#more like geralt of idiot

[roughentumble]

geralt who always subbed to people who treated him like shit as a form of self harm who then gets brought out of his shell to dom for jaskier

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 141

Many would assume the flirtatious and caring bard to be the most touchstarved of the duo, but they would be wrong. Very very wrong. It was Geralt that sought out Jaskier's personal space like it was an all-curing ambrosia. Day and night, In town or in the woods, warm weather or the late autumn, Geralt would touch him. Always, always touching him. Don't get him wrong! Jaskier loves being groped all day by his rather attractive witcher friend, but it wasn't always the most convenient trait for his witcher to have.

*Growls* "Geralt, please, it's the waitress! She's taking our order."

Geralt clings to Jaskier's arms, plays with his hair, sniffs at his neck. He guides Jaskier with a hand on the shoulder, or an arm around his waist, or one time, - flustering Jaskier greatly - a hand on his hip. When Geralt is worried for him, he grips his arm, shields him with his body, or roams his hands over Jaskier's body, searching for injuries. Geralt is ever-present in Jaskier's personal space. It's just become a thing with them. Even in times of stress, danger, adrenaline. Geralt is fighting a manticore one day, and Jaskier is - admittedly, quite foolishly - in plain view. It wasn't on purpose! He's not an idiot! STOP JUDGING HIM! The beast goes to charge straight for him, and Geralt grabs his arm and whips him to the side, just in time to save him from the beast who then careens off a cliff. Jaskier pants, and feels the familiar weight of Geralt's hands. Geralt is snarling at him, shouting at him, and Jaskier tries very hard to understand, truly, he does, but it's hard. "Damn it, Jaskier, answer me!" Oh! REALLY should be listening now! "Hm?" "Are you hurt? Are you in pain?" "No, no, you- You saved me." Like always. Jaskier stares at his hero. His witcher. His Geralt. His love. For Jaskier does love Geralt. More than anything. And Jaskier seems to realize this fact more and more every day. With every move Geralt makes, with every word he says, with every little touch and caress. He thinks more on this fact later that night around the campfire. Geralt asks him to pass him a waterskin, but when Jaskier reaches to grab it, he hisses in pain. He rolls up his sleeve and sees a bruise in the shape of Geralt's hand on his arm. Right. From when he was saved. "I'm going to find some dinner." Geralt suddenly announces, standing abruptly and already shuffling away. "Wh- But Geralt, what about the watersk-" "I don't need it." He disappears into the bushes and trees, and Jaskier furrows his brow. He was sure they still had some food in their packs, why was Geralt so insistent on leaving? Curious... Even more curious, is in the following days, Geralt is avoiding him. From an outsiders perspective, nothing would appear wrong. But Geralt hasn't touched him once. No embraces, or odd sudden bouts of smelling Jaskier's hair, or holding his hand... He hasn't even stood closer than a meter to him. Jaskier worries to no end. What must he have done? What's changed? Why won't Geralt touch him? It's not until he's bathing one evening and he glances to the still-healing bruise that it clicks. Geralt feels guilty. The damned bleeding-heart is so convinced he's a monster that even a mark that shows protection shows only it's ugliest form to him. When Jaskier sees the bruise on his arm, he remembers Geralt saving him, he remembers the relief, he remembers feeling alive. Geralt only sees a bruise. Something of hurt. Caused by Geralt. Jaskier is so simultaneously horrified and infuriated that he slams open the door of the joined bathroom and marches into main area of the room they'd rented for the night. Still nude. Still dripping. Geralt, sat on the bed, midway through taking off his boots, was certainly shocked.

[steviebbboi]

Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge!

Howdy lads~ exciting news to share:

I just reached a 200 follower count on Tumblr 🎉🎉🎉

I kinda can't believe it? Writing is indeed good for my soul. Interacting with y'all on here has helped me with my mental and emotional wellness due to just finding such great community on here. Thank you for giving me the space to write and for following along/supporting in my writing journey 💖

With that spiel spoken, I wanted to host a writing challenge in celebration of this milestone! *squealing because i'm so excited to host*

Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge Masterlist

*you'll find all writing submissions and writing requests (answered) at the link above*

You could participate by sending in either:

✨ writing request via my Asks (💙)

and/or

✨ writing submissions (💥).

General Rules:

the challenge will start October 1st until the end of November (flexible on late entries for submissions only💥; let's say till mid-December or so).

I'll read/write for Chris Evans characters, Henry Cavill Characters, and Charlie Hunnam characters [and Bucky Barnes specifically lol] (these are my preferences but if there are other characters that you'd like to bring in, just ask me)!

for writing requests 💙, i will only be accepting requests (2 max/person; pls do not send more than 2 asks!) until the end of November.

for writing submissions 💥, go wild! submit as many as you like!

you can do both (send in a writing request 💙 AND send in a writing submission(s)💥) if you want to; rules still apply for the requests though.

use at least one prompt within your request 💙/submissions💥 from the lists below (but def. go crazy if you wanna use more than one! you don't have to claim any prompts).

works can be inclusive! poc, gender neutral, neurodivergencies, mid size/plus size/curvy readers are encouraged!

No word limits but please use a 'read more' after 200 words

Works can be part of an existing series but must be able to stand on their own

tag me @steviebbboi and use the tags #bbboi200celebration and #steviebbboiwritingchallenge in your entry so i can read/reblog your work! (If I somehow lose sight of your submission, please remind me and I'll take a look at it right away ☺️)

Most important one: Have fun!

How To Play:

✨ You must be 18+ to participate in this challenge!

✨ Choose one (or multiple 😏) BB's:

Chris Evans Characters

Steve Rogers/Captain America

Ransom Drysdale

Ari Levinson

Frank Adler

Curtis Everett

Andy Barber

Hayden/Harvard Hottie

Nick Gant

Jake Jensen

Johnny Storm

Lloyd Hansen

Henry Cavill Characters

Clark Kent

Napoleon Solo

Geralt of Rivia

August Walker

Charlie Hunnam Characters

Jax Teller

Raymond Smith *extra brownie pts if you write about him omg*

King Arthur

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes [he's all by himself im so sorry lmfao 🥹]

✨ Choose one (or more) of the following prompts:

*if you don't want to write smut, you don't have to choose anything from the kinks prompt! feel free to only use the following two prompts :)

soft dom!BB

clothes/naked ratio

size kink

slow and deep 👀

breeding kink (non-pregnancy version)

somnophilia

free use

cockwarming

belly bulge

Squirting

consensual non-con

consensual dub-con

cumeating

creampie

anal/or dp

possessive/or protective manhandling!BB

oral sex

orgasm delay

dumbification

daddy/princess kink

overstimulation

sex pollen

prone bone

cockdrunk

threesome (BB/Reader/BB)

ass/pussy spanking

mild degradation

body worshipping

quickie/don't get caught (public sex, threats of exhibitionism, etc.) 😏

Grouchybb! who is only soft with you

Married and loyal!spouse

A/B/O

lumberjack!bb who is a teddy bear on the inside tho

mob AU

biker AU

soulmate AU

mutual pining/idiots in love

childhood besties to lovers

reformed playboy

professor AU

supernatural/mythical (gods, sirens, werewolves, witches, vampires, ghosts, oh my!)

frenemies to lovers

fwb to lovers

locked in AU/forced proximity

medieval AU

fake dating/relationship

sharing one bed

polar opposites attract

break up and make up

spy AU

meet cute

cowboy AU

gentle recluse!BB

brothers best friend!BB

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Yes, take it, slut"

"It's not that big of a deal."

"God, why do you always do this"

"You're impossible."

"Then I guess we gotta be quiet, huh?"

"We're trapped."

"Shh, you wouldn't want anyone to hear, or do you?"

"You're taking me so well, baby"

"Good girl" *for fem readers; adjust accordingly!*

"Tsk, uh-uh, c'mere, honey"

"You always feel so good around me, baby"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Here, let me help you."

"Yeah, are you a cockhungry slut, now?"

"I hardly think that that's necessary."

"Don't be a brat, baby."

"Aw, does it feel good right there?"

"I'm sorry!"

"What do you want from me?!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"What do you think you're doing here?"

"Nope. Again."

"Don't worry, I got you."

"Just stay still, there you go."

"Just one more, I promise."

"C'mon, don't you wanna be good?"

"Stay over there!"

"You better hurry up, baby."

"Thaaaat's it, you're doing so well, honey."

"Uhm, I'm not sure that's going to work."

"Please, I'll beg, please!"

"Be honest."

"Be careful there, darlin'."

"Are you okay?"

"Are you sure you wanna go there?"

Scenarios? Any! Go. Wild.

✨ I love reading/writing angst w/HEA, soft dark (nothing too dark though), fluff and SMUT (as you can see w/the many many kinks).

no incest (stepcest is ok if tasteful lol), no infidelity, no watersports, no murder, no gore. if you're unsure if a trope is appropriate, ask me!

if im ever uncomfy with writing something, i will lyk and we can talk more about it to see if we could work with it!

feel free to ask any questions!

i think i got everything!

Have the best time, laddies~ thanks for celebrating with me!

All are welcome to join in the fun! ❣️

Tagging a few mutuals who may be interested but no pressure bbs:

@bigtreefest @mercurial-chuckles @stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork @buckets-and-trees @hotdamnhunnam @laurfilijames

@autumnrose40 @eloquentlytired @misscherry-26 @stellar-solar-flare

@darsynia @navybrat817

[thedemonofcat]

“What are you putting in your soup?”

“Hemlock.”

“Ha! And they say Witchers don’t have a sense of humor.”

But Geralt isn’t joking. Because Witchers are immune to most human poisons, they tend to use them as spices.

Geralt has always been conscious of the fact that this is a thing that marks him as inhuman. He doesn’t bring out the human-deadly spices in towns.

At first, Geralt didn’t add poison to his food in front of Jaskier. But then, the bard proved himself unphased by black eyes, growls, and all sorts of strangeness. Surely, he wouldn’t think differently of Geralt for eating a bit differently.

Only, Jaskier keeps shrugging the poison off as a joke. And he keeps trying to steal food off Geralt’s plate like an idiot!

(Nevermind the fact that Geralt let him do it before and thus gave Jaskier the impression that the behavior was acceptable)

"Spit it out!" the witchers shouted as Geralt watched Jaskier take a large bite from a Manchineel fruit. In a surge of blind panic, Geralt plunged his hand into Jaskier’s mouth, frantically trying to pull every last piece free.

“Geralt, not that I mind you using my mouth,” Jaskier mumbled around the witcher's fingers, “but there are far more enjoyable ways to go about it.”

