vesemir looks at Geralt over his spectacles. “I hope that it’s not bothering you.”

“No,” says Geralt. “Of course not.”

*

He has fuck-all in his hand of cards, but he stares down at them like they might contain the secrets of the Continent.

“It’s your turn, Geralt,” Eskel says.

“I know,” he replies, absently rearranging the cards.

“So…you gonna play or pass?” Lambert asks. He digs his hand into the bowl of nuts at his elbow.

“Not sure.”

“Is something on your mind?” Eskel, again.

“No. Well…do either of you believe in the sweater curse?”

They both look at him blankly.

“Nuh uh,” says Lambert with his mouth full.

Geralt says, “Pass.”

*

He speaks clearly into the xenovox. “Yen? Are you there?”

“Geralt?” comes the reply, as if she were beside him in the room. “Is Ciri all right?”

“We’re all fine. It’s good to hear from you, too.”

“If there’s no trouble, then make it quick.”

Now he hesitates, but he chokes the question out anyway. “Do you know about the sweater curse?”

There is silence.

“Yen?”

“For the love of the gods, Geralt, please don’t bother me with frivolous garbage. I’m much too busy. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Geralt says, suitably shamed.

*

The finished, washed, and blocked sweater rests folded at the bottom of his wardrobe for more than a week before he works up the nerve to bring it down to dinner with him in his knitting sack.

Even with the flaws that Geralt, as the creator, inevitably notices—a few loose stitches three quarters down the back panel, the right sleeve is slightly longer than the left—he has to admit that it turned out well. He could fetch a pretty penny for it in a large city. Silky soft, thick, and vivid burgundy, it would be a stand-out piece among any merchant’s wares even without the detailing that stretches collar to hem and even down the outside of the arms.

Knitting it was a nightmare. He will never do anything like it ever again, so Jaskier had better appreciate this one.

Still, every time he resolves to finally gift it, Ciri’s words echo in the back of his mind. You’re about to lose Jaskier for good.

On the ninth day, he shushes that voice, takes the sack, and marches straight into the hall for dinner. After all, if Yen and Vesemir aren’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either.

Everyone but Jaskier is there already. Eskel looks up from pouring ale into each mug and says, “Hullo, Geralt. What do you have there?” and Lambert says, “Ooh, didja finish it?” and Vesemir digs wordlessly into his mutton.

Ciri’s eyes zero in on the sack.

“Hello,” says Geralt. “Is Jaskier still washing up?”

“Yeah,” says Lambert. “He fell in a pile of snow.”

“Lambert pushed him into a pile of snow,” Eskel amends.

Geralt glares at the accused, setting the sack on the bench at his usual spot.

“He asked for it. Bloody said ‘Lambert, throw me into that snow over there!’ didn’t he?”

“Since you were alone with him at the time, I don’t think I can confirm or deny—”

“Geralt,” Ciri interrupts, “tell me you’re not still planning what you said.”

“I am,” he tells her.

“You were standing not ten feet away.”

“My back was turned—”

“You’re a godsdamned witcher! Or have you gone deaf?”

“Even after what I told you! I thought you were going to think about it!” Ciri pushes back from the table. “I forbid you from giving that to him.”

Geralt snorts. “Or what, Princess? Look, I don’t think Jaskier is planning to leave—”

“Of course he’s not planning to, the curse will make him! Why are you tempting destiny this way?”

“I’m just saying, Lambert, that it wouldn’t be out of your character to shove an unsuspecting bard into a snowbank.”

“Oh, and hustling him at Gwent wasn’t out of your character, so maybe you’re actually the one who shoved him. Thought about that one, Eskel?”

Geralt says, “If he tries to leave, I’ll tie him to the bed until the urge passes.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, but then moves past that comment. “At least let me give it to him. I’ll say I brought it from Cintra, or bought it on the way here.”

“And let my hard work go unacknowledged? I don’t think so. And why would you have bought a man’s sweater?”

Among the arguments, no one notices Jaskier enter the hall and come up behind Vesemir, wide eyed. “What did I miss?” he stage whispers.

“Just open your present, bard,” Vesemir mutters, gesturing to the sack at Geralt’s knee.

“Ooh, a present? For little old me?”

He picks up the sack and tests the weight curiously, before opening it and drawing out the most marvelous sweater he has ever seen.

“Jaskier, no!” Ciri cries, and everyone else falls quiet.

“What, why?” he says, looking between Ciri’s stricken face and the furrow between Geralt’s brows. “What is this?”

“It’s for you,” Geralt murmurs. “I made it.”

“You made it?” he repeats dumbly.

“Yes. For you. Because you were…cold.”

“Because I was cold?”

Geralt gently takes it from him and holds it up so he can see the full design. “That night, you came in when I was knitting, and you were cold. I wanted to make you something warm to wear that you would like.”

Jaskier squishes the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you,” says Geralt, “like it?”

“It’s stunning,” Jaskier breathes. Geralt may as well have hit him over the head with a hammer.

“I cannot believe you, Geralt of Rivia,” Ciri cuts in. “You never listen to anyone. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the hall.

Geralt grimaces. “Do you, er, have any particular desire to leave me?”

“Leave you? Why would I—Geralt, is this a breakup gift? Is it pity?” He panics, pushing the sweater back into Geralt’s hands. “I don’t want your gorgeous pity breakup sweater, Geralt. I’ve played that game before.”

Geralt steadies him, as ever. “No, it’s—Ciri thinks there’s a curse, or something. And that if I made you a sweater, you would leave.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier. “Well, I assure you I will not. And in that case I do want the sweater.” He shucks off his coat right there at the table and pulls the sweater on over his tunic. “There!” He spreads his hands wide. “How does it look?”

The smile Geralt gives him is answer enough. “Perfect,” he says. “You look perfect.”

“Not bad, bard,” Eskel says.

Lambert shoots him a thumbs up. Vesemir does not appear to be paying attention.

Jaskier leans in and kisses Geralt on the lips. “Thank you very much,” he whispers. “I adore it and promise to thank you more appropriately later tonight. For now, shall I go after Ciri?”

“That may be best,” Geralt says. “I don’t think she likes me much right now.”

“My pleasure. Say,” he says louder, “while I’m gone, don’t let my food get cold.” He opens the door and barely feels the usual chill of the drafty hallways at all. Over his shoulder, he adds, “You can get Lambert to tell you all how he threw me in a snow pile today! It was great fun!”

“I told you—” he hears, but then the door closes behind him.

[wherethewordsare]

Sweater Weather- Mutual Pining for Jay’s 400 Follower Bingo!!

