#pie watches the witcher

[kazz-brekker]

cahir on his knees holding ciri’s sword to his throat and asking her to kill him as punishment for everything he’s done sure is a Dynamic

[bimrwolf]

Healing Hands by the Fire

geralt of rivia x afab!reader words: 3,684 warnings: smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; squint and you may see a casual plot summary: Geralt visits Reader, a healer, with severe injuries. a/n: very out of my comfort zone. however, i promised my friend to write this as her christmas present because writing fanfics are my love language. good thing i know basic things about the witcher heheehe.

How did she always end up here? Months without a word or seeing him. She had accepted the peace. Only occasionally did she perk up when there was a knock on her door, secretly hoping it was him. But only one could be so lucky. Instead, it was travelers from all over the Continent who heard word of her abilities.

She couldn’t complain. Healing others in exchange for seeds, food, and sometimes money. Not that it was required for her service but she couldn’t complain about the gratuity.

In fact, she enjoyed helping others. However, it was nearing winter and there were less travelers. They were most likely home to prepare for the violent winter storms that damned the Continent. 

It was one of the first snow falls of the season. She had finished feeding the chickens and her horse Atticus. That was always her nighttime routine. Feed the animals, make some tea, study until all the tea is drunk, and finally get ready for bed. 

Some might think the routine would get tiring, but there was never any guarantee. It was the one consistent thing in her life at the moment. She was content. 

However, some nights, she heard the enchanted chimes outside that let her know someone was approaching. But before she made it to the door, it swung open, snow flurries drifted inside. The cold was sharp and pricked her nose, making her sniffle. 

In most cases she would be alarmed. There was no telling what creatures or people were harmless and which ones weren’t. She clutched the nearest thing to her— a broom that always gave her splinters when she used it. 

His snow white hair peeked from under his hood and she recognized the distinct low grumble that could be mistaken as a quake. He slowly closed the door, ensuring it was locked this time. “You startled me.” She said, releasing her grip from the broom, checking her hand for any loose wood. 

“You should keep the door locked. What if I was a dangerous man breaking in?” She played it off as a joke, not seeing the concerned look on his face. 

“Some might say you are dangerous.” She smirked. She never expected him to react to her jokes, but she could feel the warmth blanket around her when his shoulders relaxed. “Are you going to stand there all night?” 

He limped further into the cabin. She could see the snow melting on his cloak, dripping on her floor. “You made a mess,” she huffed. 

His head lifted and cat-like eyes met hers. It was known his abilities and job forced him to lack showing how he felt. But, she noticed right away how his eyes drooped that he was in pain. 

She ran towards him, immediately untying his cloak so that it dropped to the floor. She gasped at the large claw marks scratched into his chest. He could withstand most injuries but the cuts had broken past the many layers of skin. 

“Fuck, Geralt. What happened?” Her finger ghosted over the wound on his shoulder. Almost immediately he grabbed her wrist. But she didn’t pull away. 

“I’m starving.” He took a moment to look her up and down before letting go of her wrist and walking past her. 

Unbelievable. She scoffed and followed him into her den. “Are you serious? Geralt, you’re hurt and need to be healed before you get an infection.” 

“I smell meat pie. Do you have any to spare?” He left no time for her to answer. He grabbed the plate on a table and began to shove them in his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction. 

She wanted to be annoyed, but she had never seen him act this way. So instead she watched as he stuffed his face. He sat down slowly in a wooden chair. His large body mass made it creak, rocking it with the sound of the crackling fire. His spastic breathing mellowed out into a deep sigh.

He was definitely hurting from his wound but there was something else. She could sense that something was bothering him. Yet, she didn’t pry for an explanation. Instead, she let him watch the fire as she gathered her supplies of elixirs and jars. Then she picked up the pot full of water hanging above the fire and poured it into a bowl. The steam warmed her face that was still cold from earlier. 

“Are you still hungry? I think I only have bread.” She sat her things on the table next to him, but not looking in his direction. However, she could feel his piercing eyes watching her every single move. “If you’re not feeling like bread I can stay up and make you soup.” 

His hand flew to her wrist. She jumped, nearly knocking over a bottle with green shiny liquid. She turned her head slightly, sighing deeply. “It hurts,” Geralt mumbled. 

His wound was red, inflamed, and looked worse in the light. And if Geralt says it hurts then it was worse than she had imagined. “Take your tunic off while I prepare.” Although it was her giving the instruction, she couldn’t help the heat on her cheeks arise. Especially when he did what he was told. She had only seen his bare chest a handful of times, but each time made her stomach knot up. 

He took a heavy breath as he settled back into the chair, wincing when she placed a hot cloth on his open wound. His nails dug into the chair. His teeth clenched as he threw his head back. She couldn’t help but giggle. In return, he snapped his head to look at her, visibly annoyed. “What?” 

She swatted him for the rash reaction. “No need to be hot headed, Geralt. I was only laughing because I’ve never seen you act so dramatic.” 

“I’m not being dramatic,” he argued. He winced again when the cloth touched his skin once more. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the smirk she tried to hide from him, her hair covered her face. Not thinking, he took his finger and pushed it out of the way so he could see her more clearly. 

She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach or how her chest was breathing differently. She even tried to look away subtly but the only thing she could look at without being suspicious was his bare chest. “How’s Yennefer?” 

The change of subject was almost as if she had poured salt into his fresh wounds. He yanked his hand away and turned his head to face the fire, jaw ticked. She should’ve felt guilty for bringing up his on and off lover. Instead, she felt relieved his attention was no longer on her and probably wouldn’t be the rest of the night. 

That’s how it always went. He would get too close and right before she fell under his spell she would mention the other woman. She had only met the sorceress once. They neither liked or disliked one another. Yet, she could tell there would not be any attempts to go frollicking in a field like they were the best of friends. 

In some ways, she had been jealous of Yennefer– she was interesting and traveled the Continent and had fought in many wars. She was beautiful and cunning. Of course Geralt would pick her as a lover. 

“Ow.” Geralt grimaced, shifting in the chair. Her fingers were touching the wounds, and spreading them apart. “Are you about done? I’m tired.” 

She continued to inspect his wounds closely, having to push between his legs to get a closer look. “I have to ensure there are no severe damages so I know what to make.” His huff made her roll her eyes. She wanted to swat him for still acting like a child. “Whatever got you, got you good, eh?” 

He looked away then back at her, swallowing. “Yes, I suppose.” 

There was a beat of silence. Only the fire was popping. 

“I thought I was goin’ to die.” He said out loud in a low whisper. Almost like he didn’t want her to hear him.

She stopped briefly to look up at him. He was serious. “Well, fortunately whatever it was missed your heart by a hair.” She pointed to where his heart was and traced a line to the start of one of the scratches only millimeters away. She got up, leaving him with a witty smile as she started to pour the many different potions into a different bowl. 

“Me and Yennefer haven’t spoken in months,” he admitted. 

It was hard not to react, but she had never seen him willingly talk about the woman before. “Oh.” 

“We wanted different things I suppose,” he continued. “If it weren’t for Ciri’s letters, then I wouldn’t even know if she was still alive.” 

“You miss her?” It was meant to sound like a question, but it came across as a statement. 

He looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to miss someone.” 

“Are you not allowed or are you unsure you know what it’s supposed to feel like?” 

He didn’t answer. 

She walked back and found her place again between his legs. “Missing someone feels like always looking at the door when there’s a knock, and your heart skips a beat, hoping it’s them.” She dipped her finger in the cream she had made and started to apply it to the open wound. 

“I don’t live in a cottage with a door.” His hands creeped to his thighs so they brushed her as she moved. 

She finished with the first cut and moved onto the second, which was much deeper and longer. “Well, missing someone can also feel like wanting to cry even when you’re happy.” 

“You do know I have emotions?” He quizzed her. 

She smirked. “Of course I do. I was only trying to help you figure out if you miss Yennefer.” 

He hummed, running a finger over the first wound she had treated which was starting to already heal. His skin attaching itself together again. “I miss her, but not in the way you think I do.” 

“Then in what way?” She raised her brow, clearly confused as to what he meant. 

He didn’t answer her right away. “Not in the way I miss you.” 

