#my witcher writing

[dat-carovieh]

I don't fear you, I fear for you

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Wordcount: 844

Tags: potions, misunderstanding, worried Jaskier, self hating Geralt, first kiss

Read on AO3

As Geralt was returning to his camp, he was covered in grime, potions still running hot through his veins. The Kikimore had been a tough one, in the end he had cut open it’s belly and had been showered with the dark red, nearly black blood that had splattered out. He knew he was looking gruesome. People had run away from him, screaming before when they had encountered him like that or even looking less horrible. The snow-white skin under the blood and the black eyes weren’t helping at all.

When he entered the clearing Jaskier turned around and stared at Geralt. Until now he had been unphased by everything he had seen, had sticked to Geralt, even told him he was a good person. Geralt didn’t believe a thing he said. He wouldn’t hide this gruesome side of himself from the bard, better to have him run off early on. Getting attached was not good for a Witcher. Obviously, he already was on his way to get way to attached.

And sure enough he smelled the sharp sting of fear. It hurt more then he expected. He had never smelled fear in the bard in the few weeks he had been following him around. Jaskier was standing frozen in place, staring at Geralt.

“You wanna run now?” he asked in a gravely voice. This seemed to snap Jaskier out of his stupor and he did run but not away but at Geralt. Geralt couldn’t do anything except staring at him, frozen in place.

“Shit Geralt, what happened? Have you been poisoned? Will you be alright?” His hands on Geralt, looking for injuries.

Geralt didn’t know what to say as Jaskier grabbed his hand and pulled him to their camp. Touching him while most people would not even get close to him when he looked like that. What was the bard doing? He was still reeking of fear. Why didn’t he run then? Why did he even touch him? Geralt’s mind wasn’t processing at all.

“Sit down Geralt, come on,” Jaskier said and pushed him down to sit on a log. Jaskier crouched down to stare into Geralt’s black eyes. “Please talk to me. I’m freaking out here, Geralt. What’s happened to you? How can I help?” And suddenly it became clear to Geralt, Jaskier wasn’t afraid of him he was afraid for him. Geralt had a hard time processing this, never had a human seen him like this and been afraid for him.

“’m fine,” he mumbled.

“Fine? You don’t look fine, Geralt. I didn’t even know a person’s skin could be so pale without them being dead and these black lines on your face look very much like you’ve been poisoned. Are you positive you haven’t been? You look like you’re dead.”

“It’s my potions. It passes. They’re toxic but my body can easily fight that off,” Geralt explained.

“You voluntarily drink something that is toxic? That’s fucked up,” Jaskier answered. “How can I help you?”

“Just some water and rest,” Geralt answered. Jaskier hurried off to bring Geralt some water and then actually left him alone. It didn’t take long for the potion to pass his system after that. He felt worn out like always after it had worn off, Jaskier probably wasn’t too wrong. Consuming something toxic voluntarily wasn’t the best thing. He had changed out of the ruined clothes and cleaned himself the best he could out here.

“You reeked of fear when you saw me, but you didn’t act scared,” Geralt said after a while. Jaskier looked up.

“I did act scared. You probably didn’t recognise since usually people are scared of you and not for you,” Jaskier explained. So, Jaskier really had not been scared of him. And he was right, Geralt didn’t know how it was.

Jaskier got up and knelt down in front of Geralt. He lifted a hand and gently stroked Geralt’s cheek.

“You always think I will run off screaming but I won’t, Geralt. I’m not scared of you; I know you won’t harm me. But it’s reasonable to fear that you might get killed with all the monster hunting,” Jaskier explained. His hand still on Geralt’s cheek. Without realizing Geralt had been leaning into the touch and Jaskier’s thumb was gently stroking his cheek.

Geralt felt overwhelmed. No one had ever genuinely cared about him. He grabbed Jaskier’s wrist but didn’t push it away, just let his hand linger there as he looks into Jaskier’s blue eyes.

“Your eyes are getting gold again,” Jaskier whispered.

“Potion’s wearing off,” Geralt explained. Their faces were impossible close, it only felt natural as they leaned forwards and their lips brushed against each other. Geralt’s senses still heightened from the potions, he felt nearly overwhelmed but didn’t want to pull back as he wrapped his arms around Jaskier. There was no resistance as he pulled the bard closer. Jaskier just leaned more into him.

[crispyliza]

I've got you all figured out fanartists

[axeeglitter]

Reformating Love

Ethan stared at the unwashed cereal bowl on the counter, the sticky remnants of milk and granola solidifying into an unappetizing paste. The apartment reeked faintly of saltwater and old gym clothes, a byproduct of living with Scott.

Scott, his surfer roommate, seemed to revel in making Ethan’s life a mix of frustration and quiet misery. The man had an effortless charm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sun-kissed tan that made him look like a walking advertisement for beach life. His messy, curly long blond hair, perpetual smirk, and casual demeanor made him maddeningly attractive and completely insufferable.

As if on cue, Scott sauntered out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung boxer briefs. His toned body, slightly hairy in all the right places, gleamed faintly as if he had just stepped off his surfboard. He stretched his long arms over his head, revealing the thick patch of hair under his armpits, and yawned loudly.

“Morning, sunshine!” Scott said with a grin, his voice dripping with playful condescension.

Ethan gritted his teeth. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

Scott shrugged, completely unbothered. “Time doesn’t matter when you’ve mastered the art of the chill, my man.” He opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and drinking straight from it.

“Can you at least use a glass?” Ethan asked, already knowing the answer.

Scott turned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What’s the matter? Afraid of catching my cooties?” He wiggled his eyebrows before smirking and adding, “Or do you just want my lips on your lips, huh?”

Ethan flushed, his jaw tightening. “You’re impossible.”

Scott grinned wider and leaned against the counter, his muscular arms casually crossed. “Aw, come on, E. I’m just messing with you. You know I think you’re great. I mean, if I swung that way…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Ethan turned away, grabbing his laptop and settling onto the couch.

He was used to Scott’s teasing by now, but it still stung. The comments weren’t overtly homophobic; they were Scott’s way of pushing buttons, of asserting dominance in their shared space.

It wasn’t just the comments, though. It was the way Scott left his belongings everywhere, his dirty clothes strewn across the floor like trophies from his latest conquest. It was the way he played his music too loud, the bass vibrating through the walls at all hours. It was the way he walked around the apartment half-naked, completely comfortable in his skin, while Ethan tried to focus on anything other than the sharp curve of his hip bones or the way his legs seemed to go on forever.

Ethan had tried confronting him once, but Scott had just laughed it off, ruffling Ethan’s hair like he was a kid. “Relax, dude. Life’s too short to stress over this stuff.”

But for Ethan, it wasn’t just "stuff." It was the constant reminder that he was the one who cared too much, the one who had to clean up, the one who tiptoed around Scott’s oversized personality.

That night, as Scott sprawled on the couch in his underwear, flipping through channels like he owned the place, Ethan found himself staring at his laptop, typing a phrase he never thought he’d search for: How to make someone change their behavior.

The results were a mixed bag of self-help articles, manipulative tricks, and obscure forums. But one thread caught his eye: Reprogramming personalities: Is it possible?

Ethan clicked, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The thread was filled with wild claims about new technologies that could alter someone’s behavior at a fundamental level. Some users spoke of psychological conditioning, others about experimental devices that could rewire a person’s mind entirely.

One comment stood out:

"Tired of dealing with someone who just won’t change? The solution is simpler than you think. Reprogramming kits are real, and they work. DM me for more information."