He’d found it after a movie night, draped over the back of the couch. He held it up to confirm and yep. There was no mistaking the hood and the bulky black sleeves. It looked like it may have gone through the dryer about twelve times too many and the zipper pull was barely hanging on. He let his thumb rub against the hem of the sleeve, shaking his head. Jaskier tucked the hoodie under his arm as he pulled out his phone, smiling to himself. 

geralt

u left ur hoodie

its cold and everything how do u forget that

ur worse than ciri smh 

Just hold onto it, I’ll grab it next time. 

And I am not worse than Ciri. I’m not the one who’s left his phone in the Denny’s bathroom at 2am…. Twice…

Last month. 

shhhhh :P

Throwing his phone down, Jaskier went to his closet. He was going to just hang up the hoodie and Geralt would get it eventually. Honestly, he was going to put it away. But then he pressed his face into the shoulder and sighed.  

This was wrong. He should just hang it up and return it when they saw each other again. He wasn’t about to let this silly little infatuation with Geralt ruin a perfectly good friendship. Especially not over a stupid hoodie.

Unfortunately, Jaskier's self restraint had taken the night off. Before he could stop himself, Jaskier was sliding his arms in, zipping up the front and crawling into bed. One night of indulging wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Even if it felt like his chest was splitting open. He shifted a little under the covers, burying his nose into the collar as he drifted off to sleep. They had been through so much together since they met in high school, wasn’t Jaskier allowed this one little thing, just this once?

-o-O-o-

i still have ur hoodie

u want it back cause we could like meet up for coffee 

we could go to the nag :) 

He snapped a picture of the hoodie and a travel mug in his passenger seat, sending it off. 

Can’t today. :(

Parent teacher meetings and then Dad wants us to help him fix the roof.

I could use my hoodie today, it’s cold… 

omgl finally

thought id have to do it

Jask… no. 

:/ fine then

see if i try to be helpful again

jk jk

dont die

I dont wanna do handywork :3 

Geralt had been right. It was cold, and Jaskier had forgotten his own jacket at home. He frowned down at the hoodie and sighed. It was only because it was chilly. Nothing else. He tried to ignore how it still smelled so strongly of Geralt. He walked around the gallery wrapped in Geralt’s hoodie, the front unzipped and his hands buried in the sleeves. 

-o-O-o-

hehe crispy leaf time

the cold is coming 

Yes, Jaskier. That’s how seasons work

u know what that means~

Geralt did not in fact, know what that meant but he soon found out. He was in the middle of typing when a picture came up with the caption “stolen hoodie weather :3” with Jaskier curled up on his couch at home, snuggled up in the black zip up hoodie Geralt only remembered leaving there early last Spring. 

Something in his stomach flipped and he looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Why? Why would it matter if someone saw him? It was just Jaskier.

He frowned and started typing again. He stopped and erased it, fighting down the small smile that was starting to tilt the corners of his mouth. 

You kept it?

Way to go, Geralt. That was really fucking smooth. What was he supposed to mean by that?

unlike u :(((

abandoner of hoodies

some of us appreciate the gift of comfort geralt

Geralt felt like his brain was melting. That thing in his stomach seemed to purr with satisfaction at the idea of Jaskier wearing his hoodie. It was petty and ridiculous and oh no, Geralt couldn't take his eyes off the way the black material framed Jaskier's collarbone. 

No. No no. This way lay madness, he told himself. He would simply get the hoodie back and that was that. 

hey when do u wanna do our next movie night

its been like

7099039 years

Geralt hesitated for a moment. He had never hesitated when it came to Jaskier. They had known each other for far too long. 

Sure. My turn to pick?

not if u choose a history documentary

Spy movie?

:0 promise?

yes pls

Should I bring wine?

Wait, no that would be a very bad idea. 

:) you know it

bring the good shit

eskels secret one

i know you can find it 

It’s called “google” Jaskier. Even I know that. And I will see what I can do.

same time and place as normal right

It’s a date.

Geralt felt as though his soul had left his body when he had hit send. Had he lost his entire mind? He was in the middle of typing a follow up, trying to word the best way to dismiss his complete and total departure from sanity when the little dots popped up then disappeared then popped up again.

It’s a date. :)

Jaskier nearly slammed the door back into Geralt’s face in shock. Geralt was standing in the hall, bottle of wine in one hand, movie and carry out in the other. Then there was the shirt. Jaskier had actually helped him pick it out. The black button up, the sleeves rolled up and was his hair actually combed back? He looked good. Jaskier swallowed hard. He looked really damn good. 

But that wasn’t even the weird part. No, the weird part was the way Geralt’s eyes widened when he had opened the door. He recovered quickly though, nodding at Jaskier as he stepped in. 

“Didn’t think you’d let the apartment be cold enough you’d need to wear a hoodie.” He smirked, setting the bag down on the table before going right into the kitchen. 

“Comfort, Geralt. I’m telling you, I just don’t think you appreciate it enough.”  Jaskier followed him in. It was routine for them, the way Geralt got the wine open, Jaskier grabbed plates and silverware; the way they bickered and snarked, barely suppressing laughs through barbs. 

-o-O-o-

The coffee table was littered with cartons of orange chicken and fried noodles. Geralt set his plate down as he leaned back, slinging his arm across the back of the couch. He had to smile at the sense of deja vu that struck him. Casino Royale wasn’t just a comfort movie for them. It had been their first movie night nearly fifteen years ago. 

By now, they could practically quote the entire thing, make quips at Bond’s smugness and only just sit through that one scene without wincing. At least that’s what they told themselves. 

Now they watched as Bond and Vesper reconnect outside of that fancy English rehab center. Jaskier chorused him as they both rolled their eyes and sighed at Bond’s shitty lines about little fingers. 

“God he’s the worst.” Jaskier took a sip of wine, making a gagging sound. 

“Quantum still exists.” he chuckled. 

“Valid!” Jaskier set his wine down. 

Geralt leaned over as Bond delivered his next line, syncing his tone and dropping into a soft gravelly murmur. 

“Whatever I am, I’m yours.” It was supposed to be cheesy and ridiculous but Geralt found that it felt far too honest. There was truth to them that he couldn’t think to deny now.

Jaskier nearly choked as he looked up, his eyes going wide. Geralt watched as he leaned into his personal space. Time felt like it stuttered to a halt in that moment, Jaskier inches from him, still draped in his hoodie. Geralt wet his lips anxiously. The tension between them felt like a powerline pulled too tight; everything seemed to crackle with it. 