The bowl in her hand nearly clattered to the floor. She froze, replaying the words over and over as if she hadn’t heard him. Did Geralt really admit to missing her? No, he doesn’t actually mean it. He was messing with her. “That’s not funny.” Her breath was shaky. In fact, her hands were shaky too as she tried to continue healing him. 

“Did I make a joke?” His tone was unwavering. He placed his hand on her warm cheek, brushing his thumb over her soft flesh. He had never touched her so intimately like he was now. 

She shook her head, using her free hand to brush him away, focusing on the rest of his injuries. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delusional.” 

“I thought your potions helped with that?” 

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, before averting them back to the bowl. She swooped the last of the cream on her finger and spread it slowly over the last scratch. The others had closed up but one could make out the red scar. “Those will go away in due time,” she mumbled. 

As she tried to get up he caught her arm, standing up with her, and in doing so their chests were against one another. He could feel her heavy breathing. And she could feel the warmth from his body electrifying hers. 

“I should go make your bed. You need to rest.” She tried to walk away but his grip never left her arm. “Geralt.” 

He took the bowl from her hands and placed it back on the table. “How much longer will you deny it?” 

She swallowed the gasp that had almost escaped her, shaking her head. “What do you mean?” Finally, she had pulled away but made no efforts to leave the room, only stepping back to make space between them. And of course he could probably read her like an open book while she only had his stoic expressions to decipher. He opened his mouth, but closed it, sighing loudly. “Thank you, Y/n.” 

Her face softened. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you. In fact, I don’t know what I would do without you.” His jaw slacked, watching her intensely. 

She could feel the pull, like a magnet, all too familiar when it came to Geralt. Normally, she had to ignore it. But at that moment, it felt like a boiling pot of water, steaming and bubbling, unable to contain itself. And as she looked into his piercing eyes, the knot in her stomach told her it was time to say something. “Geralt.” Her voice was above a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” His expression never faltered. 

She shifted her feet, uncomfortable. “I… I um… I’m making oat porridge in the morning.” She had decided it was best to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll go prepare your room.” 

His yellow eyes narrowed, searching for hers. She knew he was watching the emotions swirl through her mind. She knew that he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to say to him. “No.” He was assertive and the growled vibrations dragged along her back like a dagger, giving her chills. 

Ignoring the goosebumps along her arms, she ran her hand over her face. “What do you want me to say?” She felt like a twig that had snapped. “Why are you being mean? You stand there forcing a confession out of me. A confession you will never get because there’s nothing to say.” Her tears burned in the corner of her eyes. She hated how foolish she looked in front of him. Crying and blubbering because he decided to dig deeper. 

They had a routine. He would knock on the door and she would heal his wounds. Their deep conversations were rare, and sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all. Sometimes he would leave in the morning without a word. So why must this time be any different than the others? 

“You’re angry.” 

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m angry.” Unable to face him, she turned to look at the fireplace, shaking her head. “That’s the most frustrating part of all of this. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m angry that I don’t see you for months with no word if you’re even alive. I’m angry that you show up when I’m missing you the most.” Her eyes caught his, her nostrils flared. She had had enough of it, storming up to him and putting a finger against his bare chest. “I’m angry that you sit there and touch me and talk to me like we’re lovers. I’m angry that you won’t go to someone else for help. Because I can’t do it anymore, Geralt. I can’t do it.” 

And there it was. Years worth of bubbling water, spilling over the pot and all over the floor. She had made a mess that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to clean up. 

Geralt’s jaw ticked, his eyes scanning her face. “You wish to not see me anymore? Would that be easier?” 

Her finger fell slowly from his chest. Her voice trembled. “It’s easier than caring about you.” 

Geralt brought his hand up slowly to her cheek, brushing his knuckle against a tear. “I am angry at you too,” he whispered. Her brows furrowed, unsure what he meant. “I told you I have feelings too. Yet, you assume I don’t. You assume I don’t care about you either.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you?” 

“Why do you think I keep coming back?” His jaw slacked. 

The tension between them was thick and palpable. She wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Her heart was torn. Even with the confession, there was no guarantee. He was a Witcher with responsibilities that were not suitable for the life she wanted. She pushed it away, cracking a smile. “Are you saying that you got injured on purpose? So you could see me?” 

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth flickered, leaning his head down towards her. 

“You could’ve died.” She stepped closer to him, tracing her finger of his scars, looking at his lips.

“But I didn’t.” He said against her mouth, finally closing the gap between them. 

He wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, deepening the kiss. It was gentle but fierce, full of longing and tension that had been built up along the years. It tasted like all the warm tea she had made for him over time. 

When she moaned, Geralt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, gliding it tenderly and carefully against hers, groaning in satisfaction. He somehow managed to pull her closer as if their bodies weren’t already meshed together.

It was her who broke away first, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving from the heavy kiss. Geralt’s eyes had turned black, his senses heightened, craving more. 

Without a word, she unbuttoned her blouse, freeing her chest as she dropped it to the floor. She kissed Geralt again on the mouth, his neck, and then his chest. She whispered in his ear, “I think I should go prepare your room now.” 

He nodded, allowing her to take his hand to lead him to her room, rather than the room up in the attic that her guests normally stayed in. It was full of knick knacks and books scattered. Her bed was unmade, but neither one of them cared. 

She pushed him on the bed, straddling his lap, peppering kisses all over his chest. If she was smart, she would savor all of it– every kiss and touch. But fuck all of it. She had waited too long to savor it.  She grinded herself against his hardness, smiling against his ear when she felt him jump through his trousers. Something had told her it was too long for him too. 

The rest of their clothes had found a new place on the floor of her bedroom. She was now laying down, Geralt hovered over her, his chain dangled over her face, and his hands roamed over her bare body as she whimpered under his touch. His lips attacked her neck, trailing down her body, relishing every inch. 

“Geralt,” she mewled. 

She felt the vibrations of his chuckle, revitalizing her, the warmth between her legs now ached. “Yes?” He came back towards her mouth, placing a life-wrecking kiss on it. 

She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.” 

“Mm, I don’t think I do,” he teased. His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding, taunting her. 

She thrusted her hips upwards, forcing friction against her swollen clit, gasping when he slid a finger in her. “I need you.”

The pitiful look in her eyes convinced him enough to give her what she wanted. And because any longer, he felt like he would combust. Geralt pushed her legs apart and then guided his girthy length to her entrance, sliding it in slowly. 

She gasped as he sunk deeper inside her, finally able to marvel all of her. It was sweet like the honey she snuck in his tea. Rich like the pastries she packed in his knapsack whenever he left in the mornings, without saying goodbye because he was afraid he would never leave if he saw her golden smile in the mornings. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough to never come back. 

At first, his thrusts were slow and tender, slipping so deep that his tip reached as far as it could. She gripped his shoulders, nails forming crescents, back arching as he picked up the pace. She wanted to hug him with her thighs, but his hands were sure to keep them open and spread for him. 

The sounds of their sticky skin crashing together blended with their moans and grunts, forming a delectable melody. She pulled him into an open-mouth sloppy kiss, humming. The bed rattled beneath them, his pace was dangerously close to cracking the frame. 

In a swift move, he pulled her up, so that she was straddling him. Their bare chests flushed together, her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering as she bounced on his cock. “I’m… fuck,” she breathed, unable to make the words as it hit her sweet spot. 

“Me too.” He slightly pushed her shoulders back, wanting to see her. His palm cradled her face, swallowing the thickness stuck in his throat. He knew he looked destroyed. He didn’t show how he felt often, but the pent up tension over the year had finally arisen. 

“G…Geralt!” She shouted as her walls closed around him, releasing her orgasm around him, resting her forehead on his chest as he continued to move her up and down. She clutched onto him as if she was about to float away. 

He threw his head back as his cock twitched, finishing, He thrusted through his climax, panting as he slowed to a halt. His senses were still high and could hear the fire still crackling in the den. He could feel her breathing still rugged and hot, sticking to his chest. 

She couldn’t see it but Geralt let a small smile briefly appear as he stroked her bare back. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his snow-white hair. “Will you stay one more night?” 