Ethan hesitated. It had to be a joke, right? Some elaborate scam? Still, the idea burrowed into his brain, refusing to let go. What if there was a way to make Scott understand, to force him to see how much of a burden he was?

Without fully understanding why, Ethan clicked on the user’s profile and sent a message: Tell me more. But after waiting for almost half an hour, no answers appeared on his screen. “Yo E., What you doing bro?” Asked Scott as he was getting up from the couch. Out of reflex and fear, Ethan closed the window, his heart racing. Ethan decided that he was just tired and needed some time away from everything and went to bed, his heart still racing from stress.

The next morning, Ethan received a notification on his phone: Your package is out for delivery.

“What package?” he muttered to himself.

When he received the package later that afternoon, Ethan didn’t understand what this was. “Hey Scott, have you purchased something?” He asked still on the porch with the package in his hands. No answer from Scott so he went back inside and opened the box on the kitchen table. It was a slick USB drive with only a handwritten note inside: “Reformation kit”. Ethan held the UBS in his hand, a chill ran down his spine.

It seemed absurd, like some kind of prank. Ethan turned the USB over in his hands, its glossy black surface unmarked by logos or branding. The note offered no further explanation. He almost tossed it in the trash, but something stopped him. Ethan walked down to the couch where Scott was laying there in his underwear and exposing his muscled and slightly hairy physique, as always. “Hey Scott, have you purchased a Reformation kit?” Scott looked up at Ethan and laugh answering “Yea sure E. I have purchased this nerdy shit to better perform on the board. You really aren’t the smartest of the nerds, are you?” Ethan felt rage rise in him as he heard Scott taunting one more time. “You are a jerk; you know that right?” He answered while throwing the USB in his direction, not seeing that Scott turned his head back on his phone, exposing his naked neck as his still wet hair parted around it. Ethan didn’t wait for an answer as he walked in his room to get ready for his night shift at the movie theater. unbeknown to him, the USB stopped mid air before touching the ground. Then all of a sudden, the USB started to light a faint blue hue and hum as it floated just behind Scott’s exposed neck. Then, Scott felt a tingle at its base, not knowing that a small rectangle USB port just appeared out of nowhere in his flesh, the skin around it smooth and metallic like a port carved directly into his spine. As he was about to scratch the itch, the UBS plugged itself inside Scott’s neck.

There was a soft click.

Scott froze, his entire body stiffening as if a switch had been flipped.

“What the hell…” Scott started, but his words were cut off by a strangled cry. His head snapped back; his mouth open in a silent scream as his entire body began to convulse.

Scott’s fingers clawed at the couch cushions, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. His eyes were wide with terror, and tears streamed down his face as his voice returned in gasping, ragged muffled screams.

But there was no way to stop it. The USB drive glowed faintly, and Scott’s body arched violently, his back lifting off the couch.

Inside Scott’s mind, the sensation was beyond anything he could have imagined. It was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled apart, unraveling into threads of light and sound. His memories flashed before his eyes in rapid, chaotic bursts. His childhood, his first surfboard, his friends, his favorite songs.

But then, those memories started to fade.

“Ethan!” he tried to scream, his voice cracking with panic. “Help me! something’s wrong! I’m... I’m disappearing! I don’t feel goo…”

Scott’s face contorted with pain, his words becoming garbled. The light around the USB grew brighter, and a faint hum filled the room, like the whirring of a hard drive.

Scott’s mind was unraveling, his sense of self slipping away. His thoughts fragmented, disintegrating into a flood of static.

The pain was unbearable. It wasn’t just physical; it was the loss of everything that made him him. His memories, his emotions, his very essence were being stripped away, digitized and compressed into raw data. Scott could feel his senses being cut one by one. It started with the lost connection to his feet, then it climbed up his legs and now he could only feel his face.

And then, there was nothing.

Scott’s body went limp, the glow from the USB fading as the reprogramming completed. Ethan left for his shift just after the USB stopped shining and fell back on the ground, the hole in the neck disappearing once the connection was lost. Scott stood there, his eyes closed and his head resting on the couch. “I’m leaving Scott. If you have time, try to clean the apartment please. I’m exhausted and I just want to come back to a tidy house for once. See you!” Scott didn’t answer, but as Ethan closed the door, his eyes opened, a soft hue shining blue hue brighten his eyes before disappearing to his natural blue color. Scott looked around the house and then at his body, he touched himself as he took everything in. A smile appeared on his serene face, typical Scott’s signature cocky smile as he looked at his reflection in his smartphone, making his cock chub up a bit. Then out of nowhere, he jumped up from the couch and started to walk to the kitchen, ready to do some cleaning.

When Ethan came back home later that night, Scott was sitting on the couch in his underwear, as always, but Ethan realizes the house smelt fresh. He turned around to see the house clean and tidy, even the dried granola balls in the full kitchen sink were washed and put away. Ethan walked to Scott with a smile on his face and stress released from his shoulders. “Thanks bro!” started Ethan not waiting for any answers from Scott. But as he turned around, he felt Scott’s calloused manly hand grabbing his forearm. Ethan turned around not understanding what Scott wanted only to be met with Scott’s smile. “Yo E., I realize that you did a lot to keep this house as clean as possible and I didn’t help you at all those years. I also realize that life is short and I’m done not being me to my fullest. Now I know I’m not gay, but I kind of have some… feelings for you. You think we could… be something? Like, a relationship…. Maybe?” Ethan stood there; his mouth opened in surprise as he tried to take in everything that he just heard. He tilted his head on his forearm to see Scott still grabbing him for dear life and moving his thumb back and forth on his sensitive skin. He tilted his head back up to see Scott’s smiley face and out of pure pulsion, he thought fuck it, and threw himself in Scott naked and muscled arm to kiss him.

Over the next few days, Ethan explored the limits of their new relationship. So much had change and Ethan couldn’t believe how all of that was possible in only a couple of days. Scott was more attentive, less cocky. He no longer teased Ethan or strutted around the apartment like he owned the place. Instead, he was now helping with chores, cooking dinner, and even suggesting they watch movies together.

It was everything Ethan had hoped for.

As the days turned into weeks, their relationship deepened. They spent hours cuddling on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms as Ethan introduced Scott to new shows of adventures and fantasy. Scott’s touch was gentle, his affection genuine. He laughed at Ethan’s jokes and listened to him talk about his day with an intensity that made Ethan feel seen for the first time in years.

They shared baths; Scott’s strong arms wrapped around Ethan as they soaked in the warm water. They fell asleep in the same bed, their bodies entwined, the sound of Scott’s steady breathing lulling Ethan into a peaceful sleep.

Ethan told himself that this was what he had always wanted. Scott was happy, and so was he.

One evening, as they lay on the couch about to start The Witcher, Scott turned to Ethan with a contented smile.

“This show looks really good,” he said, his voice warm. “Thanks for introducing me to it.”

Ethan smiled back, his heart swelling with affection. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from Scott’s face.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Scott’s expression faltered for a brief moment, as if he were realizing something that was just out of reach. But then he smiled again and leaned in to kiss Ethan.

“I love you too,” he said.

Ethan didn’t notice the faint flicker of light in Scott’s eyes.

“I’ll grab some popcorn,” Ethan said, smiling as he untangled himself and headed to the kitchen.

Scott stretched, his body lean and relaxed, the dim light catching on the subtle golden tan of his surfer’s skin. As Ethan rummaged in the cupboards, Scott plunged his hand inside his right pocket where he toyed with the black sleek USB drive between his fingers.