“Geralt-” 

Whatever he was going to say was lost the second Geralt closed the distance, pressing his mouth to Jaskier’s. It was nearly magnetic and there was no pulling away. Geralt’s hands strayed down to Jaskier’s thighs without his realizing it. There was no way he could stop himself now. He’d wanted this for far too long to just let it go. Part of him would mourn the loss of his oldest friendship, but that was Tomorrow Geralt’s problem. 

Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer as Geralt tugged Jaskier into his lap clumsily. 

Geralt had to break the kiss first, pulling back gasping for air and pressing their foreheads together.

“Jask… Wait. Wait,” Geralt choked. He had to tilt his head back to get his words out as Jaskier dipped back in to start kissing him again. “Shit. Jaskier…” He already sounded wrecked to his own ears. His hands were on Jaskier’s hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles against his sides as he looked up, eyes searching. “Are you sure you want this?” 

He needed to hear it. He needed to know he was allowed to have this. It was one thing to say it would be Tomorrow Geralt’s problem, but it was another to actively throw away the best friendship he had ever had. He had spent too long pretending they could be just friends for it to fall apart like this. 

Jaskier crowded in closer and it took everything in him not to just give in to it because fuck that felt amazing. There was an easy smile across his lips that made Geralt feel like he was starving. 

“Geralt, I swear to the gods, don’t you dare start questioning this now,” as open as his face was, his voice trembled slightly. It was then that Geralt realized that Jaskier was practically vibrating under his palms. It was instinct the way he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s middle, pulling him closer. “I’ve been wanting this for at least a solid decade.” 

Geralt blinked hard as he gaped up at Jaskier. 

“Are you really that surprised, Geralt?” Jaskier hummed, leaning back down and pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Hmm. Maybe not.” He found himself chuckling, trying to breathe around the bubble of light that was threatening to fill his entire chest. He caught Jaskier’s mouth again, his hand coming up to slide into his hair, holding him close. 

It was hard to tell who had deepened the kiss further but the laughter died on his tongue when he felt Jaskier roll his hips down into his lap. Suddenly everything was too much and achingly not enough. The hoodie slipped down Jaskier’s shoulders and what little attention span Geralt had left zeroed into that same spot along Jaskier’s collarbone. 

Pulling Jaskier closer, he made a trail of graceless open mouthed kisses along his jaw and down the firm column of his neck, his teeth raking over the spot with careless abandon. He was rewarded with a soft keen and Jaskier squirming in his arms. Long dexterous fingers wound into his hair, cradling his head as his own found their way up the back of Jaskier’s shirt. 

“Geralt-” There was a tug in his hair and fuck shit yes. He must have made some kind of noise because he felt Jaskier chuckle fondly. “Geralt, as much as I am enjoying this,” he gasped, back arching as Geralt nipped just below his ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

There was no arguing with that tone nor could he bring himself to find anything to argue about. Geralt tilted his head back up, Jaskier’s lips crushing in against his, taking every last remaining shred of doubt away. He felt his body switch to autopilot as he scooped Jaskier up from under his thighs, pleased at the way his legs wrapped around him automatically. He carried him easily, stopping only for a moment to pin Jaskier to the wall to adjust his grip under him, long enough to flick the lights off. 

Jaskier snorted, pulling away. “So considerate.” He teased. Geralt gave him a playful swat on his thigh and the chuckling was cut off by one of those delicious keening noises. 

Geralt half stumbled, half marched to where he knew Jaskier’s bedroom to be, blindly pushing the door open with his foot. He let himself bask in the heat of Jaskier’s body pressed to his, taking his bottom lip and biting it. 

The reality of where he was came crashing down on him and time was doing that thing again, slowing down as someone else with his hands kneeled against the side of the bed, letting them both tumble back into ridiculously lavish sheets. Years of habitual teasing were only tamped down by Jaskier’s insistent fingers making quick work of the buttons on the front of Geralt’s shirt. 

“You just had to wear this one, didn’t you.” Apparently not everyone was so distracted not to tease. “Do you know how hard it was not to just pull you into my apartment and kiss that ridiculous face of yours?” 

Geralt gave a wry smile. “Do you know how hard it’s been for fifteen years, being your best friend and thinking I would never get to kiss that beautiful face of yours?” 

He had to bite the inside of his lip as Jaskier’s whole face and neck flushed brilliant pink in the low light. 

“Geralt!” he practically whined and Geralt couldn’t stop from laughing softly at that, bending back down to kiss him again. He decided he couldn’t help himself, not really. 

This was too good. If he could just bottle this moment and tuck it away for every rainy day for the rest of his life, he would.  

“I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you now.” Geralt hummed happily. He shifted, the hand under Jaskier’s thigh moving to tug his hips flush with Geralt’s as his other hand moved to cup his face. “As long as you’re okay with that.” 

Geralt was pretty sure they were too far gone to ever go back, but even now, he had to make sure.

“Geralt Roger Eric…” Jaskier groused. “If you do not come back down here and kiss-” his words were muffled by Geralt’s mouth, his tongue sliding over Jaskier’s bottom lip and swallowing whatever ridiculous threats may have been lobbed at him. 

He found that kissing Jaskier had been easier than breathing. Before he knew it, Geralt was pulling back to pull off his shirt but his hands froze. He cursed under what breath he had left because the view of Jaskier under him, lips kiss bruised and shining, the needy look in his eyes, and the way his hair was pushed in every direction nearly undid Geralt completely. 

He snapped back to work, stripping out of his shirt and pushing at his jeans, letting them slide away. 

“C'mere you gorgeous thing.” Geralt murmured softly, pulling Jaskier to him before rolling, his back pressed up against the headboard. 

Jaskier shimmied out of his own jeans before straddling Geralt’s thighs, letting his fingers trail up the planes of Geralt’s chest, a stray fingernail grazing over his nipple, making him groan. Jaskier only grinned, leaning in, and nipping at Geralt’s neck. 

All Geralt could do was groan and tilt his head back, his hands sliding over Jaskier’s back. He was just aware enough to realize when Jaskier started to work his way down his body. Looking down, he watched in complete awe as nimble fingers hooked into his boxers. 

The first touch of Jaskier’s mouth to the jut of Geralt’s hip had his blood singing and he could only drop his head back against the wall. He hadn’t realized how achingly hard he was until Jaskier was biting down gently on Geralt’s upper thigh making him jump. 

There was a low chuckle from somewhere around his groin and then there was a sharp tug on his boxers. Jaskier wasted no time getting a hand around Geralt’s cock while he still playfully nipped at Geralt’s hip and thigh and abs. This was how he was going to die, he thought absently as he let his hand move to the back of Jaskier’s head. He let his fingers tangle there, tugging gently and Jaskier seemed to get the message though he could feel the smirk against his inner thigh. 