He tilted his head, brows knitted together. “Are you still angry with me?” 

A mischievous glimmer crossed her eyes. “If I am, does that mean you’ll stay?” 

He snickered, placing a peck on her lips, lingering, scared if he were to break away she’d disappear. 

Angry or not, he was going to stay one more night.

[gemsofgreece]

People are saying why are racists commenting on the live action of How to train your dragon because they race swapped a female lead.

It's always the same comments "it's a fantasy movie, chill" "stop hating on the characters". Well dear Karen i wouldn't mind if Disney wasn't so obviously greedy. They defend a corporation αν είναι δυνατόν-

The movies are supposed to be about Vikings myths so of course all the characters in the original animation looked like Vikings. They think people are hating on the actors? No the studios are the problem 😭

Same with the Witcher on Netflix. In which the series was based on a POLISH BOOK. And guess what? Zero Polands and the material was ruined to make it the next Game of thrones.

Some things like dragons and monsters existed and meant something to these cultures, but of course they always think progress is more skin colour than cultural heritage.

I don’t know what other ways I can come up to explain to them that I and all who agree would 100000 times over watch a show taking place in Africa with African characters about African heritage than one about a race bent Viking in which Nordic culture becomes like a pop culture pie anyone can take a piece from because ✨visibility✨🤡

Visibility is showing the heritage of those who are neglected and showing heritage accurately.

(Also you gotta love them calling everyone racist when they are almost certainly the ones who spend the most time thinking about skin colour globally. Fellows do I have news for you )

Another thing, many of these projects that based on the plot would need white / white-passing actors inexplicably race bend one character and the rest remain accurate. What does this tell you? That creators only do this to be “approved” and play the “look I got the diversity too!” card and not because this is the way they envision their work. Otherwise, they would have a cast where everyone is diverse, people from all the parts of the world, and not 20 north European looking actors and one inexplicable African-American, for example.

It’s really so hypocritical, I can’t believe people eat it up…

[blooms-in-april]

The front door slams open, the wreath swinging and everyone looks up. A man steps in.

“Jaskier!” Ciri cries. The little girl tears herself free from her father’s arms, making grabby hands at the newcomer’s blue coat. Geralt looks as if he’s taken too large a bite out of a pie and gotten it lodged in his throat.

“Your highness!” Jaskier says, doffing his hat and swinging his lute off his shoulder. He sweeps past both Geralt and Lambert without a glance, crouching to his knees at Ciri’s level. His calloused fingers strum a jaunty tune to the rhyme of Ciri’s excited bouncing.

“Princess Cirilla! An honor to be at your service.” He makes a dramatic bow, letting her paw at his feathered hat, his hair, his beard.

“I’m a lion, Jaskier!” she says, pointing a grubby finger at her drawn on whiskers and nose.

“And so you are,” he says, as if the ridiculous declarations of children were the most obvious and sensible things in the world. “Princess Ciri, the Lion Cub of Cintra! I’ll have to write a song about that.”

“A song!” Ciri’s eyes grow wide. Jaskier smiles.

“At least! Perhaps I can get a whole song cycle out of it, how does that sound?”

“Can I have my sword in it?”

“You can have two swords in it, if you want. Three swords. As many swords as you like!”

Ciri squeals and leaps into his arms, his arms circling her gently, careful not to crush her princess dress. Lambert watches something in Geralt’s face crumple quietly.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, and Jaskier looks at him from over Ciri’s shoulder.

“Geralt.” he responds cautiously, in a tone Lambert has never heard from him before. In all the years he’s watched the bard trail in his brother's wake, singing praises, never once has he heard a cautious word from him. And yet, here it is. “How are you, lately?”

“I-” and Lambert would laugh, watching Geralt chew and swallow his words rather than spit them out, if it didn’t make something hard lodge in his own throat. “I’m- glad you could make it.”

Jaskier waits, for a beat, two, as if expecting something more. Geralt says nothing.

Jaskier smiles, a thin wan little thing. “Well, I could hardly miss it, could I? Being properly invited after some many years of simply crashing the thing,” he says lightly, looking around at the blinking lights, the molting tree, the tinsel worn after being reused year after year. “You’d think it’d be different, after it all, but it seems everything is just the same as always.” There is a quick sharp glance, like broken glass.

Geralt opens his mouth, pauses, shuts it. Opens, and shuts again.

Jaskier turns back to Ciri and her excited song suggestions as if they are the only two people in the world, letting her lead him off into the corner to inspect the presents under the tree. Geralt sits stupidly on the carpet, as if he’s been shoved through a portal and left nauseous on the other side, with no idea of where he is and how to get back.

Now Lambert does laugh, a short sharp bark of a thing.“What the fuck was that?”

Geralt says nothing, only heaves himself up and stalks into the kitchen without a word.

Excerpt from my angsty modern AU Geraskier Lambden Lamskier fic. Link below 👇

[junemermaid]

Writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

1. "He won't be coming back. You know that, don't you?" Xia Dong spoke behind Mu Nihuang. (Flowers in Dreamland Weather, Nirvana in Fire, Mu Nihuang x Xiao Jingyan x Mei Changsu, ot3 porn that grew a backstory)

2. This is the story: in the holy heart of the world, a heretic kneels down, and entreats the exalted dead for power. (Servant of the Spiral, Shadowhunters, Alec x Magnus, SH/Final Fantasy X fusion)

3. On the day that is going to define the rest of his life, Alec jerks awake to the gentle chiming of his phone and proceeds to fall off the couch. (Talking With Strangers, Shadowhunters, Alec x Magnus, university AU w/ fake marriage)

4. Magnus stepped off the coach onto the grizzled asphalt of the tiny bus station and thought, not for the first time, You're out of your head, Bane. And the next bus service out of this place is the day after tomorrow. (The Stair Into the Sea, Shadowhunters, Alec x Magnus (& Maia), The Novel about ghosts and lighthouses and second chances)

5. Magnus stepped out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel, anticipation prickling his throat. (the black honey of summer, Shadowhunters, Alec x Magnus, porn with a tender D/s vibe)

6. Far across the ocean, in a kingdom whose name is lost to time, there lived a young prince. (The Underwater Heart, SH, Alec x Magnus, fairytale AU)

7. Isabelle has a problem. Like a not insignificant number of her problems, it starts with a kiss. (Bramble, SH, Clary x Isabelle, canon divergent first kiss w/ complications)

8. Magnus weaves through the crowd, a tin mug held high in each hand. Alec watches his progress as he ducks around a server with a flourish of apology, a quick, glittering smile. (From the Green Shadows, SH, Alec x Magnus, SH/The Witcher fusion)

9. Magnus collapses into the pillows with sticky, boneless satisfaction, limbs going every which way. Alec presses a damp kiss on his brow. "Be right back." (is it bright where you are, SH, Alec x Magnus, tough pillow talk)

10. On his thirtieth day as a lightkeeper, Alec woke to find a girl in the parking lot. (The Birthday of the Sea, SH, Alec & Maia, side story to The Novel)

God, I really haven't written much in the last few years. The oldest of these was posted four years ago! (The counterpoint is that I have several long-running longfics right now, which means a smaller number of stories.)

I think these show I tend to start in medias res, or else with a distinct image or line—the hook, as it were. I am also amused that two of these have Alec waking up, and a whopping four start with Magnus and some kind of movement. The two fantasy/fairytale stories pull back a bit to establish worldbuilding and backstory first.

Overall, this is a reminder to finally rewatch Shadowhunters and get serious about finishing at least some of my WIPs in that fandom. Had I but world enough and time.

Tags for: @electricshoebox, @lynne-monstr, @faejilly, @neekerbreeker, @pikkugen, @sleepsonclouds, @lightwormsiblings, @frudence, @vaynglories, @circumference-pie

[wretchedanddivinee]

a witcher drabble from jask's POV, i wish he had held more anger for geralt tbh so this is that, i might expand on it (probably, at some point) [future geraskier, not canon compliant + non-human jask]

contempt

ire

wrath

fury

lividity

rancor

indignation

r a g e

You would think being Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, Jaskier would be able to find more than mere words to describe the deep-seated ache in his chest, the fire that ran through his vein. After all it was the only thing that was keeping him going in this god forsaken war.