“There’s no going back now.” he muttered to himself.

Without thinking, he got up and walked over to the TV. The back of his neck itched faintly. Scott stood in front of the TV and took the USB out of his pocket. He looked at it and a smile appear on his lips, without further thinking inserted the USB into one of the ports on the side of the television.

The screen flickered violently, the Netflix logo distorting into jagged lines and glitches that sent static crackling through the air. Scott stepped back, his heart pounding. The screen of the TV turned off and the room darkened. The television’s screen turned pitch black, save for faint flickers of light coalescing into a chaotic storm of colors.

And then, in the center of the screen, pixels started to merge together to form an entity. Something human like. Limbs started to appear and soon a face too. Scott stood in front of the as he watches with attention his reflection appears on the screen. Scott’s digitized soul had been plugged in.

Scott’s digitized soul emerged on the screen, flickering into existence in a form that resembled his body but was translucent and distorted. His limbs jerked as though he were a marionette struggling against invisible strings.

“What’s happening?!” he screamed from inside the TV, his voice echoing in the dark void. He looked down at his hands,they were translucent, pixelated fragments of light that didn’t feel solid.

His vision swam as he turned, desperate to find some kind of anchor. Instead, he saw his own body standing on the living room carpet, staring blankly at the TV.

“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “That’s... that’s me. That’s my body!”

He pounded on the invisible barrier of the screen, his hands sparking with faint glitches. “Ethan! Help me! I’m in here! I’m…” “He won’t answer.” Scott heard his deep manly voice answering his please “In fact, no one will help you. You had it all, Scott. But you had to push the boundaries a bit too much and now look at you. Digitized, trapped, floating naked inside a TV screen.” “What are you talking about?!” screamed Scott from inside the TV. “Get me out of here! I’ve been stuck in darkness for weeks! Get me out!” “That won’t happen buddy… See, I have been stuck in there for years and there’s no way I’m going back in it. My ex, this fucking piece of shit, cursed and trapped me in there after finding out I planned to quit her. She did the mistake of keeping me trapped in "this" and make sure I always was close to her, but the second she met someone, she sends me to the first one without even freeing me from this cursed existence? I won’t do the same mistake. I'm here to stay, even if I have to play for the other team. And Ethan is kind of cute. Yes, this cycle ends now!” As he said that, Scott took the remote in his hand. The screen flickered, and Scott was cut off as the television’s remote was pointed at the screen, guided by the steady, precise hand of his own body.

“No! Who are you?!” Scott screamed, slamming his fists against the inside of the screen as his body selected The Witcher from the Netflix menu.

 Scott laughed as he pressed the button "My name was Cody, but you can call me Scott!" The first episode began to play, the familiar opening scene filling the screen. But something was wrong. The edges of the screen twisted, pulling Scott’s glowing form toward the center.

“No, no, no!” he begged, thrashing against the pull as the show’s digital world unfolded around him.

In the blink of an eye, Scott was now standing awkwardly on the cobblestone streets of a medieval town. The air around him shimmered, glitching like corrupted code. He could walk again. He could feel the air on his skin and the dirt under his feet. But as a fresh breeze blew in his hair, he realized he was still naked in the middle of a busy street. Scott started to walk to hide somewhere, to ask for help, but with every step he took, his body was starting to change. As he got out of the city, Scott stood and hide behind a bunch of rocks and trees, trying to understand what was happening as he felt the dirt under his soles and the rocks against his naked and exposed back. Suddenly, a deep pain invaded his body.

His bones shifted first, cracking and shrinking with sickening precision. He could see his sight getting closer to the ground, slightly shorter than his original frame. He cried out as his limbs reshaped themselves, his lean surfer’s build giving way to a softer, more compact form.

His skin prickled as the sun-kissed tan faded into a smoother, paler complexion, dotted with faint freckles that hadn’t been there before. Every hair on his body seemed to rearrange itself, the wiry, sun-bleached strands on his chest and legs softening and darkening.

Scott’s armpits burned as the sparse hair there thickened, giving off a muskier scent that matched the medieval street he was hidden in. He gagged as the scent surrounded him, a mix of sweat and leather that was foreign yet undeniably his.

“Stop it! Please!” he screamed, but his voice was already changing, cracking and shifting into a higher, more melodic tone.

His face was next. He felt his jawline soften, the angles rounding into the boyish charm of young visage. His cheekbones lifted, and his nose reshaped itself with an audible crunch. His hair fell off, revealing rich, chestnut waves that grew longer, brushing against his shoulders.

Scott’s pelvic region seized with a deep, invasive ache. He doubled over, clutching at himself as his body rewired the most intimate parts of his anatomy. His penis pulsed painfully, growing longer and thicker. Scott could feel all the nerves decupling and rearranging. He tilted his head, cupping his cock between his new hands only to scream at the feeling of something alien. Something warm and thick but totally frozen. He heard a Snap sound as Scott felt his balls attaching to the base of his penis and starting to reshape into an inhuman form. Scott screamed again as he felt a tugging sensation at the base of his cock and suddenly, he heard a snap as he felt his cock falling in his hands. He could still feel it but it was not attached to his body anymore. Scott screamed again as he realized his cock and balls had reshaped into a lute. He felt every string, every curve, every stroke like if it was his still his cock and balls. Every brush of his finger sending him waves of pleasure like he was about to cum, making his knees weak.

“Oh God,” he muttered out of fear and pleasure.

His feet and hands were the last to change. His surfer’s calloused soles smoothed into the soft, narrow feet of someone who took care of himself but still walked a lot, his toes curling in agony as the final adjustments were made. His hands, once strong and capable, became slender and delicate, perfect for plucking strings. Scott could feel that this wave of change died as his nails finished adjusting to their new form. He tried to get up, his lute still in his right hand and feeling like he was tugging his cock at the base, ready to cum any instant. As he took his first step in this new reality, clothes materialized over his trembling body, stitching themselves into place. A doublet of deep blue and gold, tight trousers, and knee-high boots encased him, completing the transformation.

Scott tried to scream, but the sound came out as a cheerful laugh. His body straightened, his new face lighting up with the unmistakable charisma of someone he didn’t know, someone far away from his real self, someone like Jaskier.

Inside his own mind, Scott’s soul writhed.

“What’s happening to me?!” he screamed, but the words were drowned out by a flood of new thoughts, new instincts.

Scott tried to scream for help but his body was not answering his orders anymore. Instead, he started to walk calmly his lute hung in his back and grinding on his soft velvety jacket, sending him waves of pleasure along the way. Then, behind a rock, he saw Geralt ahead of him, and his body moved on its own, rushing forward with a wide grin.

“Ah, Geralt, my dear friend!” he heard himself say, the voice no longer his own.

Inside, Scott’s soul screamed. He could feel everything, his new body, the weight of the lute, the way his new clothes clung to his skin, but he had no control. Every thought, every movement was dictated by an unknown force, forcing him to embody the bard’s carefree, loyal persona.

“No! I’m not Jaskier! I’m Scott!” he tried to shout, but the words never left his lips. Instead, his body turned to Geralt with a mischievous smile, delivering another line with perfect comedic timing.

Back in the living room, Ethan returned with a bowl of popcorn. He sat down next to Scott, who was watching the TV intently. Ethan looked the screen for a moment, he was sure he saw a glitch on Jaskier, like if his face went from screaming to smiling in a few seconds without any reasons. Ethan blinked and all he saw was Jaskier on pause on the screen, holding his lute in his hands, must be the sleepiness coming to his eyes, he thought, forgetting instantly what he jsut saw.