The weight of Jaskier between his thighs, one hand sliding up Geralt’s torso as the other stroked him lightly left Geralt breathless, his eyes fluttering at every touch. But it was when Jaskier wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock that Geralt felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. He bucked his hips instinctively into the hot slick of Jaskier’s mouth before he could stop himself. 

For long moments, all Geralt could do was hold on. Jaskier took him slowly, seeming to savor the newly found ground between them as he bobbed further and further until Geralt was nudging the back of his throat. He gasped, his back arching when Jaskier swallowed around him, his responding hum a little too self satisfied. 

Geralt tightened his grip in Jaskier’s hair only slightly, tugging him up. It was messy and Jaskier’s mouth was open and slick, his eyes glazed slightly with a need that left Geralt breathless. He looked debauched and it was honestly the most beautiful thing Geralt had ever seen. 

“Fuck,” he groaned pulling Jaskier back into his lap, his hips stuttering to grind up against Jaskier’s thigh. 

Jaskier pressed in close, panting slightly as he broke a kiss that had been more teeth than anything, leaning his forehead to Geralt’s. “Mm, fuck. We- Ah,” He chuckled as Geralt dipped in to kiss him again, dodging away gracefully. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips , taking a shaky breath. “Want you to-” 

Geralt was already nodding. He would agree to anything Jaskier asked for but the way his hips ground down against Geralt’s lap, it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. He wrapped a strong arm around Jaskier’s middle, rolling them gently until Jaskier was under him his knees still bracketed around Geralt’s thighs as he arched and keened.

“Under the notebook in the-” Jaskier breathed his hands not leaving Geralt’s skin for a moment, fingers greedily mapping out the lines of his back. 

“I know, you haven’t changed your hiding place since college,” Geralt teased. To his surprise Jaskier snorted under him, his head tilting back in the pillows as he laughed. It left the column of his neck exposed to Geralt and he couldn’t help himself but lean down and bite small marks into it. He was rewarded by more delicious noises endlessly streaming from Jaskier. 

He pulled away only for the time it would take to retrieve the lube before sliding back down into Jaskier’s arms and kissing him thoroughly. His hands traveled down Jaskier’s bare chest, his fingers brushing along the top of his boxers and he gave a low huff into Jaskier’s mouth. 

“Why are these still on?” he grumbled, smirking when Jaskier rolled his eyes at him. 

“Someone’s been slacking in getting me undressed,” Jaskier shot back. 

TheirThere next kiss was a mess of chuckles and grins. Geralt shifted them again, moving to get Jaskier’s boxers down. The laughter died in Jaskier’s throat when Geralt’s fingers brushed low down his back and grazed over the swell of his ass, he buried his face into Geralt’s neck. Geralt didn’t tease for long before pulling away. It made Jaskier groan and nip at his neck until slick fingers returned to his entrance, circling slowly. 

“Fuck!” Jaskier moaned, his hips already rocking back greedily. 

Geralt quietly cursed himself for letting so much time get away from him as he slowly worked Jaskier open, enjoying the way he shivered and babbled under him with every push of his fingers. When he slipped a third finger in, Jaskier bucked under him, his eyes slamming shut as he gave a shout. 

“Geralt! Fuck, dear heart, please, for the love of all that is good-” he pleaded, his hips rocking back onto Geralt’s fingers eagerly. “If you don’t fuck me soon I’m going to combust.” 

Geralt leaned down, muffling the rest of the curses that were probably coming with a hard kiss. Jaskier arched under him as he pulled his hands away. It was easy after that, letting their bodies slot together and letting himself slide into Jaskier’s tight warmth. It felt like a gut punch. It felt like coming home. 

Jaskier wound his legs around his waist, hands reaching up to thread into Geralt’s hair as he rolled his hips, taking Geralt deeper, causing them both to groan. 

“Jask.” Geralt pressed his face to Jaskier’s shoulder panting as he started a steady pace. Soon only the sound of their heavy breathing and Jaskier’s soft moans filled the room around them. 

Time around them seemed to hold still as Jaskier tugged gently on Geralt’s hair, prying him away from his shoulder to look him in the eyes. The look Geralt found there left the world spinning. Jaskier’s eyes were bright and his smile warm even as his cheeks flushed. He was pliant and open and completely wrecked and the sight of him tugged at Geralt’s chest. The words came tumbling out before he could stop himself, his hips slowly rolling into Jaskier as they moved. 

“I love you, Julek,” he murmured as he kissed him slowly. 

Jaskier whined under him, his fingers tightening in Geralt’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. When they finally broke apart to gasp for air, Jaskier's eyes were searching his as he bit his lip around a low moan. He huffed a wet sounding laugh as a hand slid from Geralt’s hair to rest on his cheek, a well calloused thumb tracing along his chin. “Oh, dear heart,” he shifted, canting his hips to make Geralt move. The angle shifted and Geralt seemed to nudge right against where Jaskier needed him most as he arched from the mattress and groaned. 

Geralt pushed up to sit, pulling Jaskier up with him until he was in his lap. They rocked together, shuddering every time Geralt bottomed out. He gripped Jaskier’s hip tightly with one hand as his other slid between them, wrapping around Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier pushed up into his hand, swaying between his grip and his cock, they both seemed drunk on it. It was only a matter of time after that that Jaskier was crying out, Geralt’s name tumbling from his lips, his orgasm tearing through him like a whirlwind and Geralt could do nothing but hold onto him. 

Geralt steadied him, his hand holding Jaskier still as he thrust up into him, reveling in the small fucked out noises Jaskier whimpered into his neck before he too was shaking apart, spilling into Jaskier with a low satisfied rumble. 

They kissed again, lazy and sated, their chests a mess with Jaskier’s spend. He broke the kiss first, pulling back with that smile that always left Geralt feeling dazed.

“I love you, too. I love-” he didn’t get to finish because Geralt was pressing him down into the mattress again with a hard kiss, smiling. 

He was allowed. Everything that had happened seemed to catch up with him but instead of the sheer panic he had been expecting, the only thing that wrapped around him in that moment was the bright light that was Jaskier’s answering laugh. 

--

Everything was sore but in that pleasant kind of way after a good lay. Jaskier rolled over, pressing his nose into the pillow beside him. He smiled when he realized it still smelled like Geralt. 

Geralt. Fuck!

His hand reached out before he let himself open his eyes, wincing against the bright morning light that streamed in through his windows. The space beside him was empty.

But… Geralt had said it first? Where-? Jaskier’s heart sank, his throat tightening. He knew it was too good to be true. The moment Geralt had kissed him on the couch, he had pushed down every part of him that had screamed that he was going to end up hurt by time the sun came. 