What kind of fucking idiot leaves their supposedly human best friend on the top of a possibly monster ridden mountain after 22 years on and off by his side.

The answer was simple, apparently, Geralt of fucking Rivia.

And Jaskier knows okay, he knows that Geralt didn't really mean anything he said on that thrice damned mountain, and with Nilfgard sniffing around the continent, he has a pretty good guess as to where he is.

Knowing, doesn't excuse each word that hit like a physical blow because Geralt wasn't emotionally regulated enough to ask for space when he needed it.

Knowing, doesn't excuse the lack of apology and contact for four years, not until Geralt deigned to grace him with his presence because he needed something.

Not anything for Jaskier himself, but for Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. (Melitele rest Queen Calanthe's weary soul.)

Jaskier could never hold the anger and hurt he feels when he looks at Geralt against the princess.

Yet when he watches Geralt open up and become something almost approaching verbose and gentle, he wants to. He aches with the weight of the last twenty six years.

Because Geralt could do that so easily within four years for a child that the destiny he spat vitriol at and claims to hate, gave him.

And all Jaskier gets is brush offs, he got "I'm not your friend.", "I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.", "like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling."

So the truth isn't that Geralt doesn't know how to be better, the truth is that Geralt was unwilling to be better for Jaskier.

The truth is for Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier simply wasn't worth the effort, whether that be because he thought Jaskier interpreting the little he is willing to say accurately as enough of a basis for a good relationship or because he simply didn't want to try was up in the air.

Either way, where does that leave Jaskier but once again abandoned (emotionally this time), and alone.

__________________

Apparently that leaves him on a journey to take Geralt's child surprise, who mind you knows nothing about him, up another forsaken mountain to Kaer Morhen.

The Witchers Keep.

Where he is one hundred percent certain he will find that no Witcher, friend or family will know anything about him in relation to Geralt, outside of possibly the songs he sings of the White Wolf.

What a load of bollocks.

[nemainofthewater]

Thank you for tagging me @howlingmoonrise! I will also emulate you and put my answers under the cut as I concur that this is Long

1. why did you choose your url?

I read a series of books called the Boudica series by Manda Scott at a formative age, and when I needed to pick a username I chose Nemainofthewater and have remained that on the internet ever since

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them.

None! I have been considering it for all the polls i do, but I think it's too late now

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

Since 2018 I think? Maybe 2019

4. do you have a queue tag?

Nope! But i queue pretty much everything nowadays, it's so convenient!

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

I wanted to take part in Magicians challenges, and they were all being run on tumblr

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I wrote a moderately famous Witcher fic and Nicocha did me adorable art of dragon!Jaskier and his sister Saskia. They have (with permission) been my pfp ever since

7. why did you choose your header?

It was Hamilton for ages, but recently I changed it to NiF. MAinly because i felt it's more representative of my blog nowadays and because Lin Chen and MCS' relationship is my JAM

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

I don't know. Probably the 'what were you before you cultivated to human form' poll which massively escaped containment

9. how many mutuals do you have?

I have no idea. is there somewhere you can check?

10. how many followers do you have?

757

11. how many people do you follow?

303

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

oh yeah for sure. I can't remember it tho

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

Too often, next question

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

No, i've never had one and i dread every having one.

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

It makes me less likely to reblog it

16. do you like tag games?

I do! but i'm bad at remembering to play when i've been tagged

17. do you like ask games

I do! and i'm more likely to remember to do them because the askbox is more visible

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

No idea. Maybe @foxofninetales?

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

No

20. what is the last song you listened to?

I was listening to Anastasia the musical on the train ont he way home, so Quartet at the Ballet

21. what are you currently watching?

Side Story of Fox Volant with @thebansacredbanned and @luzzeagain. I highly recommend!

22. sweet/ savoury/ spicy?

I can't choose, I crave different things at different times

23. what is your current relationship status?

single

24. what is your current obsession?

sleep, but also pretty fabric (just finished a longterm thing where i rewarded myself with fancy fabric, and now the project is done it's time to make things!)

25. what are nine albums/ songs you've been listening to lately?

I basically have a 30+ hour playlist that I made that i just listen to over and over again

Thanks again for the tag @howlingmoonrise, it was super fun! Tagging @thebansacredbanned, @merinnan, @tavina-writes, @robininthelabyrinth,

@jaimebluesq, @circumference-pie, @sinni-ok-sessi, and anyone else who wants to play

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Loves Me Knot

This is a fic I wrote for @witcher-bows-and-arrows... and then totally forgot to post for two weeks. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day, everyone! This is set in the same AU as Knot On My Watch and Sorry Knot Sorry.

Prompt: Mate

Rating: E

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Warnings: omegaverse, explicit sexual content

Word count: 5K

Summary:  It’s been half a year since Jaskier last saw Geralt at the fateful banquet in Cintra—after which Jaskier made the mistake of asking Geralt to be his mate and Geralt ran away. So he’s taken off guard when Geralt bursts into his office in Oxenfurt and tells Jaskier that they need to mate right away to help him catch a katakan targeting omegas.

You can read it below or find it on AO3!

***

“This isn’t a bad composition, per say,” Jaskier tells the fidgety young man sitting across the desk from him, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he can. “It’s just very close to the last assignment you did for this class.”

“But you gave me top marks on that one, professor!” Piotr says, overwrought as only a first year getting his first less-than-stellar grade can be.

Jaskier sighs and reaches across the desk to pat the lad reassuringly on the hand. Teaching at Oxenfurt year-round, rather than just for the winter term, seemed like a good idea months ago. He thought it would give him time to rest, as well as providing him and Geralt with a bit of a much-needed break from each other after the disaster in Cintra. But he doesn’t have to deal with tearful first years on Path.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “Because it was a lovely song the first time you submitted it. But this was your final assignment of the term and it just isn’t—”

The door of Jaskier’s office bursts open, ricocheting off the wall. Piotr lets out a shriek of surprise, then shrieks again when Geralt comes striding in. Geralt looks distinctly worse for wear, Jaskier notices, his armor worn and his face pinched in that way it gets when he hasn’t been getting enough rest. He looks like he’s lost weight and Jaskier tamps down on that old urge to protect and provide, because Geralt made it pretty damn clear that wasn’t what he wanted from him.

“Professor!” Piotr squeals, holding up his composition like he thinks it will shield him from a witcher.

“Calm down, Piotr.” Jaskier rises to his feet, opening his mouth to ask Geralt what the fuck he’s doing here after all this time.

Geralt beats him to it. “Jaskier, I need you to mate with me.”

Piotr squeaks. Jaskier wonders if the fish pie he had for lunch was bad and is making him hallucinate. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Excuse me?” he finally asks when he finds his voice.

Geralt’s golden eyes have a slightly wild look to them. “I need you to mate with me,” he says again.

Jaskier stares at him for a long moment, then turns to Piotr. “Piotr, office hours are done for the day. Why don’t we chat tomorrow after class?”

Wide-eyed, Piotr rises to his feet, looking between Geralt and Jaskier. “Er, congratulations?”

“Good day, Piotr,” Jaskier says firmly, already anticipating the wild rumors that are sure to have spread by the end of the day. He watches as Piotr edges by Geralt, then says, “Hello, Geralt.”

Geralt steps inside, letting the door close behind him. “Will you do it?”

“I’m doing well, thank you.” Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at his lover. Or his former lover? He’s not sure, to be honest. It’s not like Geralt officially ended their love affair, but he did tell Jaskier that he would never be his mate before leaving him alone in Cintra. “Classes have been going well and I forgot how beautiful Oxenfurt is in the spring. I would ask how you’re doing, but given that you look like shit, I already know the answer to that. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Ten days ago,” Geralt says. “There’s a katakan that’s been killing newly mated omegas. The only way to catch it is to make myself bait.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Of course Geralt doesn’t want to mate with him because he loves him or wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Of course it’s just because of witcher business. “Come on, I’m not having this conversation while you look half dead on your feet, nor where any of my students or colleagues could walk by. Let’s go back to my lodgings.”