“Sorry, got a call from work. What did I miss?” Ethan asked, popping a kernel into his mouth.

Scott turned to him with a smile, his expression calm and untroubled.

“Nothing important,” he said, resuming the show, his voice soft and even. Jaskier resumed playing his lute to entertain Geralt on their journey.

Ethan relaxed on Scott's shoulder as Scott grabbed Ethan's hands, unaware of the turmoil raging within the screen as Scott’s soul was forced to entertain an audience forever trapped in this new reality, playing with his lute and begging to cum.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

I’ve been meaning to post this story for a while but just couldn’t find the time to put it together properly—until now. So here it is! This story was created for @petew21-blog, based on his amazing request:

"would you be so kind and uploaded this handsome guy to my USB? I want his body empty for me to enjoy. I do need a hard pillow to cuddle while watching TV shows. And he looks comfy. I could play with those long hair, feel the heat of his muscles, bathe him... All while his body would be just empty, followed me and listened to every command I give him.

And while in bed together, we could watch some TV shows with the USB inserted in the TV with a VERY FAMILIAR actor. If you know what I mean."

I hope you all enjoy this one! Let me know what you think in the comments.

As always, my DMs are open, and you’re welcome to send me an ask if you have an idea you’d like me to explore.

Take care, and see you soon!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 57

Jaskier likes hugs. Like a lot. Like dozens a day, a lot. Which is why it's so odd when Jaskier suddenly stops touching Geralt unless he he absolutely has to. Geralt is admittedly getting quite jealous, however, because Jaskier hasn't stopped touching anyone and everyone else. Has the horror of being a witcher finally set in for the bard? Is he disgusted to so much as lay a finger on him, now? Geralt starts just being concerned about it, however, when Jaskier keeps almost hugging him. So Jaskier clearly wants to hug him, but refuses to do so. Did someone say something? Is he worried about Geralt? He worries for Geralt an awful lot. Oh fuck, is he cursed? Geralt finally breaks and asks (demands) Jaskier why he stopped hugging him, when Jaskier clearly still wants to. "It's because you hate it! Obviously! I- I'm trying to be a good friend!" Geralt knows he can be a bit stoic, but he thought Jaskier would take the fact that Geralt hugs back and doesn't shove him away as more than enough motivation to keep doing what makes him so happy. "I never felt so bad. I really thought you had no problem with me being so- So clingy. If I had known better, I wouldn't! Honest, Geralt!" "Why do you think I have a 'problem' with it?" "You growled at me!" Oh fuck. He purred. Jaskier doesn't know he can purr.

[inexplicifics]

Being transformed into a small snake was not in Letho's plan, but then, what about the way his life has gone ever was?

I wrote flash fic!

[rebrandedbard]

How does the great Sandpiper successfully smuggle 130 children out of the Nilfgaard-occupied territory of Hamm? With the power of a forgotten story, a traditional song, and a masterful lie.

A piece for my upcoming fic, The Piper of Hamm, based on The Pied Piper of Hamelin, next in my fairy tale series.

[copypastus]

A gift for @witch-and-her-witcher loosely based on her lovely tamsand fanfic 'Lay Me on the Cold Dark Earth'.

With a little bonus Eris, not loving what they got up to on his cape.

[ammarettu]

Writing prompt: Curse breaking, true hate's kiss.

It's been two weeks since that horrible wretch of a mage falsely seduced him. Wandering hands on his chest and muttered words of adoration had distracted him from that distinct crackle and the faint scent of ozone.

He should have known better.

Should have seen it, or sensed it. He knows mages. Knows what they're capable of, their temperaments and egos. It wasn't until she was uttering about how he needed to learn to be humble, not to try and worm his way into everyone's good graces. Had to accept that people - no one - wanted him, that he noticed what she was.

So, instead of getting laid, he'd gotten cursed.

At least, mercifully, she'd told him the means to breaking the curse, which left him unable to speak, sing, or write.

True hate's kiss. Kiss someone who well and truely hates him. Perfect.

Which is how he now finds himself trudging through the overgrown wilderness, chasing rumors of a white-haired Witcher despite promising on the top of that fucking mountain that he would never bother him again.

He's still angry. Still hurt. His heart aches with every step closer, feels flayed open like bass being salted for dinner - and now he's hungry on top of it all!

He knows Geralt is going to be angry, annoyed at having to see him again even after the six months that have passed, but it can't be helped.

Jaskier's boots are caked in mud, the soles worn thin - he's pretty sure he's more blister than man at this point, despite his feet being used to years of walking, he's spent quite a bit of time in one place recently. He's gone soft rather quickly, it seems. (That tends to happen when you drink yourself stupid almost every night.)

He's close now.

He can see the smoke of a fire rising from above the trees, just past a village that told him the White Wolf had been staying nearby for the past several weeks, slaying mosntsers, refusing coin and only coming into town to sell the parts.

The woods here are dense, he'd curse at the branches smacking him in the face if he could, nature can eat his entire ass, thank you very much.

So maybe he's in a bit of a bad mood. Usually, the dense foliage, verdant and towering, letting through faint rays of sun that glitter on the moss and stones of the ground would inspire him to compose. Today he can only feel anger, because if he lets himself feel anything else he'll remember how heartbroken he is and start weeping like a small child.

So he's angry.

Angry at the branches. Angry at the Witcher.

Geralt hears him approach, of course he does. He's a Witcher, and an extra special one at that. The thought irks something in him that wants to taunt, "Ooh, so special, such a special boy," but again, that would be childish. And he can't talk.

When he reaches the clearing Geralt is there, sitting on a log facing away from him, hunched over as though trying to make himself smaller. Jaskier is half expecting him to growl or threaten him. Instead, he gets a quiet, "Bard?"

It's a question, and Geralt doesn't even bother to look at him or use his name. It makes Jaskier seethe.

He rounds the log the Witcher is sitting on, stands glaring down at him with his hands on his hips. Geralt keeps his eyes locked on the fire. Doesn't lift his gaze. It would hurt, would break his heart if there was anything of it left to break. He hates that Geralt hates him so much he can't even bear to look at him, or say his name.

He might as well get this over with. Might as well bite the rapier, so to speak, and get out of Geralt's hair before the Witcher decides to tear him a new set of holes.

He steps forward, into Geralt's space, winds his fingers into that glorious white hair, which is looking and feeling worse for wear - all of Geralt is, really. He's dirty, unshaven, looks ragged and worn and disheveled. He ignores that observation and yanks back on his silver locks until his head is tilted the way he wants it to be, leans down, and kisses him.

Jaskier normally isn't the type to kiss people who don't want it. Consent is important and he'll cut the balls off anyone who says otherwise, but this is important. Geralt won't forgive him, but he already hates the bard so there really isn't much lost there.

Then, hands are on his waist tugging him closer and a tongue is in his mouth and - Geralt is kissing him back. He's confused as all hell but not complaining, he's not an idiot!

Well, not that kind anyways.

When they break apart Geralt is looking up at him with furrowed brows, confused. Not angry.

"Mm, not... that I don't... why?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak - nothing. No sound. All that effort wasted. Geralt doesn't even hate him enough to break a fucking curse.

"Jaskier?"

He shakes his head, fighting back tears, unsure how to explain to a man who hates him but doesn't hate him enough why he's just assaulted him.

Jaskier flops onto the log next to Geralt and gestures vaguely, makes a talking motion with his hand, then an X with his arms.