He reached for his phone though he didn’t know who he was going to text. Essi wouldn’t even be awake yet on a Saturday. The space by his lamp was also empty. He realized he must have left his phone in the living room the night before when-

He tried not to think about how easily Geralt had lifted him up and carried him to bed. He had tried not to think about how there were now bruises on his hips that were shaped like Geralt’s hands or the trail of stinging bites that he would have to carry around his empty apartment for days. He pressed the heals of his hands to his eyes and groaned. 

“Idiot,” he berated himself. 

“Cause you left your phone in the living room and now it’s dead?” Geralt asked, pushing the door open with his foot. He was in a pair of Jaskier’s sweatpants and nothing else carrying in two cups of coffee. He looked up from where he had been concentrating, trying not to spill them. “What?”

“You’re here,” Jaskier chuckled. Something in his chest lifted and he let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

“I… yes?” Geralt looked around. There was a lovely mark in the shape of Jaskier’s mouth on his shoulder and it made Jaskier’s toes curl. Geralt looked at the space beside Jaskier then at his face. He made a little oh with his mouth before he started to shake his head. “Oh! I see, hmm.” He set the coffee down gently on the side table and slid back into bed and into Jaskier’s arms. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“So we’re…” Jaskier looked away, rubbing his palms over his covered thighs. “We’re okay?” He didn’t dare hope. Not just yet. Not in the bright light of day. 

“Well, that depends,” Geralt  chuckled, pulling him into  his lap easily. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier’s chin. “Yenn messaged. Something about brunch. I think they know. Are you okay with that?”

Jaskier snorted, leaning over to grab his coffee. “Essi. I told her it was just movie night. I tell her it’s just movie night every time and-” He realized what he was saying, the cup of coffee hovering just at his lips. He looked sideways at Geralt who was tilting his head and smirking. 

“The biggest gossip we know and that’s the one you decide to confide in?” He took the cup from Jaskier’s hands and set it down again before rolling them both to pin Jaskier under him. 

Jaskier squawked indignity, his arms wrapping around Geralt. He let himself be kissed and hummed happily when Geralt slotted easily back between his thighs. 

“We’re going to be late for brunch,” he sighed as Geralt’s hand slipped down to his thigh, fingers brushing gently over the marks from the night before. 

“Hmm, don’t care.” 

They ended up missing brunch altogether but neither seemed to mind. 

---

The weather was crisp and dry and Jaskier was bundled in the black hoodie, but now pressed against Geralt’s side as they walked into Magnolia’s. It had been easier than Geralt was expecting though he groaned as he watched several fairly large wads of cash exchange hands. 

“Pay up, Jask,” Essi grinned. 

“What?” Geralt turned, scowling. Jaskier gave a chagrined shrug as he handed over money. “So little faith?” Geralt teased. 

“You too, pretty boy!” Lambert smirked across the table. 

Jaskier gasped beside him, leaning away “So little faith, Geralt?” The sleeves of the hoodie fell over his wrists and Geralt only smiled, pulling him back against his side. 

“I don’t mind being wrong this time.” 

[jaskierswolf]

Geraskier modern AU with Chrismassy vibes for the wonderful @thetinymm who suggested “Hot Drinks” as a christmas idea! ____________________________

Jaskier shivered and wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He was already wearing Geralt’s hoody over his own clothes and he had a second blanket around his legs. Geralt was just one of those people that refused to turn the heating up unless there were literal snowflakes in the air. It drove Jaskier crazy, but at least it gave him a good excuse to steal his best friend’s clothes. They were so much warmer than Jaskier’s more fashionable kind and it helped feed his little daydream that Geralt was secretly in love with him. Every year at Christmas he wished on every star that it would be the year that he would be blessed with Christmas magic.

They were even housemates for god’s sake.

When was it his turn? He’d pined, he’d stared dramatically out the window, he’d even whined about Geralt to his other best friend, Aiden, at a coffee shop. He’d tried singing his love of Geralt whilst walking alone down the street at night. He’d volunteered to be an elf at the local shopping centre’s Santa’s Grotto.

And yet Geralt was still not his boyfriend and he was running out of Christmas tropes.  He’d considered that maybe he should try dating Aiden instead. That was what happened in the movies. The protagonist was always in love with the brooding hot guy but ended up dating their best friend, but Aiden had laughed it off. Lambert had been less forgiving about the idea but Jaskier was getting desperate. He’d tried getting over Geralt, he really had but it was hopeless.

Geralt was his bestest best friend in the whole wide world and he was so ardently in love with him.

He whined and pulled the blanket over his head. Stupid, sexy, arsehole of a best friend. Geralt needed to learn what a radiator was. “Geralt!” He yelled.

He heard Geralt’s clattering in the kitchen but there was no response.

“Oi! Bastard. I know you can hear me!”

Geralt appeared like a fucking ninja in the doorway. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he was drying his hands on a towel. It shouldn’t have been so sexy but Jaskier had not drunk enough today and he was thirsty.

“What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Ah umm… Geralt. Hi…” he spluttered as he tried so desperately not to stare at Geralt’s arms, but they were just… there… being all… arms.

Geralt sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead before turning back to go into the kitchen.

“Oh no, wait!” Jaskier cried.

“What?”

Jaskier pouted at his best friend. “I’m cold!” Geralt opened his mouth to speak but Jaskier cut him off. “And before you say anything, if I put on any more layers then I won’t have anything left in my wardrobe… or yours.”

“I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

Jaskier beamed. “Oh ho ho! Do we have whipped cream?” Geralt nodded. “And marshmallows?” Another nod. “Oooh what about Baileys?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “It’s a week night and you have work tomorrow.”

“It’s Christmas!!” Jaskier whined. “Almost,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Come on, Geralt.”

“One drink?”

Jaskier winked. “One drink.”

Geralt disappeared back into the kitchen and Jaskier snuggled back into his blankets. This was it. He was going to tell Geralt how he felt. He was going to stop waiting for his Christmas miracle and just fucking do it. What was the worst thing that could happen? Sure Geralt could kick him out and he’d be homeless but it wouldn’t be the first time.

Oh god, who was he kidding? He’d be miserable. The only reason he’d survived the first time was because Geralt had let him crash on the sofa until they’d eventually just moved into a two bedroom place together.

He groaned and buried his head under the blankets. He stayed under there until he felt the sofa sink next to him and Geralt pulled at the edges of the blanket.

“Jask?”

“Hmm,” he grumbled and pouted at his friend. “I was warm under there.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but he had that fond exasperated smile on his face that Jaskier was so in love with. “Hot Chocolate?”