“I need to get all the poison out,” Geralt muttered, his focus entirely on making the bard gag and expel the toxic fruit. But instead of gagging, Jaskier tilted his head, as though something had just clicked in his mind.

“These are poisonous... to humans,” Jaskier remarked, his tone more intrigued than afraid.

Geralt froze, his hands stilling as he truly looked at Jaskier for the first time in a way he hadn’t before.

“You’re not human.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A young, horny Lambert sets his sights on an older hunk of Witcher beef. CW: age gap, flirtation.

"I'm going for it."

"Lambert, don't be a fucking idiot. They'll laugh at you."

"They might, but he won't. You miss all the chances you don't take, right?"

"Your funeral."

Lambert licked his lips and smoothed his hair back as he stood. He hadn't torn his eyes away from his mark for a single second since said man had swaggered into the hall a few hours before. This was the winter he'd do it. He was a man himself now, which meant he had every chance of bagging himself the hunk of good-lookin' he'd been coveting from the moment his dick had started getting hard at night and hair had appeared on his jaw.

Eskel.

It wasn't just that Eskel had two decades on Lambert or that he was becoming a seasoned witcher. No other Witcher in the keep compared. Sure, some tried. They might step toe to toe during drills or try to outflame Eskel's igni, but they never could. The only one that outmatched Eskel was his pale shadow, Geralt. They even looked a little similar. But cream puff was a fucking bean pole of a man, and that shitty headband...

N'aw, Lambert wanted big. He wanted heat, and honey eyes, and that thatch of dark hair he'd seen on Eskel's barrelled chest in the baths, and that huge fucking d--

"You lost, Lambert?"

Lambert blinked. Gweld, the ginger prick, was frowning at him, ale tankard halfway up to his mouth. The others had paused their card game; Clovis looked drunk, Geralt was slouched back trying to see Clovis' hand and Eskel was watching Lambert speculatively.

Watching, with those honey-coloured eyes that turned Lambert inside out. The words caught in Lambert's throat; shit, fuck, why was he so fuckin' stupid the moment Eskel looked at him?

He took a breath, conscious of Clovis elbowing Gweld with a chuckle, while Geralt looked over with a smirk.

Lambert found his words. He folded his arms, thrust his chest out, widened his stance and put on his best cocky smirk. "Was just wonderin' whether Eskel wanted some better company. You losers can't handle your beer at the best of times."

They laughed. Gweld elbowed Eskel who cocked a half smile, eyes rolling not at Lambert, but his friends, proving Lambert's point. Obviously.

"Is that right?" Geralt asked, amusement turning his narrow face bright with a toothy grin. Lambert had been told that as witchers matured they honed their sense of smell, could identify a man's emotions from his body language, the flush in his skin. Lambert knew Geralt had him sussed. "And what kinda company are you offering?"

"Geralt..." Eskel growled in warning, and it went straight to Lambert's groin. Fucking hells.

"Whatever he wants. I'm a man of many talents."

More laughter--"little man has game, shit; fuck, I'm chokin, too funny"--but Lambert wasn't put off. Eskel's eyes were on him, warming him like the sun. The lines around those eyes were wrinkled with mirth, and damn if that smile wasn't snatching the breath right out of Lambert's chest.

"Does your master know you're out?" Eskel asked, placing his cards face down. He leaned back in his chair and slung his elbow onto the back of it, knee turned out while a hand tapped at his drink.

Lambert tried to keep his eyes level and resist the urge to... look. Eskel's codpiece put on an absolutely fucking heroic effort, but it could only hide so much and that was when Eskel was soft. "What he don't know can't hurt him. No business of his who else is in my bed as long as I am."

Eskel pressed his lips together to smother his smile while the others guffawed. More was said but Lambert didn't really hear; he was too focused on keeping his heart from beating out his chest and appearing suave.

Eskel hummed. "Aren't you a little young to be lookin' for that kinda fun?"

"Worried you won't be able to keep up, old man?" Lambert felt momentum. He could do snark, he could meet Eskel on this well worn ground, toe to toe, and the way Eskel's head tilted to the side and his eyebrow rose. It wasn't a no, right? He looked interested. Amused, but he didn't dismiss Lambert outright.

Gweld slapped Eskel on the shoulder with a bark. "Eskel here's got stories that'd make your balls shrivel up into yer belly, lad. I don't think he's a good choice for yer first ride, best drop your ambitions."

"Fuck off, Gweld," Eskel said, but there was no heat to his words. Just wry amusement.

Geralt snorted into his drink and Clovis made a vulgar gesture with his hand, but before Lambert could respond a familiar voice barked through the hall and sucked all the building sexual tension into a vacuum. "Lambert, get your arse to bed, you missed roll call!"

Lambert clenched his teeth, shoulders lifting towards his ears. For fuck's sake...

Three of the witchers in front of him groaned in mock empathy. "Oof, tough break, Lambino. Cock blocked by Vesemir," Gweld said, shaking his head while Geralt and Clovis snickered. "Don't worry, we've all been there. Ain't that right, Gerbear?"

Geralt guffawed in protest and smacked Gweld on the shoulder. It quickly devolved into a wrestling match on the floor, one which Gweld was definitely going to lose. Eskel watched them briefly before he looked back at Lambert. "Another time perhaps," he said, toasting Lambert with his ale. "G'wan, before he decides the target dummies are a little light on straw."

Lambert grunted, frustrated, but stalked away. He'd made inroads, and the way Eskel's eyes had shone, and that crooked grin. Eskel hadn't outright rejected him, hells, he'd--well, that smile... Eskel didn't smile at everyone like that.

Lambert laid in bed with that smile behind his eyes and a hand under the sheets, determined that it would be Eskel's instead of his own by winter's end.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Jake Jensen

Summary: Jake knows he's the luckiest man in the world and it's all because of you.

Warnings: None at this time. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

On a lot of levels, Jake knows he looks ridiculous. Part of him will always be that awkward kid who tried to hide his interests and hobbies out of fear of being bullied. Yet here he is, wearing a Tygra costume, complete with face paint, and he couldn't be happier.

He was skeptical when you first came up with the idea. Not that he didn't have faith in your abilities. It was more he wasn't sure in himself. But he wanted to do right by you, make you happy, and show the twins it's ok to be a geek, to love your interests. So he agreed to the costumes.

It also meant a lot to him that his department was willing to to do a mini trick or treat for the twins. They're too young, too little, to really go out for more than an hour or so. Plus it's great socialization for them, and Syverson even used it as an excuse to help his dog, Lily, get some needed experience with being around little ones.

After talking to some of the guys and giving them the candy for the twins, he was surprised to find out how many of them were excited for this as well. It had actually helped encourage some of them to dress up a little this year. Johnny even wore a superhero costume underneath his regular clothes in the hopes the twins would think he's an actual superhero.

The only hiccup was with the Double G's. They objected to giving the kids candy saying it was bad for their teeth and the like. Instead, they asked if they could give them a couple toys.

"Of course," Jake nods. "That's a great alternative! I'll see about running out and getting some real quick."

"No need," Geralt stops him.

"We already got the tykes something in case you agreed," G adds.

"Awww, thank you both so much! Can I see what you got them?"

The G's look at each other briefly before Geralt pulls the pack off his Monster Hunter costume and pulls out a couple of daggers, showing them to Jake.

Jake's eyes go wide. "Are those...are they smaller versions of Narsil before it was reforged?!"

G turns to Geralt, "I told you he'd recognize them."

Geralt nods at G before turning to Jake. "Obviously they're still small for a full blade so dagger based on Narsil made sense."

"Metaphorically as well since children take the shards of the past and reforge them for the sake of their future," G adds.

"Please tell me they're not actually sharp," Jake frets.

"Of course not!" Geralt snarls.

"What kind of idiots do you think we are?" G growls.

Jake holds up his hands in an attempt to placate, "you're right, you're right. I'm sorry. It's just...daggers, even blunted ones, aren't appropriate for toddlers. Maybe if they were plastic or something not so heavy and clearly well made---"

"Plastic?!" G scoffs.

"I swear I'm not trying to insult you and your exquisite tastes!" Jake interjects before Geralt can add his piece. "This is just a super big thing for a Halloween Treat! When you said 'toy' I thought you meant, like the rubber duck on your desk." The Double G's start giving him their scary look before he adds, "not that you have to give them that one. That's your rubber duckie to do with as you wish. I just meant, something small, something fun like that. The daggers you want to give them would be better as...maybe a birthday or Christmas gift. But not for trick or treating. I'd hate to build up their expectations like that."

"Hmmm." is Geralt's only reply before signalling G to join him in a huddle on the other side of their cubicle. After several minutes of silent communication they return to Jake. "We agree that it would be setting the twins' expectations too high for Halloween. Neither of us celebrates Christmas so we will hold onto the daggers until their next birthday."

"And we will return with some toys you deem 'more appropriate' for their age group," G concedes as he grabs his car keys.

"You...you don't need to do this," Jake reiterates. "I'm more than happy to go get something."

"No," Geralt asserts.

"This is our hunt," G scowls.

Jake backs out of their way but Geralt stops, "when is their birthday?"

"Late April," Jake confesses.

Jake holds you close as you both guide the twins along their journey through the cubicles. True to their word the G's got the twins some adorable squishy toys instead. You hear an odd comment about "building up strength to wield a blade" but figure Geralt is just in character as a monster hunter. Jake had made sure to warn you to not ask if he was dressed as a Skyrim character. The armor was incredibly detailed and well made so you had to ask him about it.

Geralt smiles, a little smugly, "I made it myself."

"It's incredible!" you exclaim. "If I didn't have to worry about the chemicals affecting the twins I'd love to learn how to work with leather."

"Hmm. Let me know if you need some pieces made up. Your own skills are quite admirable."

Heat rushes to your face, "oh, that's so kind of you!"

You'd stick around but Leah's run off to Johnny's cubicle, saying something about, "gotta ask."

You run over to her, trying to apologize to Johnny but he isn't hearing it. He's grinning even more than usual as he play whispers, "you'll keep my secret, right?" Leah nods and giggles in your arms.

Meanwhile, over at Ransom's cubicle, Jake is watching the scene, holding a sleepy Luke, and smiling.

Ransom stands next to him, "you know you look like an idiot, right?" Jake's smile falters a little. "Not that your wife doesn't do great work," he continues. "It's just...why would you dress up like this?"

Jake turns to him, still smiling, "because it's fun. Fun for me, fun for my family. If teenage me could see how loved and accepted my geekiness is, he'd cry with relief." Jake turns back to you and Leah, his smile growing again. "Plus, I'm doing my part to show the ones I love that I will always love them, always encourage their interests, and am fully willing to make an idiot of myself for them."