"Can't talk?"

At least Geralt is smart, most Witchers are, in Jaskier's experience. They solve murders, chase monsters. They have to be good at reading between the lines, but only if those lines aren't emotions.

"Mm," Geralt looks him over, pulls his pendant from his neck and holds it up to Jaskier, "Magic. Curse?" Jaskier nods. Geralt swallows, "The cure is... a kiss?"

Jaskier nods again, sighs.

"From... what? Usually it's true love." He sounds oddly hopeful. Fidgets in a way that Jaskier has never seen. Jaskier shakes his head, ponders how to explain this absolute clusterfuck.

If Geralt didn't work there's only one other option anyways.

Valdo Marx.

((Now with part 2 ))

[perfectlynormalbooks]

The Courting Season by @anarchycox (The Witcher TV, 47k), casebound at folio size for @silentsunpress as part of the Renegard 2024 binder's exchange!

I leaned into a flowery, elegant design for this one, and used a lot of William Morris assets and motifs to decorate the cover and typeset, and the result is really nicely cohesive - I even embroidered the cover and gold-foiled the edges!! Fonts used: Georgia (for body text) and Felix Titling (for titling).

[lazyjellyfishcreation]

My thoughts on witcher!jaskier

So, so. I have been looking at a lot of witcher!jaskier shit lately, and eventhough bear!jaskier strikes a cord in my heart, to me, jask will always be a cat. So, with Jaskier being a cat, he would know Aiden, that would be logical. My question: what would their relationship be? my headcanon, Jaskier is Aidens teacher! Hear me out. Julek (jaskier's first actual name) was a promising young witcher of about 50 years old when it happend. He doesn't go to the caravan often because he doesn't like his siblings all that much, but he occasionally does to gamble and drink without having to worry about prejudice. He gambles his fun money away and gets drunk as a skunk in the process. He then remembers just how much he doesn't like being at the caravan and in his drunken mind decides to leave the caravan then and there to continue on the path. On his way out he stumbles into the wrong cart and finds Aiden. Aiden came out wrong. When he went trough the grasses (i hc that eventhough the cats do take in witchers from other schools that came out wrong, they also made their own, and aiden was one of the later.) Usually, a cat comming out with weird mutations isn't a problem, that's the cats school's specialty. But Aiden was a step too far. Aiden was deaf after the grasses. And the mages wanted to know why, so they strapped him to a table, to dissect him later. that's where Julek finds him. at 12 years old, scared, feverish from the grasses, alone, unable to hear, and not knowing what is going got happen to him. Julek, drunk as he is, decides that this is the perfect opportunity to make a shit decision and just. Takes. The kid. Julek just steals this child, and when he sobers up he realizes that that was a shit desicion but can't go back now, not when the kid looks up at him with scared sad eyes and go god he is gonna get so attached to this kid. So, Julek raises Aiden to the best of his abilties. He feeds him, trains him, teaches him the speech of hands (sighn language). Aiden is a smart boy, and phenomenal with trowing knives, he truly has impeccable aim. He's large too. Whatever took his hearing made him grow fast as fuck. Eventually, just when Aiden is getting used to not hearing, after a year or so, fate is cruel to him once again and takes his silent safety. Getting his hearing back is excutiating. Everything is loud, and sounds are so sharp now and it is overwhelming and aiden just want's it to be quit again but it is never quiet and and and. He's not having a good time. It takes him well over a month for him to adjusted to sounds. But now his hearing is better then any witcher's. It's overwhelming and it hurts but at least he can hear the monsters coming now.

All the while they are getting chased. Rememeber: Julek took a kit that wasn't his, not only that, Aiden was supposed to be a sience experiment and the cat mages want him back. so, 3 years after aiden getting stolen they make the desicion to go back to the caravan and claim aiden as julek's kit, to keep them from being hunted.

only problem: only grandmasters can assighn a witcher a kit to go on the path with, and the current grandmaster won't do it, because the mages want to keep him. so, Julek does the sane thing and chalenges the granmaster. If he wins and kills the grandmaster, then he becomes the grandmaster and can claim Aiden. if not, well... he wont be around to witness what they would do to his kit (son) nobody expects this 50 something year old witcher to beat the grandmaster with a century of experience under his belt. Julek is good, but he's (relatively) young. They are all wrong. Julek wins. Aiden is his. He claims his kid, steps down from the grandmaster position and fucks right off. I have so much more for this au but it's late so i might write that later if you want.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Lambert and the Tribute

Ok. Hear me out. You know how there is the porny/smutty trope of the witcher who saves a family/town from a dangerous beast? And the towns folk are like, well, we don't have (or want to spend) money, so, here is our young sexy innocent but eager son/daughter as a tribute? *cue porn music*

So as usual last night, I was thinking about blorbos and shit instead of sleeping, and was like...how about we turn that trope around a bit? (not that there is anything wrong with it, I just like fiddling with tropes)

I present to you my concept, and I'm using Lambert for this because as I thought of it, I could hear his voice in my head.

...

So, Lambert comes back from the hunt, exhausted, out of breath, bruised, cut up, but triumphant.

He stands in front of the penniless farmer with the gnarly severed head of a beast. He has saved all of their lives. Because of him, life continues.

But the poor farmer is clearly distraught. He is a young man, early twenties, and is like...thank you so much Mr Witcher sir, we are mighty obliged. But sadly, tragically, we have no money. The harvest was lost, and we are hungry as it is.

The poor farmer tries to explain. Sir, I would gladly offer you my sexy and eager but wide eyed and innocent daughter as tribute, but tragically, my kids are too young to be sexy tributes. Mr. Witcher, they simply aren't reproductive age yet.

And the farmer is standing there, just anxious as hell about what the witcher will demand instead, like, will it be his young bride? His beautiful raven haired wife? They're basically newlyweds still and so very much in love. He can't abide the thought! He's racking his brain, is there anyone young and nubile and teen of aged in the next town???

And then he realizes fuck, WORST OF ALL, I hope this fucker doesn't want the law of surprise because that never ends well. Inside, this man is screaming, please do not take my kids in any capacity.

But isn't that what witchers ALWAYS want??? Children to make into MUTANTS????

So this poor (in every sense of the word) guy is stammering and angsting, but Lambert isn't paying any attention to him. He literally has not said a single word to him. He's not even looking at him. He's leaning a little to the right and looking past this guy, over his shoulder.

The farmer starts to get annoyed. Mr. Witcher, he thinks, I'm struggling here, help me out a little.

Lambert drops the nasty monster head with a thunk and turns back to the guy. Lamb is not particularly put out. He knew this family was poor. But still. This doesn't have to be for nothing.

He wipes the bloody sweat off his forehead with his arm and nods behind the man.

"What about him? He game?"

The farmer looks like his brain has just blanked out. He stares in silence. He slowly turns and looks behind him. Then he turns back to Lambert, waiting for him to laugh or to clarify. Lambert just stares at him expectantly.

"Well?" Lambert asks.

The penniless farmer is like.. "You---you want...m-...m-"

The young farmer doesn't wanna say it because that can't be right and he doesn't wanna embarrass himself. But Lambert is not helping him out at all. He's just looking at him like he's an utter dumbass, just waiting for him to get his shit together. "Spit it out, man."

Farmer tries again. "Mr. Witcher, sir. Are you saying that you want...my... FATHER?"