Geralt was holding two mugs, both piled high with whipped cream, marshmallows and even a flake! Jaskier’s was covered in cinnamon just the way he liked it. Geralt’s was plain. Jaskier took his cup and hummed happily as the heat almost burned his hands. He tentatively took a sip, getting cream all over his nose, and moaned. “Oh god, Geralt. This is amazing!”

Geralt’s cheeks were all rosy, probably from the chill in the room. “You, umm. You have cream….” he trailed off.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose and tried to lick it off. Geralt sighed and moved forward to wipe it off with his thumb. Jaskier’s breath hitched as Geralt’s long silvery hair tickled his cheek. Fuck, he was so close. He could pretend to fall and kiss him, then it would be easy to laugh it off if Geralt didn’t like it… he could… oh god, Geralt’s lips were just so close. Jaskier was going to pine himself to death, it would astound doctor’s everywhere.

Geralt hummed. “You alright?”

“Mhmm…”

Geralt frowned. “You sure?”

“God I just really want to kiss you right now.” The words burst free before he could stop them and he had barely even touched his drink. “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I mean. Oh bollocks.”

Geralt pulled back, his gorgeous amber eyes blazing as he searched Jaskier’s gaze furiously. “You didn’t mean it?”

“No.” Jaskier insisted too quickly, blatantly lying. “I mean… well. No.”

“No you didn’t mean it? or no you meant it?”

Jaskier wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. God he was such an idiot. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut for fuck’s sake? “Yes?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and went to move from the sofa but Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s wrist, almost spilling both their drinks in the process. “No, wait. I meant it. If you want me to mean it? If not we can just forget about it.”

He took a huge gulp of his hot chocolate to calm his nerves. The warmth of the hot chocolate mixed with the subtle burn of the Baileys was just exactly what he’d needed on this cold wintery eve, and Geralt always did make the best hot chocolate.

“I don’t want to forget about it.” Geralt admitted in a whisper.

Jaskier just stared at his friend in stunned silence, a rare occurrence. “Geralt?”

Geralt sighed deeply and sat back down on the sofa, all too close and too far away at the same time. He tilted his head and watched Jaskier carefully for a moment before taking Jaskier’s mug and setting both drinks aside. “You, umm. You have cream….” he trailed off again but he was smirking this time. His fingers cupped Jaskier’s cheek and Jaskier honestly felt like he was going to pass out from yearning.

“Where?”

Geralt’s eyes flicked down to his lips and Jaskier couldn’t breathe. He closed his eyes and leant in just as Geralt did and finally their lips met.

It was Jaskier’s Christmas miracle at last.

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

Hiiiii Booouuunncccceeeeyyyyyy 🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️

Could I get a wee story, where Jaskier (who has a chronic illness/fatigue) feels weak and just needs a cuddle, but he's trying hes best to keep walking for Geralt. Geralt knows that sometimes he needs rest and just tells him he's okay and settles him🥺❤️

ooooooh yeah baybee

tw: chronic illness/fatigue, past injury mention (not graphic)

---

Jaskier glares down at the ground before him as if that will make the slow and terrible ache crawling its way up his spine more bearable. It doesn’t. 

Of course it fucking doesn’t. 

It hadn’t been so bad in the morning but now, after several long hours of walking and carrying his lute, his body is on fire. He’s desperate to sit down and take a break or even lay down for awhile, but that would inconvenience Geralt. The last thing Jaskier wants to do is inconvenience his beloved Witcher. He has to prove himself a worthy traveling companion, after all, and stopping so early in the afternoon to rest would be silly. It would eat up too much precious sunlight.

Jaskier, so focused on keeping his outward reactions from becoming suspicious, falls silent. Geralt notices. He also catches a few wayward whiffs of misery and pain on the breeze, like rotten fruit and burnt sugar. Horrible, he thinks. And even more horrible that they’re coming from Jaskier.

The Witcher slows his horse to a stop and slides from her back, his booted feet barely making a sound as they hit the packed dirt of the road. “What’s wrong, bard? You’re too damn quiet.”

“First I’m too noisy and now I’m too quiet?” Jaskier huffs playfully, his eyes crinkling in agony even as he smiles through the pain. “What will it take to please you, master Witcher?”

“The truth, Jaskier. Now.” Geralt doesn’t mean to sound so authoritative and angry but it can’t seem to be helped. He cares deeply for the bard and he’s disappointed in both of them (but mostly himself) for not stopping to deal with this sooner. 

“It hurts,” the bard admits, voice high and pinched. “E-Everything hurts. Walking is...”

“Let’s stop for the night, then. Come here,” Geralt says. Before Jaskier can protest, the Witcher lifts him into a sturdy bridal carry. He whistles for Roach and heads off the trail, into the woods. “Been around here before. There’s a cave nearby. We can stay there for the night.”

“I’m so sorry, Geralt. I didn’t mea-”

“Hush,” the Witcher smiles, only darkening the blush staining Jaskier’s cheeks. “It’s okay. You need to rest and you should rest. Walking through the pain doesn’t make it any easier, Jaskier. It just hurts. I don’t... I don’t like it when you’re hurt.”

“Oh,” the bard breathes. His gaze breaks away from Geralt’s as he lowers his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

The Witcher builds him a warm fire and feeds him and rubs his sore back with strong, careful fingers that leave him in a moaning pile of limbs. He cares for Jaskier all through the afternoon and into the night, holding the bard gently as he sleeps. 

“I understand what you mean,” Jaskier mutters, half-asleep. “When you hum like that, all noncommittally. You’re saying I love you in whatever strange language Witchers have.”

“Not Witchers,” Geralt replies, not disagreeing in the slightest. “Just me. And just you.”

“Alright then,” Jaskier snuggles closer, burying his face in the crook of Geralt’s warm neck. The Witcher shivers pleasantly and tightens his arms around Jaskier’s waist. 

“Hmm.”

Jaskier falls asleep smiling, the smell of pain overwhelmingly displaced by the honey-lavender scents of contentment and love.

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

Have a short, soft Geraskier piece just because

A crack of thunder rumbled overhead as Geralt, Eskel and Lambert bundled back into the entrance hall of the Witcher’s Keep.

Their late evening sparring session had been cut short by the turbulent weather, and just as Geralt closed the doors behind them, rain tumbled down from the black clouds.

The static in the air made Geralt’s teeth itch, and he grumbled to himself as he propped his swords against the weapons rack.

“Fuck it’s warm in here,” Lambert plucked at his collar, “your bard must have convinced old Vesemir to light the hearth again.”