***

Geralt can’t stop watching Jaskier as the bard moves around the kitchen of his Oxenfurt townhouse, preparing a tray of crackers, salted meat, and cheese, even though Geralt has told him multiple times that he’s fine. Geralt has wiped himself down with the soap and basin of water Jaskier brought him and changed out of his armor. He should feel relaxed, but the knot of tension hasn’t left his shoulders.

Jaskier looks just like he did when they parted ways in Cintra six months ago. He smells the same, moves the same, talks the same. But there’s a distance there that wasn’t there before. He holds himself a little differently, like he’s bracing himself. Geralt doesn’t like it, even though he knows that there’s no one to blame for the distance but himself.

Walking away from Jaskier in Cintra before the foolish alpha bound himself for life to Geralt out of obligation seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But now here Geralt is, asking Jaskier to bind himself for life anyway, because Geralt will always want more than he should when it comes to Jaskier.

“Here you go.” Jaskier puts the plate down in front of Geralt, as well as a mug of ale. “Eat.”

Geralt doesn’t actually remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t jerky or hardtack, so he takes a piece of cheese with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Jaskier watches him eat for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He smells unhappy and Geralt hates it. “Why are you here, Geralt?”

Geralt finds he can’t look at him. “There’s a katakan in Denesle that’s killed a half dozen omegas, all within days of them being mated. I remember Vesemir telling me about something like this a few years back. If it’s the same katakan he told me about, she’s been popping up every two or three years for decades. She’ll spend a month or so killing every newly mated omega she can find, then she’ll vanish and pop up on the other side of the Continent years later. I need to find her and kill her before she disappears again.”

“And so you want to make yourself bait?”

“Too dangerous to use anyone else as bait.”

“Oh, of course.” Jaskier’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Your heat isn’t for months, Geralt.”

“Got a potion in Novigrad to induce heats.”

Jaskier’s lips pinch like he’s tasting something sour. “What happened to ‘witchers don’t take mates? Witchers spend their lives alone?’” He pitches his voice lower, like he always does when he’s imitating Geralt.

Geralt is hit with the sudden, vivid memory of Jaskier standing outside of the Cintran palace, looking up at Geralt with an uncertain smile.

“You don’t have to walk away from this,” Jaskier said at the time. “Look, it’s about time you made an honest alpha out of me. We can mate. We can be a family, us and your child of surprise. Hell, we can settle down in Cintra so she can still see Calanthe, Duny, and Pavetta. They have a university here, even if it’s no Oxenfurt. We can have a house with a garden and a stable for Roach. We can have a life together, Geralt, away from the Path.”

And Geralt told him no and rode away, because he wouldn’t stick Jaskier with his mistakes. Jaskier, who was always so careful not to knot any of his lovers except Geralt and who drank a tea to make himself less likely to father a child. Jaskier, who didn’t want to be a father any more than Geralt did. Jaskier, who had given up his whole life to walk the Path with Geralt. Geralt hadn’t intended to ask more of him, not until the katakan forced his hand.

“I wouldn’t ask this of you,” Geralt says stiffly. “But people are dying and more will die if I don’t stop this thing. Her last victim was killed on his wedding night. His new wife stepped outside to use the outhouse and came back to find her husband dead in their bed.”

He closes his eyes against the memory of the young alpha’s anguished face. He knows she’ll carry the guilt of not having been able to protect her omega for the rest of her life, even if there’s nothing she could have done.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, like he’s picking each word carefully. “Mating is for life.”

“I know. Like I said, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t the only thing I could think of.”

“You found the idea of becoming my mate so repellant six months ago that you left me alone in Cintra. Do you know how angry Calanthe was about the whole Law of Surprise thing? I had to talk my way out of ending up in the stocks. I’m pretty sure the only reason I didn’t was because Pavetta talked her mother out of it.”

“Fuck.” Geralt’s gaze flicks anxiously over Jaskier, but he doesn’t see any signs of injury.

Jaskier smiles tightly. “I’m fine, but I’m under orders to never return to Cintra and to tell you to do the same. I don’t think the Lioness of Cintra will be spreading the word about my triumphant performance at the wedding, I’m afraid to say.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt knows it’s inadequate, but he doesn’t know what else he can say to make this right. He should never have come to Jaskier about this, he realizes. He has no right to ask his bard for something this big. Abruptly, he stands up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll find someone else.”

“Someone else?” Jaskier stares at him with the same incredulity as when Geralt appeared in his office. “Someone else to mate?”

Geralt nods. It won’t be easy to find an alpha willing to mate a witcher omega, but maybe he can find an alpha in Denesle willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of more omegas’ lives. It’s not like he’ll make the poor fucker endure his company after the mating.

“No.” A growl enters Jaskier’s voice and Geralt goes still, some latent instinct snapping to attention. “You’re not just going to go out and offer your neck to the first knothead that comes along.”

Geralt swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “I told you, I need to mate someone if I’m going to lure the katakan out.”

“Then I’ll fucking do it.”

“But—”

“You say people are dying.” Jaskier sets his jaw stubbornly, in a way that reminds Geralt of the first time that the bard told him that he was coming with him and Geralt could try to leave him behind as many times as he wanted, but Jaskier would always catch up to him. “And if the choices are innocent omegas being slaughtered in their wedding beds, you finding some random alpha to mate you, or me giving you a mating bite, then it’s no choice at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells him.

Jaskier smiles tightly. “When do we leave for Denesle?”

***

Jaskier knows that Geralt hates being knotted in unfamiliar places. They’ve split his heats between the heat rooms at the Temple of Melitele and the lovely omega spas in Toussaint since that first unexpected heat in the middle of Velen. He can see the tension in his omega as Geralt paces around the room at the inn, already reeking of pre-heat. It’s a perfectly fine room, probably one of the nicer ones where they’ve stayed during their travels, with a comfy mattress, plenty of bedding for a nest, and a sturdy lock on the door.

“I don’t know why you’re fussing,” Jaskier finally tells Geralt, because the pacing is setting his nerves on edge. “The whole point is us not being safe here, right?”

Geralt turns to frown at him, looking a little hurt. “I want you safe. As soon as we’re mated, I’ll go take a walk and hope the katakan smells me.”

“Fucking and running, Geralt?” Jaskier asks with a levity he doesn’t feel. “You cad.”

That only makes Geralt’s frown deepen. “I told you—”

“I know, you wouldn’t be doing this if you had a choice.” Jaskier turns away so he doesn’t have to look at Geralt’s face. “You have made that abundantly clear, my dear. You don’t have to worry about me getting any romantic notions.”

“Why are you doing this then?”

“Because you need my help and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” Jaskier says. “We’ve known each other for over a decade, Geralt. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Geralt is quiet for a moment before he says, “Of course I know that.” He doesn’t say it like he thinks it’s a good thing.

“Then why do you keep not letting me?” Jaskier whirls on him.

Geralt looks away, jaw tight. “We should get started. This potion works fast. My heat will be over within the hour.”

It says a lot about Jaskier’s emotional state that he didn’t notice the sweet scent of Geralt’s pre-heat growing deeper and muskier, nor the flush to his skin or the sweat starting to dampen his brow. His cock, luckily, has taken notice; it’s already half-hard in his breeches. He supposes for this to work, only his knot has to be in the mood for what comes next.

“Alright,” he says, trying to sound at least a little enthusiastic, and closes the distance between them. Without preamble, he takes Geralt’s face in his hands and kisses him. Geralt stiffens, like he wasn’t expecting to be kissed, before relaxing into the touch. His skin is hot to the touch. This, at least, is familiar. Jaskier tries to focus on the warmth of Geralt’s skin against his, the scent of his growing heat, the taste of his mouth. He tries to let his mind go blank.

And then Geralt pulls back. “Stop.” His voice rings with the note of tension it normally only carries when he’s spotted a danger in the woods.

Jaskier jerks away as if he’s been slapped, blinking in confusion. “What’s wrong?” He looks around, half-expecting to find the katakan lurking in the corner, but there’s nowhere for a giant bat to lurk in the tiny room.

Geralt shakes his head, taking another step back. “I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry. I never should have come to you.”

“Do what to me?”

“I’ll find another way to get the katakan.” Geralt is still moving backwards, like Jaskier is a beast who may lunge. “There has to be a better way.”