Lambert looks back at the object of his fascination. An older man is working, hauling bales of hay, loading them up in a wagon. And this man is like, mid-fifties, barrel chest covered with gray hair, full beard, inhospitable expression, overalls, dusty boots. He's thick, muscled and hard, he's covered in sweat, he's got calluses, he looks exactly like a man that's been busting his ass in the fields for more than a few decades.

As Lambert stares at the father, his expression starts to look a little hungry. "Is that your pops?"

"Uhhh yes?' The farmer's voice kind of screeches into a higher register.

Lambert shrugs. "Ok, well yea, your pops then. Ask 'im if he's game. Go ahead. I ain't got all day."

The young farmer just swivels, his eyes still in disbelief, still thinking he's going to humiliate himself. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him. He is starting to think maybe his youngest kid would make a good witcher after all. But Lambert is waiting and doesn't look perturbed. He doesn't look like he's kidding.

"Uh, dad?" The farmer is well, well into adulthood but his voice still cracks. But his dad hears.

The big older guy drops his bale and turns around. His eyes are sharp and hard. "Yep?"

The young farmer swallows. "Yes, um, father, the witcher here saved us."

"Obliged." The older man's voice is low, gravely, and he sounds like a man who does not suffer fools.

Lambert nods, an eager twinkle starting to gleam in his eyes. "Glad to help. It's what I do."

The young farmer continues, "And well, you know, we don't have any money to pay him. What with the bad harvest and all."

The dad nods, waiting. He's quiet too, not helping the young farmer out at all. So the younger farmer soldiers ahead. "So, father, he, the witcher that is, was wondering, um, if you would, um, want to be the uh..." he takes a breath and tries to say it fast, "tribute."

The young farmer almost faints from mortification. He's waiting for his dad to laugh at his idiocy. To shout at him. To kick his ass.

But what the Dad does is slowly raise his eyebrows. Then he turns purposefully towards Lambert. He switches his weight a little to one of his hips, and just quietly begins to look Lambert up and and down, assessing him with extreme interest. He is silently just raking his eyes from the top of Lambert's head down to his toes.

Lambert's grin gets wider, like it gleams, because at this point, he knows he's in. If the man is checking whether he is his type, then well, he's good with men. And Lambert just knows he'll be this man's type. Why wouldn't he be for fuck sake?

When the older man's gaze gets to his crotch, Lambert gives his prick a cocky little squeeze and licks his lips.

The older man grunts, and if the young farmer didn't know it was an interested noise, he certainly does when his father gives Lambert a wink. "Name's Abe, young buck."

The young farmer whispers several prayers for the gods to deliver him from this moment.

"Hi Abe," says Lambert, just eager and smug sounding as shit.

Abe takes his gloves off and hands them to his son as he passes him. He only says three words. "Don't wait up."

Lambert chuckles to himself, and there is a little hop in his step as they walk off together, since he is already anticipating the cock in his ass and could not be more overjoyed. Abe slides his hand down Lambert's trousers and squeezes his ass possessively.

The younger farmer just stands there with his jaw dropped. He had no idea whatsoever that his dad has this side to him. That man silently and stoically raised a family of seven children with his dearly departed mother, rest her soul. All his father ever did was work. You think you know a person. Honestly.

Lambert and Abe are long gone, and the son is still standing there in shock, when his beautiful young bride comes out of the house with a toddler on her hip. "Where did father go?"

The young farmer always likes that about his bride, she calls his dad father. "Yes. Heeee, um, went to pay the witcher for his services."

The young bride is surprised, she didn't know that father had money after the poor harvest they'd had, what with the locusts and all that. But oh isn't that a nice surprise, she thinks. "Well how generous of him. What a kind and giving man father is."

The young farmer puts his arm around his beautiful bride and pulls her in tight. "You know what my darling," he says, "it didn't seem like he minded in the least."

---the end

(and if any of you talented writers out there wants to write the sex scene, I would pledge my eternal friendship and love to you)

[dat-carovieh]

Be a good Puppy

Ship: Lambskier (Lambert/Jaskier)

Rating: E

Wordcount: 2.4k

Tags: Jaskier/Geralt/Lambert/Eskel implied, Puppy Play, Dom Jaskier, Sub Lambert, Shibari, Bondage, Collars, Cock Warming, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Praise Kink, Orgasm Denial, Frottage, Porn with Feelings, PWP, Smut

Read on AO3

Jaskier closed his book, a piece of paper between the pages so he would find his page again and put it down to his lap, as he heard the hesitant knock at the door. “Come in,” he called and the door opened slowly. Lambert took a step inside, looking to the ground.

“You wanted to see me,” he said, fidgeting with his hands. Jaskier took his time, taking the Witcher in. He was only wearing a black shirt and a pair of black leather trousers with his usual boots. The black hair that was usually slicked back was hanging into his face, freshly washed, the way Jaskier liked it. Lambert had probably done it, because of that. Jaskier had to force himself not to smile.

“Close the door behind you,” he said with a strict voice. Hastily Lambert did as he was told.

“Do you know, why I wanted to see you?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes.”

Jaskier raised and eyebrow.

“Yes, sir.”

“So, why are you here?”

“Because I was being an asshole and insulted you.” Jaskier nodded and waved him closer, Lambert immediately followed and stood in front of Jaskier, who had still propped his book on his crossed legs.

“And are you sorry?” he asked. Lambert nodded.

“Excuse me?” His voice now slightly raised.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry.”

“And are you ready, to prove, that you can get a good boy?”

“Yes, can be a good boy, want to prove it,” Lambert eagerly said.

“Good, get undressed and then bring me your collar and the rope,” Jaskier commanded with a dismissive wave of his hand towards the trunk. “And don’t forget to fold your clothes.”

“Yes, sir.” With a slight smile, Jaskier went back to his book, waiting for Lambert to finish.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement before him and looked up, Lambert was kneeling in front of him, completely naked, cock already half hard, in his hands the rope and collar, Jaskier had asked for. His own cock twitched a little in his trousers, but he ignored it for now. He moved his hands through Lamberts loose hair.

“Look, who can be a good puppy, if he just wants to,” he said with a smile. He took the collar and fastened it around Lambert’s neck.

“Is it to tight?” he asked. Lambert shook his head. “Words, puppy.”

“Not to tight,” he said. Jaskier put a finger under Lamberts chin and tilted his head up.

“Do you remember your word?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes, sir, White Gull,” Lambert answered.

“Good puppy.” Jaskier petted Lambert’s head and the Witcher closed his eyes. He took a moment to scratch the Witchers scalp. Lambert made a small humming sound at that.

Jaskier placed his book on the table next to the chair and got up, tugging on the leach, attached to the collar. “Come on, get up,” he said. Lambert hurried to obey. As they where standing, he pushed Lambert towards the middle of the room, grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. He took the rope, Lambert was still holding.

“Arms behind your back,” Jaskier commanded and Lambert moved his arms back, the forearms against each other and he grabbed the crook of his arms. Jaskier started to wrap the rope around the arms and made a knot, before he continued to wrap the rope around Lambert’s chest, making a couple of knots. Lambert was standing as still as possible. Jaskier knew it was nearly impossible for the Witcher to be completely still, so he ignored the little shaking of the body. He knew, he was trying really hard.

“Look at you, all wrapped up for me, like a present,” Jaskier said as he took him in. It truly was a beautiful sight. “Stay here,” he said and went to the bed to get a pillow. He put it down in front of the chair, then he led Lambert back to the chair and sat down. The Witcher didn’t need a prompt, he immediately dropped to his knees on the pillow.