A smile quirked the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

“My bard isn’t as versed to the cold as you or I,” the silver-haired Witcher folded his arms across his chest and fixed Lambert with glinting amber eyes.

“Ah, Lambert’s just jealous that Jaskier has been here at Kaer Morhen less than a week and already has Vesemir wrapped around his finger,” Eskel mused, nudging the younger Witcher playfully.

Lambert scowled, pushing him back, then added his swords to Geralt’s by the rack.

“Seems I’m the only one not doting on the bard’s every whim,” he grunted.

“Give it time,” Geralt smirked.

Lambert pulled a face at him.

“Come on, you prick,” Eskel barged Lambert with his shoulder and made his way into the great hall.

Lambert went to follow but crashed into Eskel’s back as the dark haired Witcher halted abruptly.

“What the fuck, Eskel?” Lambert hissed.

“Geralt? I think you might have some competition for your bard’s heart,” Eskel grinned.

Frowning, Geralt peered into the great hall and his heart panged in his chest.

Vesemir was sitting cross legged in front of the flickering hearth, surrounded by pillows and throws, a book propped open on one knee, and on the other rested Jaskier’s head. The old Witcher was carding his fingers through the young man’s thick hair absently as his eyes flicked back and forth across the delicate pages of his book.

Jaskier was curled up on his side, back to the dancing flames, eyes closed and breathing softly.

His lute lay beside him with his notebook and quill.

Ignoring Eskel and Lambert’s quipped teasing, Geralt came quietly into the great hall. Vesemir lifted his head as he approached and blinked slowly at the white-haired Witcher.

“We were discussing the structure of his latest ballad,” Vesemir glanced down at Jaskier, “I think the heat of the fire got to him.”

Geralt knelt down next to Jaskier, affection blazing in his amber eyes as he very gently caressed the young man’s cheek.

The bard stirred, a soft noise escaping him as his eyes fluttered open. A hazy smile broke out across his face as he focused on Geralt.

“Hey,” Jaskier hummed sleepily.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” Geralt tucked his arms under Jaskier’s knees and around his shoulders, cradling him to his chest and lifting him up in a single, fluid movement.

Jaskier made a noise of protest but let his head fall into Geralt’s shoulder as the Witcher carried him out of the great hall.

Geralt didn’t miss the proud look on Vesemir’s face that followed him back into the entrance hall.

Eskel and Lambert were still hovering by the doors.

“Aww, how cute,” Lambert lilted and Eskel cuffed him around the ears.

“Leave off Lambert. It’s not every day we get to see this adorable, fluffy Geralt,” mirth danced in Eskel’s eyes.

“Fuck the pair of you right to Nilfgaard,” Geralt growled at them.

Their immature chuckles echoed off the high vaulted roof. Geralt rolled his eyes at them, then turned towards the stairs.

Very gently, being careful not to jostle the half dozing bard too much, Geralt climbed the flight of stone steps and made his way to his bedchamber.

Jaskier muttered something as Geralt placed him on the bed. The Witcher slid off the bard’s boots, kicked off his own, shirked his light leather armour and then climbed into bed next to Jaskier. He pulled at the covers and throws until they were comfortable then bundled Jaskier to his chest, holding him close and burying his nose into Jaskier’s hair.

The bard let out a soft sigh, his breath tickling Geralt’s neck. Geralt felt Jaskier’s fingers curl into his shirt as he settled.

“Love you Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled, snuggling impossibly closer.

Geralt smiled, warm and bright.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

Impalaloompa on ao3

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

Geralt: You are small... delicate... adorable... I Must Protect You

Pixie!Jaskier: I mean, I can fly, shapeshift, craft poisons even you can't live through, and I'm deadly with a bow. I'm not helpless.

Geralt: No... you are so tiny and fragile... I picked a bunch of flowers for you... I Must Protect You

Pixie!Jaskier: I survived a fuckin wyvern??? Hello??? I am the opposite of--wait are those roses

Geralt: Yes.

Pixie!Jaskier: ...Oh dear I am feeling faint, won't you snuggle me to your ample bosom and let me get high on rose pollen, I am quite delicate you know.

[dhwty-writes]

Congratulations for your follower milestone!!! Prompt if you like: Jaskier's first winter at Kaer Morhen and he finds out about the witcher cuddle pile in front of the fire every evening and is delighted to be invited to join them.

Thank youuu~ You have discovered my largest weakness. Cuddle piles! This was a wonderful prompt. I hope you like it :)

Read on AO3

There were certain things in Jaskier's life that fell prey to exceptionally high standards. His students at Oxenfurt, the wine in Toussaint, or the longevity of the colours of his doublets to name a few examples. But all of them were dwarfed by the looming shadow that was the ruin of Kaer Morhen.

But honestly, who could blame him? Everyone knew he had a soft spot for history and legends, he was a bard after all. And what was Kaer Morhen but the decaying visualisation of said stories? What were witchers but living and breathing ballads and epics?

He vividly remembered his days in Lettenhove when his tutor had first mentioned the ancient castle that was now crumbling beneath the crushing burden of centuries, still defiant even after being sacked nearly a century prior, but rotting. The waves of time lapped at its foundations and soon it would see its end, consumed by the ocean of the ages that eventually wore down everything created by humankind. That evening he had stolen the tome his tutor used to torture him and practically inhaled the section about Kaer Morhen.

And then he had met Geralt — of course he had met Geralt, of all witchers, who suffered from selective muteness whenever he tried to ask him about his childhood. The little information he had been able to glean had barely been enough to conjure up an even more grandiose image than before.

In his dreams Kaer Morhen was an enchanted fortress, frozen in time and ice and snow. It was cloaked in an eerie charm, abrasive and inviting at once. Maybe there were even some vines encapsuling it in a thorny coffin, like in that fairy tale he had been told as a child. In any case it was majestic. Monumental. Mind-blowingly magnificent, even.

He had never experienced a worse disappointment in his entire life.

Alright, maybe he wasn't quite fair to the damp old thing, but after weeks of freezing his balls off while traipsing through the late autumn Kaedwen mountains he really shouldn't be blamed.

Despite Geralt equipping him with a whole new wardrobe fit for a winter up-north both of them had arrived shivering and soggy. Never in his life had he been more thankful for a bed with scratchy furs and lumpy pillows.

Since then a week had passed, but he hadn't quite forgiven the castle of his dreams, the frankly heinous journey it preceded yet. Not only was Geralt's home in the middle of fucking nowhere, it was also icy and drafty and, on a bad day, even snowy.