Jaskier lets out a laugh that sounds hysterical to his own ears. “Is the idea of being my mate so repulsive that you’d rather let people die?”

Geralt mutters something that Jaskier doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” Jaskier advances on him, because he worries that if he’s not standing between Geralt and the door, the witcher will slip off into the night, never to be seen again.

“I can’t sacrifice your well-being,” Geralt grits out. “I won’t. You matter too much.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, a furious reply on the tip of his tongue, before Geralt’s words catch up to him. “What do you mean, my well-being?”

Geralt looks at him like he can’t believe how obtuse Jaskier is being. “In Cintra, you were ready to tie yourself to me for life because I’d made a dumbass mistake. I couldn’t let you give up your life for me.”

Jaskier stares at him. “Geralt, do you think I only asked you to be my mate because of the child of surprise?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I asked you to be my mate because I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen years old and there’s no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

“You said you wanted to settle down,” Geralt says. “I know you. You love life on the road. You really want to spend the rest of your life in Cintra?”

“Well, that ship has sailed, as if either of us ever return to Cintra, our lives are forfeit,” Jaskier says. “But yes, if it meant you having a relationship with your child of surprise, I was willing to settle down. But we can be mates without having a cottage somewhere. I’ll be your mate anywhere on the Continent. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because you never brought it up before Cintra.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d say yes before Cintra.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “I was going to ask anyway. I’d been working up my nerve to ask for the better part of a year. But I was afraid that if I asked, you would panic and run away. I should have listened to my instincts, huh?”

A too-warm hand cups his cheek. “Mating bites are forever, Jask. There’s no spell or potion that can undo that kind of bond.”

“Melitele tits, really? I had no clue.” Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to summon up some proper sarcasm.

“You’ll be stuck with me. Forever.” Geralt sounds pained. “You’re still young. If you ever want a proper omega—”

“Love, you’ve ruined me for all other omegas. I don’t know if I’d know what to do with a proper one.” Thinking of being mated to one of the painfully proper omegas his family has tried to foist on him, Jaskier shudders. He can’t see one of them manhandling him into place to take what they want from him or rolling him over to fuck him as soon as his knot goes down.

Geralt makes a pained noise and Jaskier opens his eyes to look into those honey gold eyes.

“Geralt, I meant every word of what I said in Cintra,” Jaskier says. “I want to be with you. Mated or not, settled down somewhere or on the Path. There’s no one else for me. I don’t think there ever will be. I want us to be a family. And maybe someday, your child of surprise will be part of that family.”

Geralt grimaces and Jaskier surmises that’s a conversation for another time.

“I don’t think of you as something I’m going to be saddled with,” Jaskier continues, lips quirking. “If anything, it’s the other way around. Think of all the songs I’m going to have to write about you if we mate. They will be horrifically sentimental, so I hope you’re prepared for that.”

Finally, the tension in Geralt’s face softens in a smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Jaskier leans his forehead against Geralt’s. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Hm.” Geralt breathes in deeply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone in Cintra. I just—”

“Panicked?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier swallows back the thickness in his throat. “I could have picked a better time to bring it up. Emotions were already running high.”

“You are a bard,” Geralt says tiredly.

“You’re right. Can’t help but be dramatic, can I?”

Instead of answering, Geralt pulls him close. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Then mate me, Jask.” Geralt’s gaze is piercing, his eyes seeming to bore right into Jaskier’s.

Jaskier smiles at him. “Okay.”

***

This time, when Geralt kisses Jaskier, it’s the easiest thing in the world, as familiar as if the past year never happened. Jaskier smells so godsdamned good, like the subtle, floral cologne he favors, mixed with arousal and the musky scent of alpha that has slick coating Geralt’s thighs and his prick throbbing in his smalls. Geralt pushes him backwards until Jaskier falls back into their nest with a surprised laugh against his lips.

“Darling,” Jaskier says as Geralt crawls on top of him and kisses his way down his neck. “I think I’m supposed to be the one ravishing you. You’re the one in heat.”

Geralt growls and nips at the soft spot under Jaskier’s ear, eliciting a shudder from the alpha. He doesn’t care about who’s supposed to ravish who; he just wants Jaskeir naked and writhing with pleasure under him. He slides his hand under Jaskier’s doublet, fingers trailing over smooth, warm skin.

“Tear it,” Jaskier rasps.

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “You sure?” After the first time he popped a button off one of Jaskier’s doublets during foreplay, he learned to take care with his bard’s clothing.

“This cut is out of fashion anyway.” Jaskier’s eyes are dark with desire. “Tear it.”

Geralt doesn’t need to be told a third time; he crushes the buttery soft silk in his hands and wrenches, tearing the doublet and shirt underneath apart to expose Jaskier’s hairy chest. He takes one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak, reveling in the way Jaskier’s body arches under him. Just to be a bastard, he grinds his his hips down against the length of Jaskier’s erection.

Jaskier lets out a delicious whimper. “Geralt,” he hisses. “If you want me to make it inside you before I pop a knot—”

Geralt growls at the thought of not getting Jaskier’s knot tonight.

“That’s what I thought.” With a breathless laugh, Jaskier tugs at the waistband of Geralt’s pants. “Off.”

Geralt takes as little care getting his own clothes and Jaskier’s breeches off as he did with the doublet. When they’re both naked, skin pressed against skin, he presses a long, languid kiss to his bard’s mouth. He’d like to take his time here and reacquaint himself with every inch of Jaskier’s body, but there’s only so much time before his witcher mutagens burn through the potion and this false heat ends. So he pulls away from Jaskier’s lips and lines his hips up with Jaskier’s.

Jaskier lets out a noise that’s half-gasp, half-groan as Geralt sinks down on his cock without any effort; it feels like his body has been waiting for this for a year. Jaskier feels perfect inside of him and under him. His hands roam over Geralt’s body like he can’t get enough of him, like he’s as eager to reacquaint himself with Geralt’s body as Geralt is to touch every inch of him. As Geralt begins to roll his hips, Jaskier surges up to capture one of Geralt’s nipples in his mouth, his mouth hot and slick. Geralt throws his head back and rolls his hips harder, driving Jaskier’s cock deeper into him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers against Geralt’s chest. “You feel perfect, Geralt. And oh gods, you smell so good.”

Before Geralt can formulate a response, that perfect mouth sucks his nipple back into his mouth and all attempts at intelligent conversation are lost. When one of Jaskier’s hands wrap around Geralt’s aching cock, jerking him in time to the thrust of their hips, it only takes a few strokes for Geralt to come. Jaskier moans against his chest, the thrust of his hips growing erratic. Geralt feels the slight stretch of Jaskier’s knot starting to fill.

Jaskier’s eyes meet Geralt’s and there’s a question there.

“Do it,” Geralt says hoarsely.

Jaskier doesn’t need to be told twice. His thighs shudder with his orgasm, knot swelling inside Geralt, as he buries his teeth in the scent gland, right in the place where Geralt’s neck meets his shoulder. Pleasure-pain explodes inside Geralt as a second orgasm hits him like a wall. It’s too soon, even for an omega in heat, overwhelming in its intensity. Jaskier peppers the bite mark with kisses, laving his tongue over the crescent of teeth marks.

“Oh, love,” he whispers. “Oh, Geralt.”

Geralt closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the curve of Jaskier’s neck. He can feel the grip of the false heat lessening; the potion’s effects are lessening even quicker than he expected.

“Bite me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt looks up at him. “What?”

He told Jaskier once that it used to be common for alphas, omegas, and even betas to have mating bites. Even his mother, an alpha, had a mating bite on her neck, though the omega who gave it to her was long gone. But that was near a century ago and it’s fallen out of fashion for anyone but omegas to have mating bites. He’s surprised that Jaskier even remembers that conversation; it had to be at least five years ago.

“Bite me.” Jaskier’s eyes are hazy with pleasure and soft with affection. “I want everyone who looks at us to know that I’m yours as much as you’re mine. I want them to know that we belong together. I want—”

Geralt sinks his teeth into the soft, musky-scented place where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. Jaskier lets out a gasping little cry, the knot inside Geralt throbbing. Geralt nuzzles at the bite mark apologetically.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Bit too hard.”