If Ransom has a reply, Jake doesn't hear it because your and Leah's laughs are all that matter right now.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Have some Aiden & Kid!Jaskier interaction!!

"It's you!"

Aiden turned his attention towards where Jaskier was sat by the fire alongside the wolves, the bard's face a strange mixture of disbelief and elation, as was his scent. Aiden crinkled his nose slightly as he fought back the urge to sneeze or cough at the unfamiliar combination being directed at him.

"Yeah, it's me. Happy to see you too?" Aiden ventured, despite the fact that it couldn't have been more than an hour since they'd last seen each other. Aiden had gone back out into the courtyard after dinner to run some drills, despite the harsh weather, and get rid of the excess energy he could already feel building up. Vesemir was gracious enough to refer to it as 'extra training' and not act like it was a necessity if they all wanted Aiden to avoid getting so restless he literally started climbing the walls.

"No! I mean...I didn't realise before now until I saw you silhouetted like that with your swords and everything, but it's you!"

Aiden suddenly found himself with a limpet of a bard hanging off him, determined to cling despite the rainwater which now soaked both of them.

"Jaskier, I-"

"Oh right. You probably don't remember, what am I saying, of course you don't - Jaskier you fucking idiot. It's been thirty years, no doubt you've lost count of how many humans you've dealt with in the meantime. But-"

"Jaskier." Lambert huffed out from where he was dozing on the fur which acted as a hearth rug, not even bothering to open his eyes, "Let Aiden go dry off and then maybe some context to go with your twittering, Birdie."

By the time Aiden returned, Jaskier's excitement was enough that even the Wolves were giving him their full attention as he re-entered the main hall. Eskel and Geralt's books lay abandoned on a side table while a now awake Lambert was sat leaning against the wall by the hearth. He pulled Aiden down to sit next to him, the fire hot stone through his thick, wool shirt creating a pleasant warmth against his back.

"Alright then." Jaskier started from where he was sat cross legged in one of the old armchairs, leaning forwards as he once again addressed Aiden directly, "Before I start, do you remember anything about a night in Lettenhove thirty years ago. At the Viscount's estate."

Aiden shook his head, although something about this was starting to niggle the back of his mind.

"Name of Panktratz. Little boy, around six years old?" Jaskier continued, eyes growing sadder as it became clear this memory was potentially very one-sided, "Somehow convinced you to-"

He wasn't sure if it was the name or the wide-eyed look the man was throwing him, but Aiden felt something suddenly tumble into place. "Wait, I do remember that night!"

Aiden fought back a growl as he took in the various toys littering the floor, the miniature four poster bed...whose occupant was an even smaller lump under the covers.

That son of a bitch! That slimy twat had hired him to 'take care' of his nephew so he'd be next in line for the title instead, implying the whole time that his relative wasn't exactly deserving of the title. Aiden had accepted the job - what difference did the inner squabblings of Nobility make to him afterall.

In hindsight he probably should have asked more questions but he didn't have a copper coin to his name and this guy had paid upfront; enough for him to be able to eat regularly and maintain his gear for the foreseeable. He started planning after his employer graciously provided him with a blueprint of the estate and pointed out the targets rooms. He'd failed to mention however, that said target looked to be scarcely old enough to wield that wooden sword properly, nevermind any degree of power.

Fuck it. He should stay as far away from this potential mess as possible. It was bad enough when their employers pointed the finger of blame at them when they assassinated an adult, but a child? That was a complication none of them needed. Mind made up, he turned to climb back out of the window (which had been concerningly easy to coax open from the other side), making sure hood and mask were still firmly in place.

"Hello."

Aiden froze. Speaking of complications....

Rookie mistake! He'd been so caught up in everything else he'd forgotten to keep one ear focused on the other heartbeat in the room. He ran through possible scenarios: he could do what he'd been paid to do, but now the kid was awake there was every chance he'd scream and alert the house before Aiden could even lift a finger. Same potential problem if he tried to leave. He could always cast somne...

"You're a Witcher aren't you? I can see the shape of your swords!" Aiden's nose twitched at the boys scent. Strange. Even through the cloth covering the lower half of his face he could tell the boy didn't smell afraid. He smelled excited, happy even?

"I know all about Witchers. You keep us safe from monsters. Is that why you're here, is there a monster in my room?" The small voice turned slightly fretful as a faint whiff of fear started to sour the air - yet more strangeness in the fact that it was due to imagined monsters rather than him.

Aiden dared to turn and look, something about this child's initial boldness piquing his curiousity (who the hell starts questioning a stranger in their room instead of screaming the place down?). A small boy stared back at him with large eyes as he clutched the soft looking sheets to him like a shield as he curled up in the centre of the bed. "My Uncle Desmond says that monsters like to come out at night and eat little boys. I don't like him. He's mean."

Aiden gave a bittersweet smile at the pout he could see on the little face.

'Oh. You have no idea just how mean, kid.' He thought to himself.

"No, no monsters here. Go back to sleep."

The boys pout turned into a frown, "You didn't even look."

"Because I don't need to."

"Please, Mister Witcher." His bottom lip wobbled in a practiced tremble as his eyes grew even bigger.

Aiden bit back another smile. Kid was good, he'd give him that. Such audacity deserved some sort of reward.

"Alright. One very quick monster check, then you go to sleep. Deal?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "My name's Julian, by the way."

"I don't care."

"...are you going to tell me yours?"

"No."

"Can I see your swords?"

"No."

"How about your-"

"How about no talking until we make absolutely sure there's nothing waiting in your wardrobe?"

Turns out the only monstrous thing in Julian's wardrobe was a few hideous combinations of frills and lace. Behind the curtains yielded nothing, as did underneath the bed.

"Ok. Now you hold up your end of the deal and go to sleep."

Julian scowled at him in response from where he was now stood up on the feather mattress to watch rather than huddled under the sheets, arms crossed expectantly.

"What?"

"You're supposed to say sweet dreams."

Aiden blinked at him before replying "Sweet dreams." Monotonously.

"Tuck me in?"

Aiden cast the sign for somne, Julian's body flopping down before he'd even finished. Cheeky little fuck would've been wanting a lullaby next. Still, it wouldn't do for him to get cold, there was no fireplace in this room after all. He grabbed the quilt from the bottom of the bed, not bothering to straighten it as it fell haphazardly over the small body before doing what he should have done thirty minutes ago and taking his leave back through the window.

"I told my parents about you the next morning. They didn't believe me of course. Said it was probably just a dream and that if there had been a Witcher in my room I'd be dead. Although, I suppose that explains why my Uncle Desmond looked apoplectic when I came down to breakfast. I never knew he'd hired you to, you know." He flicked a hand across his neck in a throat cutting motion. "Why didn't you by the way? Not that I'm saying I wish you had or anything. I was a human child, you could've killed me multiple times as easily as scratching an itch but you didn't. Why?"

Aiden's features settled into a frown, "Oh trust me, if your Uncle had waited ten more years it probably would've been a very different outcome. As it is, once I had all the facts, I just decided against accepting a contract on a kid. The one who offered me the contract however..."

Jaskiers eyebrows shot up as he shuffled further forwards, "Are you saying you offed my uncle? He did just sort of... disappear."

"Not exactly. I merely broke back in and left evidence of what he'd planned somewhere I knew the current Viscount would find it. What he chose to do with that I had no involvement in. If he just so happened to be on the lookout for an assassin and I was coincidentally still in the area, well...no Witcher is ever going to turn down such well paying jobs so close together."

Jaskier laughed, causing the wolves to look at him in shock, "Oh don't look like that. I didn't learn the extent of it until I was older but besides trying to murder me he was an absolute cock. Definitely not somebody you'd want in charge of anything!"

"The ones that desperate for power usually aren't." Eskel mused, Lambert raised his cup in agreement.

"You know, I'm so happy that Geralt ended up being the Witcher I ran into in Posada. But when I started out from Oxenfurt, I was actually looking for you."

Aiden straightened up in slight surprise, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do this." Jaskier got down on the floor and once again wrapped his arms around Aiden, the Witcher returning the hug this time.

"Thanks." Jaskier muttered, "For humouring a scared, probably irritating as hell, little boy."

Aiden tightened his hold slightly, "You're welcome, Julian."

[thefandomlifechoseme]

consider:

professor!Jaskier, who teaches in the winter, and travels with Geralt in the summer.

it's winter, jaskier's got to oxenfurt in good time, his students are polite and attentive, and they've been going missing. not many, and not often, but alice didn't turn up to that guest lecture she'd insisted she'd be going to, peter hasn't turned up in a week, and catherine never came to that meeting the other day.

his colleagues think it's some monster. he has to talk them out of hiring a witcher, citing the fact that they don't know what it is, witchers don't take contracts on people, and, oh yeah, it's winter. the only witchers currently available for hire are the Cats, and it's incredibly unlikely that their caravans will stop by oxenfurt.

now, jaskier's been travelling with his beloved emotionally-constipated witcher for a fair few decades now. it might be a monster, some necrophage, or a werewolf. but it probably isn't. there's a reason witchers don't work in winter, and it's that monsters hibernate. and besides, the dates that the students went missing don't line up with any particular cycle, lunar or otherwise.

they do however, line up with the dates for a fae festival. now, jaskier isn't saying that the fae did this, but the fae did this.

so, he checks the next relevant date, sends a letter to yennefer, triss and one for when geralt hits the path again, as a precaution, because he's not an idiot, no matter how he likes to play the part.

he brings an iron dagger, enough food and water for 2 weeks, his best lute, his composition notebook, his path notebook, and, begrudgingly, some of valdo's less terrible works and a few of essi's latest ballads, because they have different styles of performing, and he waits outside that mushroom circle he found a few years back.

he hopes that they're only after some music to live their festival up.

(they are, thankfully, and, aside from all the word games, mind games, and actual games, it's fairly easy to get their leader to sign a contract with him stating that they will play at this festival and his festival alone, they may, willingly play at other festivals if they choose, that they're all free to leave after the allotted dates for the festival are up, and that this contract will be good for 1,000 years irrespective of any changes in leadership, with him personally, and that any changes to the contract must be verbally, and explicitly signed by all the people involved in the signing of the contract.

it's actually fairly entertaining.)

(yen and triss have a go at him later, of course, and geralt has him go over all the loopholes in his own contracts for their next five years on the path, supposedly to help him get the most money he can, but they both know it's so he doesn't accidentally leave a loophole in any other contracts he might make with the fae. but it's out love and relief, more than anything.)

[annmarcus63]

“If life could give me a blessing, it’d be to take you off my hands”

The wind whips around them and Jaskier fears it will be strong enough to carry away the pieces of his broken heart. But instead of succumbing to shock and sadness, fury and indignation helps him to finally confront the witcher. 