Jaskier had known, of course, that Kaer Morhen was a ruin. He just hadn't imagined it quite so... ruined, if he was honest. Nor had he imagined himself being tasked with aiding in the never-ending string of repairs that appeared to fill the majority of the winter days for the four remaining witchers of the wolf school and Coen, the last of the griffins. 'Oh, that's a title for the songs,' he thought as he handed Geralt a hammer.

"Are you alright?" the witcher asked from somewhere above him, where he was fixing a broken beam of the truss.

"Who, me?" Jaskier answered and tucked his frigid fingers into his armpits. "Of course, why are you asking?"

There was an alarming creak from above followed by the CLANG CLANG CLANG of a hammer. "Because I can hear your jittering from here. Are you dressed warm enough?"

He scoffed. "Who are you? My mother?"

The hammering stopped. "Well, are you?"

Jaskier couldn't help but smile. "Yes, Geralt. I'm a good lad who's wearing his undershirt, knitted sweater and lined gloves."

"And the woollen hose Vesemir gave you?"

"And the woollen hose Vesemir gave me."

"Good. Let's go back, it's getting late." There was some shuffling that meant Geralt was packing up. Moments later he dropped out of the rafters to land before Jaskier.

"Gracious gods!" he squealed and leapt back. "Geralt, you know I hate it when you do that!"

"I know," he said with a smile and began walking down the hall, "and you know that you mustn't get sick here. There's only so much we can do about pneumonia up here."

"Hmph," he answered and hurried after him, "I'm trying. Which is why you don't see me complaining."

Geralt shot him a condescending look.

"Alright, alright," he amended generously, "I'm only complaining a little. But honestly, why didn't you tell me I'd freeze my buttocks to the benches if I sit down too long?"

He snorted a laugh. After a short pause, he added solemnly: "I thought you wouldn't want to come, then."

"Not want to come? Have you listened to a word I've said since meeting you? I mean, of course you haven't, that's a rhetorical question, darling, but still. I've wanted to come here since... forever! And even if you'd told me, do you seriously think I'd have listened? Don't be ridiculous, I never listen to your warnings."

"True," Geralt agreed. "Still, no one comes to Kaer Morhen on their own volition."

"Do I look like no one to you?"

He squinted at him to size him up. "Hmm."

Jaskier laughed and punched his shoulder. "Arsehole."

"Perhaps I am," Geralt answered with a sly smile.

"Probably you are."

"Maybe."

"Definitely!"

The witcher pouted, which, quite frankly, looked ridiculous. "Don't be mean, Jaskier. You're a guest, after all."

"Ugh," he said and rolled his eyes, "fine."

"Fine," Geralt agreed and opened the door to the Great Hall. It was the only room in the whole fucking keep that was reasonably warm, so Jaskier felt confident to remove at least one layer of clothing while Geralt put his tools away. He was in the process of folding his sweater, when he spotted Lambert and Eskel in the corner, tightly curled up against each other.

"Oh, uh, Geralt?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Your, umm, your brothers. Should we better leave?"

"Bard," Lambert answered, "you know that we can fucking hear you, right?"

"Right!" he answered quickly. "Sorry. Geralt?"

But his witcher was already on his way to the two of them. Once he reached the layer of furs and carpets that blanketed the floor, he stripped his boots and sweater and flopped down unceremoniously on top of them.

Jaskier couldn't help but stare. Not for long of course, no stares could go unnoticed for long when it came to witchers, but still.

Eskel raised his head with an amused smile: "What? You won't join us?"

"So, that's how you keep warm!" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I was already wondering how all of you survived these winters as children."

The three witchers shared an awkward gaze. "Not all of us," Eskel answered.

"Oh," Jaskier said. 'Oh shit,' he thought. "Well, uhmm, I'm leaving, then. Yup, that's me. Leaving this room. Sorry. Again. Or for the first time. Have a nice evening!"

"Jaskier," Geralt growled and lifted his head from Lambert's back, "don't be an arse."

"Oh, uhmm, I'm trying not to be," he laughed nervously. "Well, you know me. I'm always trying. Sometimes I'm even successful. Yay..." He was suddenly feeling much too warm, despite the freezing temperatures.

"Then stop fussing and get the fuck over hear," Lambert grumbled. "I won't listen to Geralt's bitchin' for another evening. Fifteen winters is more than fucking enough."

"Mhmm," Eskel agreed and yawned noisily. "Fifteen years of 'Ohh, Jaskier gives the best hugs' and 'He smells so nice'. Wouldn't shut up about you..."

"Excuse me?" he squeaked undignified. Jaskier awkwardly cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" he tried again.

"Geralt," Lambert hissed and kicked him into his stomach, "I think we broke your bard."

"Hmm?" he answered and turned his head sleepily towards him. He blinked a few times before his gaze cleared and his eyes focused on him. "Fuck," he muttered and slowly at up. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" Jaskier assured him too quickly. "It's, umm... it's just that this situation is a tad awkward. For me. You see, I never think before speaking, and sometimes words slip past that were never meant to see the light of day and I'm truly sorry for offending you-"

He was interrupted by bellowing laughter at that. "Oh, he's cute," Eskel said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Fuckin' adorable," Lambert agreed. "Look, bard," he said and leaned onto his forearm, "we're witchers. It takes a whole fuckin' lot more to offend us."

"I know, I know, believe me!" He rolled his eyes. "It's one of your most infuriating qualities. And the competition is hard, just so you know. I've-"

"Jaskier," Geralt interrupted him gently. "Just come over here? Please?"

He huffed and uncrossed his arms. "Well, if you ask so nicely." Despite his prevalent discomfort he crossed over to them, sighing when Geralt wrapped his arms around his waist. "That's nice..."

"Mhmm," he agreed and dropped backwards, pulling a shrieking Jaskier with him.

"Geralt," he complained loudly, writhing in his arms, "warn me for fuck's sake! I could've crushed someone."

"Unlikely," Geralt declared and began pulling off his boots, before rearranging the surrounding limbs, until Jaskier was safely snuggled between the three witchers. For the first time since he had set foot into the Kaedwen mountains, he was finally warm again. Slowly, he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

It was almost too easy with three warm bodies curled around him, all of them intently listening to his breath evening out. He was almost asleep when they finally dared to speak up: "Fuck," Lambert whispered and cuddled closer, "he does give great hugs."

He couldn't help but smile and tighten his grip on his waist a bit.

"Yeah," Eskel agreed, "don't think I'll ever get up again."

"Don't think I'll give him back," Lambert said. Geralt growled and he laughed quietly. "What do you say, bard? Come with me in spring?"

Jaskier smiled and turned around to hug Geralt instead. "Not a fucking chance."

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