“No.” Jaskier reaches up to touch the bite mark, smiling drowsily. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Geralt wraps his alpha—his mate—up in his arms and holds him close, breathing in the mingled scents of them. Soon, there will be a katakan to kill. He’ll have to leave the warmth of Jaskier’s arms and go to kill a monster. But he’s not going anywhere with Jaskier knotted inside him, so he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy his lover’s embrace.

***

Jaskier never likes watching Geralt armor up to go fight a dangerous beast—well, he likes the armor part, the dangerous beast part less—but it’s far worse when Geralt left with Jaskier’s mating bite is still healing on his neck and reeking of heat, sex, and Jaskier. Every instinct in Jaskier wants to go find his omega and drag him back to their nest, where he can keep him bundled safely, far away from anything that might hurt him. 

Jaskier paces the length of the room, his entire body humming with tension. There’s a long night of waiting ahead of him; Geralt hasn’t even been gone an hour and a katakan hunt isn’t going to be a quick, easy kill. He should try to sleep, or at least maybe get some grading done—he brought a stack of student compositions with him for just this purpose. But he can’t make himself stay still for more than a minute or two.

When the door of their room opens, Jaskier whirls around, hand twitching on instinct towards the knife Geralt left with. But it’s Geralt standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking as unruffled as if he just stepped out to grab a bite to eat.

“You’re back!” Jaskier launches himself at his witcher.

Geralt catches him around the waist, pressing a kiss to the healing mating bite on his neck. “I was motivated to get back quickly.” He kisses Jaskier’s jaw. “Anyway, she wasn’t expecting me to fight back. She didn’t think much of omegas, witcher or no.”

“Is she dead?”

“Very. Corpse is downstairs with Roach.”

“What did poor Roach ever do to you?”

“She’ll bite anyone who tries to steal the body and claim the reward before I go see the alderman in the morning.”

“She is convenient like that.”

Geralt hums in agreement, nuzzling at the sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear.

“Are you hurt?” Jaskier murmurs.

“No.”

“Actually not hurt, or do you just not want me to fuss?”

“Actually not hurt.”

“Good.” He’s hardly covered in any viscera, so Jaskier tugs him back towards the nest. Geralt comes willingly, shucking his armor off as he goes. Once he’s divested of his armor, he collapses into the nest next to Jaskier, curling around him. Jaskier snuggles into his arms, tracing his finger over the crescent-shaped bite mark on Geralt’s neck.It’s already healing into a scar; Jaskier might have to mark him again to make it stick. The thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“I was thinking we could stay here another night or two,” he says softly. “Then we can go back to Oxenfurt so I can finish up the term. I don’t have much to do besides teach a few classes, grade some finals, comfort some crying first years. So there will be plenty of time for us to laze around in bed.”

Geralt hums in an agreeable sort of way.

“And then maybe we could head south to Toussaint?” Jaskier asks. “I think we deserve a proper honeymoon, don’t you?”

“Not sure if you and I know how to do anything the proper way.”

“Then we deserve a deliciously improper honeymoon.” Jaskier leers.

Geralt snorts. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Jaskier melts into his arms, surrounded by the mingled scents of them. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Geralt says, pressing another kiss to the mating bite on Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier is quiet for a moment, letting them both bask in their togetherness. But he’s never been one to bask in silence, so he says, “You know, it’s the latest fashion in Oxenfurt for mated couples to go about in matching outfits.”

“Is it now?”

“It is.”

“Guess we should get you some armor then. Sure I can find a zeugl in the sewers to dirty it up.”

Jaskier gasps in horror. “I think not. I was thinking you’d look dashing in a nice periwinkle blue, or maybe lavender.”

“No.”

“You’re right. Lavender is too cool for your skin tone. You need a warmer shade. Maybe plum.”

“No.”

“But Geralt, we’re mates! How will people know that we’re bonded for life?”

“Mating bites on our neck might give it away.”

Jaskier sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’m consigned to a life of being hopelessly unfashionable. I’ll be the laughing stock of the bardic circuit.”

“What else is new?”

“You!” Jaskier pokes him in the chest. “We’re supposed to be basking in the joy of our union, you—”

Geralt grabs him around the waist and flips him over. Jaskier doesn’t even realize what’s happened before Geralt is kissing him, his lips curved into a smile against Jaskier’s.

Jaskier lets himself be distracted, reaching up to trace a finger over Geralt’s mating bite. After all, he has all the time in the world to talk his mate into matching outfits.

***

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving kudos and/or comments over on AO3.

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

Somewhat related to this poll but DC was pretty much my first fandom. First at least in actually reading fanfiction or looking at fanart, etc. And then it escalated. So.

[too-many-blorbos]

VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR WITCHER FANS:

Who is Geralt's favorite Pony?

(If you need justification for why a witcher would watch My Little Pony, consider that Ciri watches it and Geralt, being a good dad, wants to relate to his daughter's interests)

[kazz-brekker]

finished the witcher season 3 and i gotta say, the last episode felt super anticlimactic. i guess shit had already gone down in the thanedd coup, but it felt like they had already used up all the big drama for the season and it just sort of. ended? geralt and yennefer spent the last 2 episodes going "we need to find ciri!!" but they're no closer to finding her by the end of the finale than they were before. ciri had had some kind of revelation about her powers (again) and has fallen in with some thieves i guess? but it's very unclear where that plot will go. francesca and fringilla never got a chance to enact whatever kidnapping scheme they were planning. no clue what happened to cahir after he had his big heel face turn moment with ciri, he never showed up again. emhyr doesn't seem to have realized that the girl he has is an imposter nor do we know why vilgefortz is going along with this deception. geralt had a cool fight scene to end things on but it wasn't with characters that mattered at all and had basically no impact on the plot. the only big status quo changes that happened are tissaia dying and radovid being crowned king. kind of felt there should have been one more episode or at least one more big moment to end things on, especially since this is going to be henry cavill's last season. as it is i got to the last to the last episode and when the credits rolled i was like. that's it??? that's how you're just ending things for now???

[kayte-overmoon]

An excerpt from my Geraskier ABO Pregnancy AU

I'm still working on this fic (it's a big one) but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING, so here's a little (3.5k-word) excerpt to tide you over!

Rating: Mature (no explicit sexual content, but it's fairly suggestive)

Tags: fluff, mild angst, platonic affection, idiots in love, pregnant Jaskier, mpreg, ABO/Omegaverse, canon era

Jaskier is soaking in an Igni-heated bath barely big enough for him to fit in. He doesn’t seem to mind, kicking his feet up over the far edge as he rests his head on the other end. 

“As much as I hate you spending all our money on inns,” he’s saying, eyes closed as Geralt cleans his swords. “I do appreciate a good soak in a man-made basin every now and then.”

“I know you do,” Geralt says, half a smile on his face for a moment before it drops. There’s something on his mind, something that’s been bugging him since the moment he decided to keep Jaskier. 

“Now, now, witcher,” Jaskier tsks. “What’s the frown for this time?”

Geralt sets aside his swords and looks at his companion. Jaskier has twisted his torso to see Geralt better, arms crossed on the side of the basin and chin propped up on them, watching Geralt with wide, amused blue eyes. Geralt no longer bristles at the bard’s nudity—a good thing, because he tends toward heat spells these days, and often the only way to cool down is to strip to the skin. They’ve had a good couple of weeks of work, so his cheeks are full and pinked with the heat from the bath. He could use a shave, but other than that, he looks good.

Geralt looks down at his own hands. “We should talk. About our arrangement.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, watching the omega smile out of the corner of his eye. “I mean our situation.” He looks up and meets Jaskier’s eye again. “You can’t keep traveling like this, Jask. We need to get you somewhere safe. Comfortable.”

“But I am safe,” Jaskier pouts. “I feel safer with you than I do anywhere else.”

“That’s the problem, little lark,” Geralt says, the endearment spilling from his lips like water. Every time he calls him that, Jaskier’s shoulders relax like Geralt’s taken a great weight off them. He makes it a point to do it as frequently as possible now. “I told you before, the Path is no place for a child. And all that aside, you’re going to keep getting sicker if we don’t let you rest.”