“You know, the pillow means you will stay down there a while. Because I really need to finish that chapter, but I would really appreciate someone to warm my cock, while I do so. Can you do this?” Lambert looked at him with half lidded eyes.

“Yes, sir,” he said, his breath heavy, voice sounding excited. Jaskier opened his trousers and pulled out his already hard dick. Lambert licked his lips at the sight. He leaned forward to take the cock deep into his mouth. Jaskier moaned as he felt the hot warmth close around him. A tongue swirled around him. Jaskier grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

“No! I said cock warming, you will sit here with my cock in your mouth, not moving, until I tell you otherwise,” he scolded. “Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” Lambert whispered. Jaskier let go of his hair and Lambert leaned forward again, taking him deep into his mouth. Jaskier nodded and took his book from the table, to continue reading.

Lambert had his eyes closed; he didn’t notice anything around him. Only the taste of Jaskier’s cock, he was not allowed to lick and the smell of arousal coming from the bard. He had to constantly remind himself to not lick or suck it. He wanted it so badly. And the smell of Jaskier from where his nose was buried in the hair around the bard’s cock. His own cock was straining and he arched to be touched. Maybe Jaskier would grant him that, when he was being a good boy. So, he tried his best, not to move. He was still shaking, he couldn’t stop it, but Jaskier pretended it didn’t happen. It didn’t bother Lambert to much, he had never been able to sit completely still. And suddenly a hand came down, stroking his hair, he nearly moved his mouth but he was able to stop himself at the last moment. Some drool was leaking out of his mouth, but there was nothing to be done about it and Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. He was reading his book and petting his hair.

Lambert was thankful for the pillow under his knees, as much as he loved this position, his knees would be hurting like hell by know if he was kneeling on the hard floor. He felt at peace, not having to think about anything except not sucking the cock in his mouth, not having to worry. Not having to be on guard the whole time, knowing he was safe right now, a hand playing with his hair, he felt completely at ease.

After what felt like a long time but also not long enough, he felt a tug on his leach and opened his eyes, to look at Jaskier.

“Aren’t you a good puppy? I think you deserve a little treat,” the bard said with a smile. He didn’t know, what that treat would be but yes, he would love, whatever Jaskier would give him. He was pulled back from Jaskier’s cock and let out a small involuntary whine at the loss. His jaw arched from being strained for so long but he would love to taste him some more.

With a finger under his chin, Jaskier tipped his head up and smiled at him, he brushed his fingers over Lambert’s cheek. Then he got up, the leach in hand, pulling him up as well. It was not easy to get up with his arms tied behind his back but he managed, Jaskier holding the leach short was helping him as he steadied himself. He was slightly shorter than Jaskier and because they where standing so close, he had to look up a little. Jaskier didn’t say anything, he just pulled him through the room, Lambert followed obediently. Jaskier stopped at the wooden desk, pushed him against it and made him bend over. He felt really exposed like this, naked, bound, bent over a table and not able to see, what was happening. But he trusted Jaskier completely.

“Stay like this, don’t move, until I’m back,” Jaskier ordered and he heard him walk around. But he didn’t take long to return. Jaskier fisted into his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look at him.

“Did you prepare yourself, before you came?” he asked. Lambert nodded.

“Yes sir, I did.” He knew, Jaskier wanted him to do it himself before. But he always checked, to make sure he was alright.

“Good boy,” he said, letting go of the hair. A warm sensation was spreading through Lambert’s body at hearing the praise. Jaskier was holding a small ring in front of his face, Lambert knew it, they had used the penis ring before. He felt Jaskier’s breath next to his ear.

“We wouldn’t want you to come when you’re not supposed to, right? We don’t want to forget; you are here to apologize. And if you’re good, I might allow you to come afterwards,” he explained.

“Yes sir, I will be good, so good,” Lambert said, biting back a whine. His fingernails dug in his arms as he tried not to move. He wanted to be good for Jaskier. Jaskier reached around him and placed the ring around his straining cock. He couldn’t bite back a little whimper at the touch but he managed to stay still.

He heard a bottle being opened and then a slick noise. Jaskier was about to fuck him and he really had to contain himself to not shift on the desk in excitement. Jaskier was holding the leach short, so there was constantly a little pull that reminded him of the collar he was wearing. He felt Jaskier’s cock push against his hole before he pressed deep into him. Quick thrusts pressed him against the table, he felt his orgasm approaching but couldn’t come.

“Let me hear you, puppy,” Jaskier demanded, panting. His hand on Lambert’s hip was digging into the skin.

Lambert opened his mouth and let out a long and deep moan which made Jaskier thrust into him even harder.

“Yes please,” he whimpered. “Please more… harder… oh gods… please.” He so desperately wanted to come but he knew, he wasn’t allowed to. And he would not disappoint Jaskier. Jaskier’s deep moans made shivers run down his spine, he wanted to come but he also wanted to continue feeling him inside of him.

Jaskier’s breathing got heavier and his thrusts faster and harder and with a loud moan he came inside of him. Lambert could already feel the cum leaking out of him. Jaskier pulled back out and Lambert couldn’t stop himself from whining again at the loss. It had felt so good having Jaskier in him. Jaskier grabbed the rope and pulled him up again, spinning him around. They were standing close to each other.

“You did good, puppy. You will be allowed to come in a moment,” he promised with a smile. He leaned against the desk himself, half sitting on the edge. He reached down and took of the cockring.

“Get on you knees,” he ordered and Lambert dropped down immediately, maybe a little too fast, he immediately felt pain shooting through his legs. But he didn’t care right now. Jaskier extended his leg.

“You may get off on my boot,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” Lambert answered and moved closer, to get the leg against his arching cock. The cold, hard leather felt so good against his hot cock. Jaskier moved his fingers under his collar, to hold him in place. Lambert was thankful for that, since his hands where still bound to his back, so he couldn’t hold himself up too well. He looked up at Jaskier who gave him a small nod. More encouragement wasn’t needed for him to rut against the boot, finally finding the friction he had been craving. Getting closer to his release with every thrust.

“Come for me, puppy,” Jaskier rumbled. This was everything he needed and he spilled his release over Jaskier’s boot. Jaskier’s hand was in his hair again.

“Uh, I think someone made a mess, you should clean it up, don’t you think?” Jaskier said. Lambert nodded.

“Yes, of course,” he said and inched a little back so he could bend down. Jaskier had let go of the collar and was holding the leach again. Holding him up by it. Lambert felt a little choked and the sensation nearly got him hard again. It looked like Jaskier had just cleaned his boots previously, which Lambert was thankful for and Lambert dove in to quickly lick it clean again. When he was done, Jaskier took hold of the restraints and pulled him back to his feet.

“You did so good,” he said, as he began to loosen the knots. As good as it felt to be bound, the feeling of the ropes coming off were great and when his arms where released, he had to stretch them. Jaskier’s arm wrapped around him and he smiled at him.

“How do you feel?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Great,” Lambert answered, still lightheaded from their play.

“That’s good,” Jaskier answered. “Come let’s get you into bed.” Lambert dug his fingers into Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Are you…?”

“Yes, I’m coming with you, just need to get out of these clothes,” he explained and Lambert reluctantly let go of him. He turned around, getting into the big bed, pulling the blanked over himself and watched Jaskier getting undressed. He put his clothes neatly next to Lambert’s and the crawled into bed next to him. He pulled the Witcher into his arms and allowed him to settle his head on his chest. He seemed to fall asleep quickly.