"Oh, no, witcher, you're not doing this." the bard stomps all the way down to meet the other's tense back. "What, since you can't keep the witch, now you don't want me either? Well, guess what, witcher, I'm not a dog you can kick whenever you feel like it.” He shouts at him and in the last sentence, with both hands, he pushes Geralt's shoulders, who, of course, does not move an inch.

"Go away, bard." Jaskier is laughing his head off, he thinks he looks crazy, but couldn't care less. 

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, no, not this again. Do you really think you can erase all our history by giving me an impersonal title" What bothers him most is Geralt's passive face, when seconds ago it was full of what Jaskier might call hatred.

"Go away, Jaskier."

"No," he replies, closing the gap between them, another step back and they would both fall over the edge. Finally the mask of calm falls from the witcher's face, Geralt grunts visibly annoyed and walks past Jaskier, up the hill. 

“Why can't you ever do what you are told?!” he says as he turns to look at him. Jaskier stops in his tracks. True, he rarely does what he's told to do knowing that there are always better options. Like when Geralt was trying to chase him away in the early years. Jaskier did the right thing, he decided to stay. 

"I am not a child, Geralt. I know exactly what's good for me, and that's not it.”

"Then you're an idiot. What's in my best interest is to get as far away from you as possible." Jaskier whimpers reluctantly, he might as well have run him through with his sword and thrown his body off the cliff. He can't help but feel like something insignificant, not worth holding on to even in hard times.

Geralt is on his way up again when Jaskier calls out to him. 

“Then, I gather it was in your best interest to let me kiss you, right, Geralt?” It's rare to take the witcher by surprise, much more so when it's Jaskier, but this time Geralt had to pause to take a breath and process the words, just as he would before confronting a monster "All those kisses I gave you at night, or holding hands for even a few minutes, were in your best interest, I suppose.” Jaskier adjusts his hair, not caring that the wind would ruffle it in a matter of seconds. The sun slowly dips below the mountains on the horizon, inking the sky a deep purple color that unfortunately reminds him of the witch who started this. Confident and resolute, he climbs up to face Geralt with the courage of a stupid rabbit in front of a wolf's mouth. "It's funny because I thought, silly old me, that they were about more than convenience, I even thought you enjoyed them." Geralt's lip lifts in an attempted snarl, and the truth was that all of Jaskier's instincts were telling him that he should flee, not because he was afraid of the witcher, but because it is the cunning thing to do.

"You thought wrong." 

“Oh? Did I?” The bard mockingly interpellates him. Suddenly Geralt sprints to get away from him, it would be funny except that the bard's blood is boiling with anger and adrenaline, which prompts him to do something idiotic. In a flurry of limbs, Jaskier throws himself at the witcher, wrapping his arms around him to hold him in place, Geralt doesn't fight it because he knows he could hurt him. Jaskier seizes the moment to take his face in his hands and bring him close, their noses meeting with a certain rudeness. "You were mine. For fleeting moments, you were. But I am yours, my dear, don't you see?" Jaskier does what he thinks is necessary, kisses him on the corner of his mouth, but Geralt turns to meet his lips.

Fic here

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Pumpkin spice

Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Walter Marshall x librarian!reader

Summary: You finally manage to get a date with the handsome barista from your favorite coffeeshop.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), a cheesy (romantic) date, a short appearance of Mike The Idiot TM, awkwardness, a lot of coffee and abuse of a cable knit... I think that's it?

A/N: Another promise made to @deandoesthingstome. I swear this woman is responsible for half the stuff on my masterlist at this point. Credit for the other half goes to @geralts-yenn of course. This time, it was - of course - because I made the mistake of adding one of the - according to her - more attractive Henry-shaped men to the Coffee+Cats universe. Naturally, grumpy coffeeshop manager Walter needed a hug and some good head, and Charlie volunteered, so here we are.

What we're left with is a crazy crossover between the Coffee+Cats AU and the 179th Crescent Street AU, because this is - indeed, for the people who are familiar with Crescent Street - the librarian!reader from After Hours.

@ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

The brooding man behind the counter has been getting on your nerves for weeks. His only crime is ‘getting your order right’, which shouldn’t even be all that surprising, because that’s his job – if it weren’t for the fact that he seems to know exactly what it’s going to be before you’ve even opened your mouth to speak.

“What can I do for you today?” He could look less godlike, maybe? Don’t say that. Or he could smell worse? Or that. Or he could not smile in a way that seemed to make the earth stop spinning. Very dramatic, also don’t say that.

“Ehh…” Brilliant. Someone should give you an award for that monologue. Shake it off. “Since when do I have to order for myself?”

Alright, you’ve made him chuckle – God, that’s a delicious sound – and look away. Now what? “I’m sorry,” he says, still avoiding your eyes, “I can’t read you today. But you seem annoyed enough with me to make me want to make whatever you’re going to order lukewarm in case I get it thrown in my face later.”

“That’s too bad,” you say, “I was really hoping to get a recommendation.” Because you only know what you want to order when you’re here for coffee. And you’re not here for coffee. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, why are you getting coffee today?” Son of a bitch! It’s a good thing the shop is slow right now, so you’re not holding anyone up with your… is it flirting? God, let it be flirting! No, definitely not flirting. Or maybe…?

“Maybe it’s not the coffee so much as the company,” you say shyly. Yeah, flirting. Qualitatively very poor flirting, but still. It stays quiet on the other side of the counter for a beat too long, which sends your anxiety through the roof.

“So, how about she has whatever you’re having when you go on your break in about... A minute and a half?” The voice belongs to Mike, the almost annoyingly upbeat barista you’ve seen around countless times. He’s responsible for at least half the college crowd that flocks to this place, because he’s a cutie. A little young, maybe, but he has a nice ass.

“I was going to go with a regular old espresso.” He smiles apologetically.

“You look like you could do with a double.” God, that’s a horrible line.

It’s Mike who ends up laughing. “He could do with way more than a double,” he snickers, shooing Walter away from the cash register. “Get out of here, or I’m getting you both pumpkin spice lattes.”

Walter shudders at the thought. He never struck you as the kind of guy who likes his coffee sweet, and you’re happy you’re right. At least… You think you’re right until you see the little twinkle in Mike’s eyes. Granted, that happens a lot, but never for nothing, and the little wink he throws your way suggests he knows his boss has a secret pumpkin spiced sweet tooth he doesn’t want the world to know about. So you pretend not to notice.

When you’re finally settled at a table, you talk for what feels like forever, your knees touching under the table. You’d expected him to move his leg out of the way when you first bumped into it accidentally, but he didn’t. Then, as your conversation went on, more and more of your legs got mixed up together.

“Walter?” For the love of God, why? “I hate to break up your date, but a whole sorority just walked in and I can’t do this by myself.”

“I’m on my break, Mike,” Walter grumbles in return, clearly not happy about the interruption. That’s a good sign, right?

“Your break, Mr. Manager, sir, ended forty-five minutes ago.” Mike would make a great wingman, if it weren’t for the fact that he seems a little keen to pat himself on the back for his efforts. “Give her your number and come do your job.” With a dramatic sigh, he walks back to where he’s supposed to be.

“I’m really sorry,” Walter says with an apologetic smile on his face. You shrug it off – it really doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even supposed to have spent the better part of the past hour with you – and slide your phone towards him.

A poetry reading in a – different – coffeeshop in town. That’s where he suggests you go. First, any man who is creative enough to come up with something other than ‘a drink’ or ‘dinner’ is worth a shot in your book, but when they’re of the dark, gloomy, burly variety; all the better. And no three-day-wait nonsense, either. He calls you right after his shift ends, and asks you to meet him in two hours.

It's barely a fifteen-minute walk from your apartment, which leaves you with plenty of time to complain quietly to yourself that an hour and forty-five minutes is not enough time to get dressed for a date, while getting dressed for your date. You manage with time to spare – five whole minutes – which you spend pensively checking out your outfit in every imaginable angle in the mirror on your bedroom door. You toy with the hem of the skirt you’re wearing, fondly remembering another time you put it on. You’re not one to kiss and tell, so only a few of your closest friends know the crudest of outlines to the story of your scandalous liaison in the university library – and the long night that followed. Not that you’re particularly happy that those same friends, to this day, still tease you about how you – a grown woman – let yourself get talked into a night in student housing with a guy just about so much younger than you that you really didn’t want to even begin doing the math, but you wouldn’t trade the memories for anything in the whole world.

One look at your watch tells you it was time to go, and with trembling hand you open the door of your apartment. It had been sheer, dumb luck that even got you this place in the first place. It's tiny – just the second floor of a beautiful old townhouse – and narrow, but it has a separate bedroom, which was all you could really wish for with your income, anyway. During this time of year, the street it was on looks like a picture; orange leaves bravely cling to the steadily baring branches of the trees, and litter the ground, making for the perfect autumn scene. The sight also never fails to make you more desperate than usual – even for you – for coffee.

You’ve always enjoyed the fall, including all its necessary trials and tribulations – slippery sidewalks that weren’t quite suited for folks with your level of coordination, the unannounced rain that mercilessly drenched you and your absolutely everything in the early morning so that the sleeves of your coat would be unbearably wet when you put it on later in the afternoon, the cold that had you shivering and covered in goosebumps more often than not, and your toes. Freezing. Always. On that front, living in an old, drafty apartment with less-than-efficient heating isn’t exactly your top choice. Oh well.

The coffeeshop is – as per your calculations – a little less than a fifteen-minute walk away from your place, and you dread being early. Getting there first. Waiting for him. Fortunately, when you round the corner, you see him standing outside. You happily note that he is standing there – again, outside – in nothing but a dark cable-knit sweater, jeans and sturdy shoes that are the most weather-appropriate part of his outfit as far as you’re concerned.

“Hello.” His blue eyes smile down on you, and you barely remember your own damn name. Was he always this tall? This big? This handsome? A nervous smile will have to serve as your answer, because you’re at a complete loss for words. He doesn’t seem to mind.

For a moment, you stand there, simply staring sheepishly into his eyes, until finally a drop of rain falls right on the tip of your nose, pulling you from your trance at once. “We should get inside,” you say softly.

Walter reaches an arm out. “After you,” he says with the same kind smile in his eyes. You pick a table in the corner, settling nicely on the comfortable couch, while Walter grabbed the two of you coffee.

“Pumpkin spice,” you chuckle when he returns with two identical steaming cups. He nods, a playful smile in his eyes, only. “Is Mike the only one who knows your secret?” Your nerves convince you that your shot at playful banter goes wide, until Walter sits down and chuckled.

“There’s, eh… There’s this woman,” he says softly. To your surprise, he doesn’t sit in the chair opposite you, but he joins you on the couch. As the café is filling up, another customer quickly confiscates the chair Walter isn’t using.

“Don’t worry, she won’t tell,” you say, your voice trembling as you briefly consider the possibility that he wasn’t referring to you.

When the reading ends, you linger until the shop closes – which isn’t too long after, but still, you find it comforting in the sense that you’re simply glad Walter doesn’t try to run as soon as he can. Outside, the rain has picked up, and if the autumn air was chilly before, now, it’s downright icy. Despite his lacking a jacket or coat, the cold doesn’t seem to bother Walter, and though the rain clearly does, he offers to walk you home – an offer, mind you, he’s not intent on allowing you to decline.

It would have been obvious to anyone just under half as nervous as you are, but neither of you seem to be in a hurry to get you home, despite the rain, both clearly dragging out the little time you both think is still left to this date. Until you reach your front door, that is, and you both look at each other.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?” Is that your voice? Your invitation? And is that him? Accepting your offer? Apparently it is, because he follows you in when you open the door. The stairs to your floor are almost too narrow for him, and he has to watch his head for that one ridge in the ceiling of the stairwell that you never look out for because you’re small enough to never have it bother you. “This is me,” you say nervously as you open the door and invite him into your place. He seems comically large in your tiny living room, and you barely manage to suppress a chuckle. “Coffee?”

“Please!” he says before he shivers visibly.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry,” you say as you realize – what you consider – your error. “I shouldn’t have… You must be wanting to get home and get out of your wet clothes, I…” A hand on your cheek and the heat that, despite being soaked through and through, radiates off his body cuts you off mid-apology.

“I wouldn’t mind getting out of these clothes,” he says slowly, his voice dark and husky in a way that makes your breath stick in the back of your throat for a moment, “but I don’t see a reason to wait until I get home to do that.” Without waiting for a response, he captures your lips in a scorching hot kiss that almost make you forget that both of you have wandered – slowly – through the pouring rain for nearly fifteen minutes.

Large hands gently tug your coat off your shoulders until a single move of your arms makes it drop to the floor, then they’re at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips are gentle, surprisingly soft, and his beard scratches against your cold skin. When you reach for his face, and your fingers connect with his skin, he inhales sharply.

“Are your hands made of ice?” he mumbles against your lips, his lips pulling away in a grin. He takes your hands away from his face, draping your arms around his neck instead, where you weave your fingers into his messy curls. They’re all but soaked from the rain, and part of you wants to offer him a towel, but another – much bigger – part of you swears it will die if not attached firmly to big, big man. Walter pulls you close, not expecting an answer to his question, and carefully slides his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. You do, and you allow yourself to be swept away by the gentle yet thorough way in which his tongue explores your mouth, dances with yours.

With near-greedy impatience, you push him back, towards the door of your bedroom, longing so desperately to feel more of this man than you currently are. ‘Stumble’ is an apt descriptor for the way you cross the threshold into your room. Here, too, he seems almost too large for the space – which is so small that from where he’s standing, he couldn’t fall in any direction without hitting a wall. Your bed covers the whole wall beneath the window, easily taking up half the space, with your wardrobe taking up most of what’s left. You might have fit another bookcase in there, if it weren’t for the fact that you prefer your bathroom door actually closes.

Without thinking, you reach for the hem of his sweater, your fingers purposely lingering on the skin beneath, which – despite being damp from the rain – still radiates heat. Under your touch, his grip on your waist tightens, and his abs twitch. There’s more muscle to him than you’d thought, and you find another pleasant surprise when you rake your fingers over his stomach. So pleasant, in fact, that you can’t suppress a soft chuckle. Nothing says ‘perfect fall hookup’ like a deliciously hairy man. Now, if only that damned – and dampened – sweater would come off, that would be so amazing…

Frustrated groans escape the both of you when the garment puts on more of a fight than any sweater has the right to, and as soon as it’s on the floor, Walter kicks it out of the room for good measure. Your hands eagerly travel the now-exposed skin of his chest and back, making him shiver and moan loudly as you drag a single fingernail softly down his spine. He captures your lips again, stringing you along into the depths of another scorching kiss, fingers working diligently to untuck your sweater from your skirt. A soft growl slips from his throat as he finishes his mission, only to encounter the fabric of the blouse you’re wearing underneath the sweater – you really do get cold easily. This time, he is far less friendly in his approach, pulling almost recklessly at the fabric that finds itself so rudely between your body and his greedy touch.

Your sweater meets a fate similar to his, and your hands make quick work of just enough buttons of your blouse that you can pull the thing over your head while his hands continue their exploration slightly further down, following the soft curve of your ass and pulling you closer to him as he goes. His mouth barely leaves yours – he alternates between using just the right amount of tongue, and nipping at or sucking on your bottom lip. Paired with his obviously horny impatience, it’s nothing short of divine.

You can’t wrap your head around how warm his hands feel on your skin, but the contrast with the chilly air of the room is both staggering and arousing. Not that Walter had thus far been unsuccessful in arousing you – quite the opposite, in fact. His lips move to your neck while his hands roam your back and sides, hesitant to grab more of you. What does he think you’re going to do? Object?

Your hands are already undoing his belt, eager to take the final pieces of wet fabric off him so you can finally seek the solace of your warm bed, and he lets you, kicking off his shoes while you struggle with the buckle. Finally, he takes over, taking care of the tricky metal contraption with one hand while staring directly into your eyes. It’s at that moment that you finally realize what all of this is doing to you…

The arrogant little smirk on his face while he licks his lips doesn’t help – the whole thing sends shivers down your spine and your body answers with a greedy throb between your thighs. You manage to kick your own boots off before Walter mercilessly tackles you to the bed. With a single, swift move, he rolls you both over, pulling you on top of him so you’re straddling his thighs, his hands firmly on your ass, kneading the soft flesh with admirable determination. His face does a poor job of hiding the fact that he likes what he’s feeling.

When you bend over to press your lips to his again, you shriek in surprise as his hand disappears from its newfound playground and lands there again, only a moment later, with a firm smack. He shoots an apologetic look at you as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and you roll your hips against his by means of a faux-admonishment you’re nowhere near serious about. A man like that can manhandle the ever-loving fuck out of you every damn day. When he groans, your insides turn to jelly. In the heat of everything that’s been happening, you haven’t exactly been paying attention to what this has been doing to him, but that move of your hips makes you instantly aware of the very impressive erection you’re sitting right on top of. Another moan escapes him when you repeat the motion, his hands grabbing your ass tighter – nudging you, urging you to keep moving.

Suddenly, he sits up on the edge of the bed, keeping you in his lap, his hands finally moving underneath the fabric of your skirt. Walter moans again – appreciatively, this time – when his fingers explore the soft lace of your underwear. Then, he chuckles. “For someone who gets cold a lot…”

“Shut up,” you reprimand him before kissing him hard. The line between fun and functional is thin, and it wasn’t that you were expecting to end up in bed with this guy, but you sure as hell were hoping you would, and peeling off tights in the heat of the moment has proven disastrous on many occasions thus far. You shiver when he runs his hands up and down your thighs, lingering just above your knee, where his fingers toy with the hem of your thigh-high socks – an absolute requirement in your marginally successful attempt to not freeze to death – and you feel his cock twitch as he does. He likes them. Good.

Apparently, your smirk is too much for him, because he grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, and Walter hovers over you, diligently seeking out the most sensitive spots on your neck. He kisses a blazing hot trail down your chest, pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched up around your waist. You can almost feel his gaze between your legs, and the way he licks his lips wrings a whimper from your lips. Seconds pass in which you anxiously wait for his reaction – a mocking grin, a victorious chuckle or a vicious smirk filled with pity – but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a hand on your thigh, creeping higher until you’re not sure if ‘thigh’ is still an appropriate label. His thumb softly trails the thin fabric between your legs. The smile that appears on his face isn’t mocking, cocky or challenging – it’s peaceful and almost grateful in a way you don’t quite understand.

“My turn to get you out of your soaking wet clothes.” It’s a joke, absolutely, but it’s a gentle one, just like his hands are when he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and he slowly pulls them down.

You’re holding your breath. At first you don’t notice – it really isn’t until his hands slide up your thighs again and you suck in a desperate breath that you realize just how welcome the air is. He pushes your legs apart, settling comfortably between them before using his thumbs to spread your pussy wide. Insecurities plague your brain. You should feel exposed. Insecure. Uncomfortable.

You don’t.

Walter looks up at you with a question in his eyes, and you mouth a breathless answer to his unspoken query. Please. Carefully, he inches closer, until you feel the tickle of the coarse hair on his jaw against the sensitive skin of your thigh. You can see the shiver travel down his spine as he licks a single stripe through your folds, and you moan in unison. Almost immediately, your hand weaves into his hair, pulling his face closer to your center.

He's thorough, relentlessly lapping at your clit while you squirm in his arms, strong hands firmly pressed to the back of your thighs, keeping your legs open for him while he takes his time exploring you, tasting your arousal and learning what works for you. After some time, you notice he settles into a rhythm that might actually work for you, which – as you’re somewhat reluctant to admit, even to yourself – is a rather rare feat. Encouraged by the movement of your hips and the sounds you make, he continues on his mission, and before long your grip on his hair tightens and your squirming gets worse – so much worse, in fact, that he reaches around your thigh to steady your hips against his mouth.

Outside, the rain threatens to turn into a thunderstorm, and if you’d been in any position to notice the weather, you’d have been happy to be inside. As things are, you’re still quite content with your whereabouts, but luckily for completely different reasons. Your back arches off the bed when you come, crying out Walter’s name as you do. With trembling legs, you lay there, your walls pulsing and clenching around nothing. He lets you catch your breath for a moment, his lips never leaving you as he kisses a path up your body again, effortlessly reaching for the clasp of your bra on your back. He doesn’t find it – your favorite just happens to close in the front. Once found, however, that pesky clasp is no match for his capable fingers, and only a moment later you’re shivering as the cold air of your bedroom brushes past your exposed nipples.

He looks at you briefly before latching onto your neck again, gently sucking and biting your skin, making you shiver. One hand finds its way to your chest, fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh, fingers brushing tentatively past your hardening nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers. You whine, writhing against the sheets, goosebumps erupting over your skin – the result of the electrifying combination of the slightest sheen of sweat meeting cool air. He grins. Chuckles. Then, he bends his head to suck one nipple into his mouth, that capable tongue passing over it, toying with it, sharp teeth grazing sensitive skin, luring cries of pleasure from you in abundance.