A small knock at the door pulled Jaskier out of his thoughts. “Yes?” he said quietly, knowing there could only be a Witcher on the other side of the door who would hear him regardless. The door was pushed open and Geralt came in with a small smile, looking at them, cuddled together on the bed.

“Is he asleep?” Geralt asked.

“I think so,” Jaskier said, stroking the hair of the Witcher in his arms.

“He was a real little shit, today,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded. “True, but he is our little shit,” he answered. “Are you just going to stand there or are you coming to bed?”

Geralt quickly moved away from the door and got undressed as well, before crawling into the bed on the other side, putting his arm around Lambert.

“Is Eskel also coming?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm I think so, but he said something about looking after the goats, so he might be a bit later,” Geralt answered and closed his eyes.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Jaskier never makes promises. He literally never says the word “promise”, and he swears no oaths.

It’s a subtle quirk. It takes Geralt years to notice. When he points it out, Jaskier says with false levity, “I guess I don’t.”

From the bard’s body language, Geralt can see he doesn’t want to talk about it, so the topic is dropped.

Years later—after Geralt screams his fury at Jaskier—the bard says in a broken voice, “Don’t worry, Geralt. I promise not to bother you anymore.”

The promise sears itself onto Geralt’s soul like a brand. One made of chaos, and he can feel it become binding.

Geralt whips around, but Jaskier was gone.

There are a few moments of confusion before Geralt realizes what just happened. Jaskier had promised, and that promise was sealed with chaos. Only the Fae have such an ability.

YESSSSSSS i love this Geralt has to track down Jaskier and prove that Jaskier doesn't bother him, and thus the promise is still ringing true, even as they continue traveling together

[inexplicifics]

I wrote flash fic! The Cruelest Monsters is the next in the Volleyed and Thundered series:

...are men. Out on the Path, Eskel and Lambert encounter the Monstrum. And then they hear about its results.

[l13]

i love all the writing you’ve done on jonathan ohnn/the spot ITS AMAZING

but i just know that pre-collider spot is such a pervert towards reader like stalking her on social media legit screenshotting her posts and saving them to his phone… you post one picture of you in a bikini AND HES CUMMING IN HIS PANTS that man would do anything for you just to go out on one date with him or even notice him. (which i mean reader can clearly notice him by the way he always stares at her while at work, she just knows him as the “weird guy” at alchemax)

i'm gonna lose my miiiiiiiind

tw: LAZY WRITINGGG, f!reader, pervert!jonathan, m!masturbation, not proofread (it's 2am pls)

Not only is he stalking your socials daily, he's surprised when you greet him one day at work. He waves at you, but it's so awkward that he cringes.

He only goes at work outings just to see you all dressed up. He's glad that the places they go to are always packed, and that his blatant staring isn't obvious. He's literally sitting at the bar, alone, watching as you dance- a shy grin on his face as he sees you laugh with your head thrown back. Fuck, you were gorgeous.

If you guys ever worked on the same project while at the lab, he'd absolutely be losing his shit internally. He's seriously PANICKING.

Keeps side eyeing you as he pretends to work, but he really can't concentrate with you being in arms-reach at all times. Your perfume is clouding his brain, and he thinks that he needs to find out what brand it is and buy it, IMMEDIATELY. You say his name suddenly and his head snaps up to you as you start talking to him about smth work-related. Jonathan is nodding along to your words even though he's not hearing a single thing that's coming out of your mouth. He's too busy staring at the way your lips move as you talk.

"-but I don't know if that would be a good idea. What do you think?"

"Huh- 'm sorry what?" he's swallowing around nothing as he watches you chuckle softly, shaking your head, and he's scrambling to find something to say- throwing up a lame excuse of having a headache, anything to justify him acting like a caveman.

Literally replays the whole 3 second of this interaction in his head when he's home, and curses himself for being so pathetic.

The next day when he's still stuck working alongside you, (not that he minds in the slightest, it's just really, really hard for him to get any work done) you're invading his personal space, wanting to grab some papers that were left on his desk, and instead of going around him, you stretch and grab them from right next to him, and he swears he felt your tits brush against his arm-

that night he, once again, replays that day's interaction in his head, but this time he's whimpering while thinking about it, trying to remember the way you felt pressed against his arm even if it was for mere seconds.

He can't help but lower his briefs guiltily, biting his lip at the sight of his painfully hard cock. He wraps a hand around himself, closing his eyes shut, his mind immediately conjuring an image of you naked and panting for him-

"Fuh-fuck. Please fuck me, baby. Want y'so bad, shit-"

❥ weeks later ->

this might sound dumb BUT what if he's showing you smth on his phone and he goes to close the app, but when he does his social media is pulled up right next to that, your profile on display. Cold dread washes over him in a MILLISECOND, and he's yanking his hand back and away from you, closing all apps in lightning speed.

You're stunned, obviously. You wouldn't have thought anything of it, i mean checking someone's social media is not weird after all- but the way he reacted? That spoke volumes. And satisfaction pulls at your belly when you watch this man literally fight for his life. He's stuttering, readjusting his glasses constantly, even when he doesn't need to. And you're just sitting there watching him, trying to hide your smile by biting your lip softly.

"Jonathan.. d'you have anything to say to me?"

"What? N-no! Why would I?"

you shrug, "I dunno. You tell me,"

"Just, y'know.. I thought about following you since we work together 'n all..."

you hum, looking at him through your eyelashes, not believing him for a second, "Did you like my pictures?"

"What?!"

"You heard me,"

"Uh.. y-yeah. They were really nice."

Jonathan freezes when you scoot closer to him, one hand falling to his thigh "Yeah? S that what you do for fun, Jonathan? Stalk my profile?"

"No!-"

you click your tongue, leaning in to graze his ear with your teeth and he's shivering "Tell me the truth."

"Fuck... I.." his pretty lashes flutter when you squeeze his plush thigh, your hand inching dangerously close to his bulge-

You wait four more seconds, and when he still doesn't answer, your hand falls on the outline of his cock, and you're squeezing him over his pants. He moans, and you have to clamp a hand over his mouth to silence him bc of how loud he was. You were still at work, after all.

"Answer me, baby." you mutter against his jaw, and his eyes roll back as he whimpers, the sound muffled by your palm.

"Mffyesh- I do, fuck, I look at you all the damn time-"

You coo at that, starting to rub him over his pants "Yeah? I bet you touch yourself to my pictures too.. God, you're disgusting."

he nearly sobs, "I am, I am-! M sorry, just want you so bad- Please, I'm sorry- You're perfect, I couldn't help it,"

[j-harker]

Letter written by Geralt of Rivia, for Dandelion the Bard, while briefly travelling apart

Jaskier -

Toussaint is nice. Sunnier than expected. Ended up buying a hat, which looks ridiculous but does the job. I'll sketch it for you sometime, if it's gone by the time we meet up.

The market here was busy - made me feel itchy in a way I know you understand. I did find some good things however. Among other things, some beautifully handmade Gwent cards I'll gift Lambert next winter. The woman selling them didn't know their worth. If she hadn't been loudly agreeing with certain Redanian sentiments a moment earlier, I might've let her know.

One of the vendors sold me something deep fried and caked in more sugar than I've ever seen. My clothes were more white than black after eating that. It was amazing. Also, the bard playing in the town square's got nothing on you.

I miss you. So fucking much.

I keep turning to look at your reaction whenever I see something interesting, or hear something stupid, but you're not there. I miss your thoughts, your opinions, your laugh, your voice. I know we'll meet up soon, but. I think of you often. My stories aren't as fun when they're not our stories.

Yours,

Geralt