Your hands all but scramble for the waistband of his underwear, slipping into the dark boxer briefs without a trace of patience. Fuck. Fingers wrap around – try to, at least – his unapologetically massive cock, images of that one night flashing before your eyes as you give him a few gentle strokes. A trembling exhale tells you your ministrations are appreciated, and you smile, hoping this is only the tip of the iceberg – a hope that is soon confirmed truth when he lets out a loud moan as you run your thumb gingerly over the underside of his cock.

A hand on the back of his neck, pulling softly, is enough to guide him to lie down next to you, and he smiles up at you when you sit on your knees. He’s all too eager to help you get rid of his underwear, and when you take your sweet time taking him in, in all his glory, he almost looks shy.

You start with a light kiss on his lips, then work your way down, fingers trailing the expanse of his chest, dragging slowly through the coarse hair on it, further and further down over his abs until they meet his hips, where they linger to draw teasingly light patterns on his skin. A featherlight touch of your lips to the tip of his cock makes him twitch and groan, and a soft tap on your ass urges you to keep going. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and with the tip of your tongue, you circle the head, teasing him until he’s impatiently moaning. His hand hooks around your thigh and pulls you closer – at first you wonder why, but soon after, his fingers run along your slit, searching for your entrance.

He pushes two fingers into your wet core exactly when you swallow as much of his cock as you possibly can, and both of you let out a long moan at the same time. You bob your head up and down his shaft in the same rhythm his fingers pump into you. It’s easy to figure out he likes it sloppy, and you’re happy to oblige. With the delicious symphony of moans and grunts that spill from his lips as an inspiration, you’re enjoying yourself greatly – which makes it all the more disappointing when he pulls his fingers back, a sharp smack on your ass breaking your concentration.

“Come here,” he says huskily, impatiently tugging at your arm.

You straddle his thighs again, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand to grab a condom, and waiting entirely impatiently for him to put it on. Normally, you’re somewhat nervous about being on top, but tonight, you couldn’t care less. You need this man inside of you.

Now.

Walter helps guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you slowly lower yourself, screwing your eyes shut at the stretch his incredible girth provides. Nails dig into his shoulder so hard he hisses, and you rest your head on his shoulder, whining pitifully against his skin.

“Easy,” he shushes you, sensing whatever distress you’re feeling, “take your time.” His permission helps; you slow down, and steadily make it all the way down his length. You take a moment to get used to the stretch, gradually relaxing around him. It feels no less full, but definitely increasingly less uncomfortable. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. It’s impossible to keep quiet – luckily, you’re not the only one who can’t seem to hold their tongue. Soft praise is mixed in with the abundance of expletives that come out of Walters mouth. “That’s it.” A personal favorite of yours, especially when he says it – a gravelly snarl through gritted teeth.

You could ride him forever – sure, your thighs will be sore tomorrow, but it’ll all have been worth it. Right? He clearly has other plans, pushing you off him unceremoniously. You’re on your stomach, and you half expect him to turn you around – but he doesn’t. Rough hands drag you to your knees, and – knowing what’s about to happen – you don’t bother raising yourself up on your elbows. They’ll give out in no time, anyway. Walter lines up behind you and sheathes himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust that has you gasping for air. He’s rough and demanding, yet kind and careful, clearly trying not to hurt you. Every thrust wrenches a moan from your lips, and your hand snakes between your legs, fingers drawing tight circles around your clit until you’re teetering right on the edge of bliss. His laughter when you beg him for more, harder, faster is largely obscured by the sound of rolling thunder outside the window. Your orgasm, when it finally does rip through you like an explosion, is theatrically accompanied by an almost unnaturally well-timed lightning strike.

“Dramatic,” Walter notes dryly behind you, his strained voice signaling his stamina knows a limit after all. In a moment of poetic justice, the storm lulls for a moment when Walter’s orgasm forces a sound from him that could be described as many things, but not ‘charming’. When he pulls out, your walls clench against nothing, and you whine softly at the somehow overwhelming emptiness. “Bathroom?” Walter asks, pointing at the other door in your bedroom. You nod, speechless, before collapsing on your bed.

His return marks the start of that awkward hooked-up-on-the-first-date-dance. Stay? Go? Hookup? Date? Yes? No? You sigh your relief when Walter hesitates for the shortest possible moment before crawling under the covers with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and allowing you to snuggle into his chest.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice. “It’s raining.”

“Is that the only reason you want to stay?” you chuckle. It’s strange. Normally you wouldn’t be so confident he hadn’t been genuine in his remark.

“Well, eh…” he mutters as he nuzzles your hair, “there’s this woman…”

The sun is an unwelcome intruder in your house the next morning, and you do your very best to hide from the rays as long as possible. A new preferred method: burying your face in Walter’s chest. A very nice added bonus to the approach is that it comes with strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight. As far as you’re concerned – and you’re well aware that it’s a little soon to say this after one date, but it’s not like you’re planning on proposing today – you’re not letting this man walk, ever again. He didn’t complain when you warmed your icy feet against his legs yesterday, and the only reaction you get out of him when you put your cold hands on his body is a low grumble and an involuntary shiver.

“Morning,” he groans after a while. By now, you’re awake enough to at least make an attempt at playing host.

“Coffee?” you ask – a suggestion that’s met with an approving grunt.

On your way to the kitchen, you come across his discarded and banned-from-the-bedroom sweater – and you make the mistake of stepping on it, shrieking in surprise when the damp fabric touches your already cold foot. Coffee first, you decide.

“I have some bad news,” you say as you enter your bedroom with two cups of coffee in your hands, his sweater dangling from your pinky. “This is still wet.”

“Oh, god, no,” Walter says with a smile, “whatever will we do to pass the time until it dries?”

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

I love your Witcher fics!!! Could I request a Jaskier one with a female reader? 🥰 In the heat of an ambush, the reader sees that Jaskier is open to attack, and throws herself directly between him and the killing blow, not even holding a weapon. Wounded and scared, shes kind of forced to admit that shes loved him enough to die for him for a while now. (I'll leave it up to you if you wanna break hearts or give a happy ending hehe)

A/N: You should never leave the choice to me, because I will always, always choose angst and sad endings over anything else.

Warnings: angst, graphic injury, character death.

Fictober Challenge

The clash of steel on steel rang out all around you, the chaos of the ambush a blur of sound and motion. You’d been caught off guard, outnumbered by bandits on the road, and even with Geralt’s fierce defense, it wasn't enough. You weren’t warriors. Things had gone horribly wrong.

Through the whirlwind of blades, your eyes locked on Jaskier. He was weaponless, wide-eyed with terror as he stumbled backward. Time seemed to slow as you spotted a bandit lunging at him, sword raised, ready to strike.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw yourself between them, a scream tearing from your throat as you felt the blade pierce your side.

The pain was instant, searing hot and all-consuming. You crumpled to the ground, hands instinctively going to your wound as you gasped for breath. Jaskier’s horrified scream echoed in your ears, and through the haze of agony, you felt his hands on you, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

“Y/n, no, no, no!” he cried, voice breaking as he knelt beside you, his fingers trembling. “Why would you do that? Why would you-”

You choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Shh, now. It’s because I love you, you idiot,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, both from the pain and from finally saying the words you’d been holding back for so long. You wanted to reach out, to cup his face, but you had no strength left. “Loved you enough to…to die for you.”

His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as the reality of your words and severity of your wounds sank in. “No, you can’t- You’re not going to die,” he insisted, panic lacing his voice. “Geralt will- he’ll save you, he’ll find a way. You can’t-” he shook his head, refusing to believe it.

“Jaskier…it’s alright,” you murmured, though your vision was beginning to fade. “You’ll be…alright… Just keep…singing…for me.”

“Y/n! Please!” he pleaded, his voice cracking.

“It’s…alright…I…don’t feel…the pain…anymore.” You forced a smile, though it was weak.

“Y/N!”His voice splintered with grief, and he clutched your hand, his tears falling freely now, mixing with the blood on the ground. “No, please, don’t go. I love you too,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “I love you-”

But it was too late now, your eyes slipped closed, and he felt you slip away.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 109

Geralt is a witcher. Cats tend to distance themselves from witchers. Sometimes Geralt wonders what cats are like. So one day he asks. "Cats are lovely. Beautiful little sweethearts." The old woman who owns the inn says to him. "Cats are annoying varmints, always yowling in the middle of the night when they're in heat, they SCREAM their little heads off, can't catch a wink of sleep with them around!" A man passing by him in the market complains, with the anger of someone who has clearly thought about this a lot. "My cat isn't the biggest fan of being touched, but she's a good girl. Catches the mice." "They're evil little hellions, nothing compared to dogs. Don't even like their owners." "I'd like 'em a whole lot more if my way of living wasn't being a fisherman. They climb in at night and steal my best catches." "They're adorable!" "My cat is the cuddliest sweetest snuggliest little kitty to ever live, I think. Nobody will ever love me as much as he loves me." "My friend has a kitten! She already knows to chase the feathers we wave in front of her! I hope she still plays when she grows up." Opinions are varied in the town, but the majority seem to love them. He wants to know what they're like, not if they are liked. He sits down with a friendlier townie one afternoon and asks in detail what cats are like. What's great about them, what's bad about them, what do they like, what do they hate, what can they do, what have they done? The more she describes cats, however, the more Geralt can't help but be reminded of Jaskier. "They're playful. They love making noise and chasing things."

"Geralt, please, can't I play my lute? It's been fourteen whole minutes of SILENCE! Let me play a song!" "Why do you stay?" "Maybe I just like following you, Geralt. It's nice only having to pay for half of everything, after all."

"They're moody little things. Cats will want to cuddle you one second, and be left alone the next, and if you can't read their mind, they'll give you an annoyed little pouty face, as if you were meant to know better!"

"Geralt, do you mind if I...?" "If you what?" "Sit here?" "...My lap?" "That is where I'm sitting, yes. May I?" "...Mm." "Great thanks!~" "Geralt, you pissing idiot! I can't believe you! Don't touch me! Don't even look at me! How could you do something so so so SO stupid!?" "This is my job, Jaskier." "And apparently sewing up your arm is mine!" "I can take care of it." "Oh, I'm meant to just trust the man who went off and got mauled by a werewolf, then?"

"They enjoy a good sleep. Cats nap more than my old man, if you can believe it. They love comfort and luxury."

"Geralt, can't we stay at an inn? It's been so long." "Can we rest? Just for a bit? Pleaaaase? I want a nap. Don't I deserve it?" "Geralt, not to be ungrateful, but I think sleeping on the dirt would be better than this inn. Don't tell me you're making us sleep here. There's probably snakes nesting in the pillows."

"But at the same time, they love the grittiest bits of the outdoors. Chasing rabbits through tunnels, climbing trees after a songbird- My childhood cat used to dive in the swamp to catch frogs."

"Geralt, taking a shortcut through the bog is the easiest way to get to the competition in time! Now hurry along! Either I cross the bog alone, or you come with me!" "Geralt, I went looking for potion ingredients while you were skinning the deer!" "Geralt, are you going to cut the damn thing's head off or what? Wait, darling, are you alright? Are you hurt? Let me do it-"

"They sometimes bring you dead critters because they want to feed you. It's oddly very endearing."

"Geralt, I bought you some honey buns!" "I found some lovely cakes, do you want one, Geralt? You haven't eaten at all today." "I- I killed it. It was coming straight for you and I panicked. Am I bleeding? I can't quite tell because of the adrenaline, so am I bleeding or not, Gerelt? Can you tell me? Are YOU bleeding? Did I get it in time?" "I got so many tips last time I played, Geralt, you can get a bigger meal."

"They get themselves into trouble a lot, though. Places they shouldn't be, things they shouldn't touch, things they shouldn't eat."

"Geralt, I didn't mean to cause all of this. I'm sorry." "It's nothing, Jaskier. I'm just glad you're unharmed." "...Um... Geralt? Can you let go of my wrists now?" "Don't. Touch. Anything. The plant's spines are poisonous." "Jaskier, spit it out! SPIT IT OUT! I told you to stop fucking eating things in Yennefer's place" "Then why was it colored like a nice candy?"

"When they're scared or angry, they can make a right mess out of you. Don't let their cuteness fool you, they can do some damage."

"What else was I supposed to do, Geralt?" "Not punch him!" "He said you were a monster!" "I am!" "Do you want me to punch YOU?" "Geralt, I lost my dagger. It was in one of the bandits we chased away." "Geralt, will you teach me how to use a sword? Nothing fancy, just how to kill something."

"But above all, they're loyal, and loving. Ever so lovely. They'd die for you, if you treated them nice enough." "Thank you for telling me. I.. Have to go." Geralt stammers out, racing away to the inn he left Jaskier in. "Oh, hello, Geralt. Did you find a contact?" And Geralt yanks him close, and hugs him. He should try kissing him one of these days. Either way, Geralt won't mourn for the cat he can never have, for he has a Jaskier, and it's close enough.

[starfirewildheart]

Wolf and the flame

Summary:

again many timeline changes and I'm making the story my bitch.

Word count: 2,694

Chapter 6

Several days had passed since their arrival at Kear Morhen. Naurel was feeling much better between Vesimer’s treatments and Triss’s healing sessions but the tests they ran on her blood only left them with more questions. Something was different about her blood and Triss was positive there was some sort of spell that was keeping her subdued that the sorceress couldn’t seem to break.

Geralt had spoken to Yen at length about his wish and what it meant and how he wasn’t her mate but she disagreed. She felt as drawn to him as Naurel did, though in different ways, and reminded him that there was magic involved. For her, it was more visceral and hungry. The three of them had many discussions and Naurel was still unsure. What if her feelings and Geralt’s feelings for her were forced from the magic Triss felt attached to her? What if once that was gone that Geralt wouldn't feel the same and she had let him push Yennefer away? She couldn’t be responsible for that. Ciri seemed to be getting closer to Yen as well. With Yen’s help, she was slowly starting to learn to control some of the chaos she’d discovered.

She sighed realizing she needed to clear her head for a bit and wandered outside of the keep into the snow. Walking into a clearing from the stone structures she looked out over the mountain. The structure itself was dilapidated but the view was beautiful. She gasped when she felt strong arms close around her waist. Even in the snow, she hadn’t heard his approach. “It’s freezing out here,” he rumbled as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“It’s beautiful though. It looks so peaceful and pure.” She turned to face him. “Why are you out in the cold?”

“Cold doesn’t bother me like it does humans. I was just practicing a bit,” he turned so she could see the tall posts he’d been on while sword training.

“You know, you should probably teach me to use one of those just in case I have to defend Ciri or myself. I mean I know you are her protector but in case you are fighting a larger beast I could at least maybe defend her from humans,” she explained.

He smiled at her. “I will keep you safe.”

“I know,” she nodded “but you also have to keep Ciri safe, Jaskier out of trouble and countless other random humans safe as well so that makes you stretched a little thin. I just thought I could take some pressure off of you if you didn’t have to worry about me.”

He could see the logic in what she was saying and knowing she could defend herself if he wasn’t around did sound like a good idea. He stepped over to a bag of supplies he’d brought out to practice with and pulled out a short sword that was fairly light before motioning her to him. “Swords are heavier than people realize and they get into trouble when they fight because they choose one that is too heavy. This is a short sword and a perfect weight and length for you,” he handed it to her.

She looked at the blade as he stepped behind her pressing against her back. She let him guide her body with his as he showed her how to properly swing and slash with it. At first, it felt really awkward and unnatural but after several repetitions, it became easier and more fluid. He moved from behind her and sat down on one of the log benches as he watched her. “I feel like an idiot slashing and stabbing at the air,” she laughed. “Are you teasing me or is this real training?”

“It’s real,” he grinned, “and you are doing wonderfully.”

She continued practicing the few moves he’d shown her over and over until she got them perfect. It wasn’t until she heard him say her name that she noticed how low the sun was getting in the sky. “Come inside and get warm. You’ve been practicing for hours.”

“Wow I didn’t even notice how late it was getting,” she said as she shook some of the snow from her hair which seemed frozen to her head. They gathered the training supplies and went inside.

“Careful with that sword girl,” Lambert teased. “You might hurt someone with it.”

“That’s the idea, right?” she grinned and winked at Geralt who was helping her out of her wet cloak and moving her near the fire.

“Only if you know how to use it,” Lambert chuckled.

“You stab them with the pointy end, right?” she smirked. Coen, Geralt, Vesimer, and Eskel laughed.

“Smartass,” he huffed in her direction before tucking into his bowl of stew.

Vesimer motioned them over to his table to join him. Geralt noticed the look of unease he had. “What troubles you?”

“We have exhausted every book and paper that we have here and we can’t find anything on the discrepancies in Naurel’s blood and Triss has had no luck in trying to remove the magic that is plaguing her.”

“And,” Naurel asked after a long pause.

“I think you should go see Nenneke. At the very least she might be able to help with the magic but I suspect she will know more bout what is going on with Naurel’s blood than we have been able to find. She might also be able to help with Ciri.”

“Who is Nenneke?” Naurel asked.

Geralt explained about the priestess and her abilities and agreed seeing her would be wise. They made plans to go the next day. Triss was going to open a portal for them then she had to go back to Aretuza for a while. Yennefer had heard Geralt and Ciri talking about the trip and knew she had to act quickly if she was ever going to regain her powers.

Yennefer waited until Geralt was in a different part of the keep before she approached Naurel and Ciri, who were sitting around the fire in the dining hall talking to Jaskier who was working on a song.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked as he saw Yennefer approach. Something was off about her. He wasn’t a fan of Yen’s any day but today she seemed particularly shifty. Watching as she approached them in almost a run, he stood.

Naurel sensed something wrong as well and moved in front of Ciri. “Get Geralt,” she whispered to the girl. For once Ciri didn’t argue.

Yennefer threw down the vial and opened the portal. “Guess you’ll have to do,” she sighed as she shoved Naurel through the opening and followed behind her, kicking out at Jaskier as he tried to grab her but he ended up tumbling through with them.

“YENNEFER!” Geralt roared as he and several of his brothers ran toward the portal as it faded.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Naurel hit the ground hard and everything in her stomach came up and spilled. She was vaguely aware of voices and hands grabbing her as she was bound to a chair. “Who the fuck are you?” Yennefer demanded. She was not at the hut where the potion was supposed to take her but in some tavern in a grungy little town.

“My identity isn’t important,” the man smirked. “All you need to know is that my plan has worked perfectly. Your selfish desire to regain your power no matter the cost has worked in my favor.”

“What do you have to do with this? The deathless mother is in control of my destiny!”

“The deathless mother is a demon imprisoned by the first withchers. Her only goal is to be set free and she will twist and contort whoever’s mind she needs to so that she gets what she needs. You were the fool who believed what she said, nothing more.” He looked a Yennefer in pity, “Volith Mier would never have given you your chaos back. She only feeds.”

“No!” Yennefer hissed. It couldn’t be true. She had risked everything for this just as she had to try and recover her womb.

“Why would I help you witch? Did you believe that Volith Meir would give you a potion for a portal? Please everyone knows the only way to her hut is with her little poem,” the man sneered as he tied Jaskier to another chair. “I wanted you to bring the girl to me. I don’t care about you losing your chaos,” he laughed. “You’re worthless without magic. I wanted the girl but if you couldn’t bring her then she,” he ran his hand over Naurel’s cheek, “is the next best thing. Geralt will come for her and he will have the girl with him. He won’t trust anyone with her after your betrayal.”

“No,” Yen whispered, tears filling her eyes. What had she done?

“Geralt has no way of knowing where we are so he won’t find us,” Naurel snapped at the man. “Your plan will fail!”

“I promise,” he leaned in next to her face, his breath was horrible, “word of your torture will spread quickly my dear.” He said as he snapped his fingers. Naurel gasped as flames flew from them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jaskier shivered as the flames bit at his chest again. It had been nearly two weeks since their hell had begun and it showed no signs of ending anytime soon. It started out as questions about Geralt and Ciri. Where they were, what they knew about the girl and her abilities, did they know who she was? The longer they were there the less they were questioned. He was just hurting them and it was like the bastard was just getting off on their screams. Jaskier cringed when the fire fucker picked up a hot poker from the fire but he didn’t come for him, he turned to Naurel.

“No,” she shook her head. The burns were the worst. The smell that lingered the pain and discomfort that lasted even after it was over. He held the iron poker just above her skin, teasing her. “I’m going to watch him rip your fucking heart out!” she growled as the poker got closer to her thigh. Trying to control her breathing so she could ride out the pain was a lost cause. She was exhausted, thirsty, starving, covered in filth, and had no idea where she was. She spent all the energy she had glaring at Yennefer who refused to even lift her head and look her in the eyes. Yennefer who, short of being bound and starved like her and Jaskier, was unscathed. She was drawn back to her current situation by the white-hot pain against her skin as she screamed. The smell of her own flesh burning turned her stomach. She must have passed out because she woke to Jaskier calling her name.

“Melitele, I thought I’d lost you,” he sighed when she began to stir.

“Not that easy to get rid of me bard,” she tried to lighten the mood.They had bonded during their captivity offering each other the comfort of words and simply knowing they weren’t alone in all of this. While they couldn’t physically care for each other they would offer the other a distraction of stories or corny jokes to try and take the others mind off the pain. Jaskier was looking worse everyday and as much as he tried to hide it she was sure some of his wounds were infected. They were running out of time but at least they wouldn’t die alone.

“I have been thinking..”

“I knew I smelled something burning,” she teased.

“Oh that’s just wrong,” he frowned. “Anyway… he’s been going nearly a full day before portling back in now. Maybe I can break the chair somehow and use something to cut us free.”

“That sounds like a half-assed plan,” she chuckled weakly. “Don’t do something that will get you killed Jaskier, please. I wouldn’t survive without you here. Besides, we’ve tried breaking the chairs before.”

Before he could say anything Yennefer jerked and her hands came free. She was on her feet. She grabbed a bottle and broke it using the glass to cut them loose before they could even process what had happened. “We have to move now!” she demanded and they all headed for the door.

Naurel and Jaskier helped each other as much as they could and they made a straight shot toward the woods hoping for some sort of cover. As it turned out, luck was not on their side, ever, because several men rode toward them yelling for them to stop.

The men jumped off their horses and tackled Naurel and Jaskier to the ground, Yennefer, uninjured, ran toward the woods. They fought with all they had, Naurel landing several decent blows but a punch to the temple dropped her. Three of the men held her down and started kicking her.

Jaskier had never been a fighter but he swung with everything he had left in an attempt to break free. He managed a small victory shout when he saw blood gushing from one man’s nose but was soon overtaken by the other two. They held his arms behind his back while the bloodied man punched him in the stomach repeatedly. He looked up to see Yennefer coming back toward them with a big stick.

“Jaskier!” Naurel cried out. She heard horses and yelling then saw a sword gleaming through the air dispatching one of the soldier’s head from his body. The other was quickly kicked away from her and then she saw it. Her witcher, his white hair, and leather armor as he fought his way to her.

Jaskier was let go and fell to the ground as the dwarves jumped from a wagon and started attacking the men who were assaulting him. He’d never been so happy to see those tiny, grumpy little bastards before in his life!

Once all of the attackers had been dealt with Geralt knelt to check on Naurel and Jaskier. “I’m so glad to find you alive.”

“How did you find us,” she hugged him tight as he helped her to her feet.

“We have been checking every report of someone being held prisoner or tortured since you were taken. We just heard about a fire mage torturing people in Oxenfurt and came to check it out on our way to Aretuza.” He reached down and helped Jaskier to his feet putting an arm around each of them helping them to the wagon the dwarves had brought.

“Take them to the temple,” he told them.

“Wait no, I’m not letting you leave me Geralt!” Naurel panicked.

“Shhh my love,” he soothed and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I have to kill a monster then I promise I will be there. Nennenke will be able to heal you and you will be safe there. There is no violence in the temple.”

“But..” she argued.

“Naurel,” he cupped her face in his hands and rested their foreheads together. “Please, my heart, I need to know you are safe.”

“I’m safe with you,” she couldn’t hide her emotions and tears were streaming down her face.

“You can’t go with me to do this. Promise you that I will be there as soon as I can,” he placed a soft kiss on her lips before lowering her to lay back on the straw in the back of the wagon. He covered her and Jaskier with a thick quilt pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s as well. “I will come for you both.”

The dwarves watched the scene play out not used to seeing emotion from Geralt. “Your woman?” Yarpin asked.

Yen chose that moment to move which earned her a sword to the neck. Geralt turned and stared her down. “Mine,” he snarled at her then turned to Yarpin, “She is mine.”

The dwarf nodded and called for his men to mount up as they headed toward the temple.

Geralt glared at Yennefer, not lowering his sword. “Say it,” he demanded.

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@kneelforloki

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[dapandapod]

How I would kiss you

Hello there! Remember this drabble? yes it's from 2022, yes it got finished in 2024! Formatting is a pain on tumblr and i'm tired, but here is soem of the good stuff, pulled out from the fic itself! :))) Read the entire thing on Ao3 here! Please enjoy!

After an hour or so, Jaskier gives up, and is in the middle of changing into his sleeping clothes when Geralt returns. He startles when the door opens, standing shirtless and feeling strangely vulnerable when Geralt locks eyes with him.

They stand there just for a beat too long, Jaskier with his arms still in the tunic he was taking off, Geralt's eyes dipping just the once to roam over his chest. Nothing he's not seen before but this feels different.

"Did you win?" he asks, Geralt finally stepping properly into the room and turning to his own bed and his own pack.

"Two out of three. That last woman had a mean deck."

Jaskier will not pretend to understand the language of Gwent, so he nods and rummages for his sleeping tunic. A soft, worn out thing, a tunic that once was light blue now so faded it looks a soft gray.

When his night time routine is done, Jaskier sits down on his bed and watches Geralt. It's almost tradition, waiting for the other to be properly done before tucking in.

It also gives Jaskier a wonderful view of that wonderful witcher body, dimples on his lower backs, muscles on his shoulders rippling under the skin as he slowly puts his sleep wear on. Very...slowly.

Geralt throws a look over his shoulder, catching Jaskier staring. Normally he would wink, but now all he does is blush and look away.

Fuck.

They talk a little about their traveling plans, about rumors of a nest of foglets two days away. As soon as their laundry is done, they will be on their way. Meaning, there will hopefully be a rare chance to sleep in, despite cruel witcher habits, and as soon as

Jaskier mentions it teasingly, Geralt gives him a fond smile.

This is not good.

They settle into their respective beds, Jaskier's heart aching in his chest. He lies staring up at the ceiling, an echo of yesterday, but without the tent and without the rain.

"You came back early today," Geralt says on the other side of the dark room. "Were they no good?"

Jaskier sucks on his lower lip. Now that Geralt has mentioned it, it’s even harder to stop, desperately wanting it to be Geralt sucking on it instead.

"Not bad. Just..... eager."

Neither says anything for a long moment, and Jaskier belatedly realizes something. Maybe Geralt was slow redressing on purpose. Maybe... maybe he isn't the only one thinking about this so much it hurts.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jaskier does what he does best. He blurts out what's on his mind.

"I think you were right."

The darknes is quiet, somehow more quiet than before he opened his fucking idiot mouth.

"I'm always right," Geralt mutters, making Jaskier huff out a nervous laugh. "What about?"

Well.

Here we are.

"I think you have me figured out. I would want you to kiss me like that."

Not 'to be’ kissed like that. He wants Geralt to kiss him like that.

He can hear nothing but the hammering in his chest, the blood whooshing in his ear, and he realizes he is holding his breath.

"Told you so," Geralt says, and he really doesn't make this easy for Jaskier, does he?

Bastard.

".....Would you?" Jaskier says quietly, feeling every insecure inch of his heart bared.

There is another silence, and then there is movement on the other side, and Jaskier holds his breath again. Rustling of the blanket, footsteps so quiet, Jaskier is afraid he is imagining it. Then the bed dips as Geralt sits down.

Jaskier can't see much, just the dark outline against an even darker room, but Geralt surely can read the longing on his face, hear his strained breathing, his hoping heart.

"You want me to? Now?" Geralt whispers, and Jaskier nods eagerly.

Hot hands grab his, slowly guiding them upwards. The bed dips again, jostling Jaskier, and suddenly he is straddled, thighs on both sides of his, holding him in place.

"You sure?" Geralt whispers, leaning over him, fingers sliding over Jaskier's palm as he pins them over his head.

"Only if you want it too," Jaskier dares, sensing Geralt slowly leaning over him.

"I keep thinking about it," Geralt murmurs, his breath hitting Jaskier's face. "Just like this."

His grip tightens around Jaskier's wrists, thighs tensing as their weight shifts. Geralt is leaning over him on his elbow, holding him in place.

"Last chance, bard," Geralt warns him, and Jaskier full body shivers.

[st-hedge]

(Cyberpunk anon) If you have newest gen console (I'm on ps5) or pc versions CDPR put out a 2.0 update a while ago that completely overhauls the game - so far I haven't had any glitches or bugs at all. And other than appearance V really isn't a protagonist the player characterises - there's dialogue options that changes outcomes, but nothing you choose changes V the character. It's more like TW3 with a customisable Geralt than BG3, if that makes any sense.

Oohhh I’m glad the bugs are nonexistent now! Hmmm it’s good that the character has their own structure imposed by the game. Cuz honestly while flexibility and being able to shape the character urself can be fun, I’d be too inclined to make “good” decisions. I like it when a character is making dubious and shitty decisions I’d never otherwise make myself while I’m throwing slippers at the screen and screaming at them to stop being an idiot

[all-or-nothing-baby]

WHEN THE NIGHT HAS COME AND THE LAND IS DARK

.

Sometimes, on cold nights—and occasionally on some not-so-cold ones—Geralt wakes abruptly in the forest with something tickling his cheek and bothering the inside of his nostrils.

Jaskier's hair is like silken web; soft, and fine, and fucking irritating when it tangles itself in your eyelashes like dandelion fluff caught in tree sap.

On these particular cold and not-so-cold nights, Geralt wants to grunt loudly and swear and push Jaskier roughly from Geralt's space on Geralt's bed roll, because what the fuck, bard?

He never does though.

Not even this time, as Geralt awakes to that mass of brunette spiderwebs in his actual fucking mouth, with one of Jaskier's surprisingly muscular arms and a long and shapely leg wrapped tightly around Geralt's midriff as if the cretin is some sort of tentacled ocean dweller. Oh and, for fucks sake, the idiot bard's stupid slackened, drool-covered face mashed right into the crook of Geralt's neck.

Half blowing, half spitting Jaskier's hair from his mouth, Geralt balls his fists and grits his teeth and sighs, heavy as granite.

With the moon fat and high in the inky sky and sounds of the wild all around them, he will try once more to find sleep.

Closing his eyes again, Geralt pointedly ignores how Jaskier smells of lavender and forest ferns. He shuns the way Jaskier's soft, rhythmic snores play their easy tune in his ear, taking no note of Jaskier's even heartbeat and how the sound of it is a welcome comfort in the dead of night. He pays no heed to the shallow breaths leaving Jaskier's mouth nor the way each exhale warms more than just the spot underneath Geralt's jawbone, and he certainly doesn't spare the slightest bit of attention for the way those smooth lips with their perfect cupid's bow feel on the skin of his throat as Jaskier mutters the sweetest of song lyrics from his dreams.

As sleep finally does pull him under, Geralt also most definitely does not take to heart the way the idiot bard makes everything better.

.

(from my deleted witcher blog behonesthowsmysinging)