Jaskier waves him off, sinking back into his bath. “You worry too much.”

“No, you don’t worry enough!”

The omega flinches at his tone, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. 

Geralt sighs, looking at him apologetically. “I just mean you should take care, Jaskier. If you’re this ill barely a third of the way into your pregnancy, what do you expect to happen later on?”

“I’m not that ill.”

Geralt scoffs. “You turned down a minced pie today, Jaskier.”

He purses his lips, caught. “Fine. You’re getting rid of me, then?”

Geralt should take it for the opening it is. He knows how dangerous traveling with him is for Jaskier. How much worse will it get when he has a child at his breast? Geralt’s new worst nightmare had quickly become returning from a hunt to find Jaskier taken, hurt, beaten, ripped apart and sold for parts. And besides all that, it was becoming dangerous for Geralt. He’s never been so attached to someone—perhaps Eskel or Vesemir, but they know the dangers of their line of work and can fend for themselves. It’s hard to focus on monster hunting when half his mind is preoccupied with the omega waiting for him back at the inn. 

A distracted witcher is a dead witcher.

“No,” Geralt says, not even surprising himself.

There’s no question. He physically can’t bring himself to let Jaskier go. He’s tried considering it a time or two in the months they’ve been together, and each time, his stomach ties itself in knots.

The omega relaxes in the tub. “Good. Because as much as I love you, Geralt, there are some things even you can do to break my heart.”

His tone is light, teasing, and he doesn’t seem to realize the impact the words have on Geralt.

He’s still reeling from those words (I love you echoing in his mind) when Jaskier finally pulls himself from the bath, dripping wet, pruned, and smelling of chamomile. Perhaps the sight, perhaps the smell, perhaps those words muddle his mind enough for Geralt to blurt out, “Come to Kaer Morhen with me.”

Jaskier blinks up at him from the towel he’d been drying himself with, his hair tufted up on one side from where he’d rubbed it. “Kaer Morhen?”

“The homeplace of the witchers,” Geralt explains. “The wolf witchers, at least. It’s where I grew up. It’s where I—where we go every winter.”

“And you… want me to come with you?”

“Is that… is that alright? For me to ask?”

Jaskier chuckles and comes to where Geralt is sitting at the edge of the bed—there’s only one, since they’re on a strict budget, after all—and insinuates himself between Geralt’s knees. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of his nudity. Geralt decidedly is aware of it. “Dear witcher,” Jaskier says fondly. His hands land on either of Geralt’s shoulders and his scent, warm and happy, surrounds Geralt’s senses. “Never doubt how much your generosity means to me. It sounds lovely, but…”

“But?” Geralt gives into temptation, lets his hands settle in the dip of Jaskier’s hips, his wrists almost brushing the soft skin of his ever-growing belly. Some deep, base instinct makes him want to rub his scent glands over Jaskier’s bump, to claim him and the pup as Geralt’s. He digs his fingers into his bard’s hips to keep from doing that. He hasn’t been given permission. Jaskier has given no indication that he sees Geralt as anything more than a close friend, a platonic person who could protect him and his pup. The last thing Geralt wants is to breach his trust.

Jaskier purrs softly, not seeming to realize he’s doing it. He fiddles with Geralt’s hair. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you.”

Geralt snorts. “Trust me, if I didn’t want you here, I would have dumped you before we even left Posada.”

The bard tips his head and smiles and gods above Geralt just wants to pull him into his lap and press his face against his neck where his scent is strongest. Still grinning, Jaskier asks, “Why do you put up with me, witcher? You don’t seem the type to form attachments.”

“I’m not.”

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt observes him carefully in the candlelight. “Here we are.” He drags his thumb absently across Jaskier’s ribs, watching goosebumps rise in his wake. Jaskier takes a breath at that, pulling himself away from Geralt to continue drying and dressing himself. Geralt mourns the loss of his touch but lets him go.

“So.” Jaskier twists open a jar of sweet-smelling oil he’d been rubbing on his belly of late. I may adore this child with every fiber of my being, Geralt, but that does not mean I wish to have the marks of pregnancy on my youthful form for the rest of eternity. “Kaer Morhen?”

“Mmm.” Geralt picks up his swords again, going about cleaning and sharpening them absently while he watches Jaskier go about his routine. “Vesemir will be there. He’s a healer, of sorts. He could help with the delivery. Or we could bring someone if you like. A midwife of your choosing.”

Jaskier hums back at him, a mannerism he’s beginning to pick up from Geralt without even realizing it. “Vesemir?”

“My… father, I suppose.” At the omega’s inquisitive look, he goes on. “Witchers are born human and come—came, rather—to the keep when they were young. Many were orphans. Some… weren’t.” Jaskier clearly catches on but graciously deigns not to dig in. “Vesemir was one of the teachers before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, when mages destroyed all knowledge of making new witchers and killed all but a handful of us. Vesemir is the oldest living witcher. He took it upon himself to care for the keep and the last few witchers.”

“You speak fondly of him,” Jaskier says. “Are you close?”

Geralt grunts, not in agreement or disagreement. “I suppose. As close as witchers let themselves get. We have a lot in common. All the witchers left do. No one quite understands the life of a witcher more than another witcher.”

“How many of you are there left?”

“Of my school, the wolf witchers”—he thumbs his medallion—“there’s only me, Vesemir, and my brothers Eskel and Lambert. There are several others left from other schools, but we’re not nearly as close.”

“So, this winter,” Jaskier says. “Would it just be us and Vesemir? Or will your brothers be there?”

“Hard to tell,” Geralt shrugs. “We usually don’t know who’s going to show up until they arrive at the keep. The past couple years, Lambert has brought a guest.”

Dark eyebrows rise as Jaskier slips into a clean change of smallclothes. “A guest? Then it won’t be strange if I come?”

Geralt snorts. “No, it will be strange. Lambert’s guest is a witcher from one of the other schools.” He meets Jaskier’s eye. “None of us have ever brought home a human. Not since it’s just been the four of us.”

“Let alone a pregnant omega?” Jaskier snorts. He flicks a wrist, playing at being scandalized. “Imagine what they’ll say, Geralt! They’ll accuse you of stealing my virtue!”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “As if you had any to begin with.”

Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, darling. I’ll have you know I was the picture of innocence before—well, before this.” The hand at his chest smooths over his stomach as he looks down fondly.

Geralt hums in response, languishing in the omega’s happy scent as he strokes his baby bump. “They’ll know it’s not mine anyway.”

“How so?”

“Witchers are sterile,” Geralt says. He expects the shocked, saddened look Jaskier shoots his way, and waves him off. “I’m not sensitive about it. It’s part of the Trials to become a witcher, and they don’t hide the information from us beforehand. We go in knowing we will either die in the trials or come out the other side an alpha with no ability to breed.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wilts a little, his scent—usually a mix of honey and lilies—dips toward something like sandalwood. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“It’s not your fault, Jask.”

“No, I mean.” He throws his chemise over his head and scrambles up onto the bed with Geralt, laying his head on the witcher’s shoulder with no regard for the sword in his hands. Again, that blind trust that makes Geralt wonder what he did to deserve it. “Here I am, running around and making poor life decisions while carrying a pup, and you can’t…”

“Jask.” Geralt nuzzles his hair absently to get his attention. The omega tips his head up to look at him with watery blue eyes. Geralt sets the sword aside—again—and resolves to finish it in the morning. “I told you, I don’t care. Especially not when I get to see how happy you are every day.”

Jaskier squints, mushing his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder, looking every bit like a contented house cat. “I am happy. I feel as if I should be worried or anxious or afraid, but I’m not. I have many regrets in my life, but this is not one of them. I’m glad I have the pup. I’m glad I have my freedom. I’m glad I have you. You’re a dear friend, you know that, Geralt?”

Geralt grunts.

“You are!” Jaskier shoves his arm gently, not even enough to dislodge himself from Geralt’s shoulder. “Not many people would be willing to put up with me, with or without the child. And here you are, not just tolerating me, but taking care of me. Why is that?”

Geralt shrugs with his free shoulder.

“Oh, don’t get silent on me now, Geralt! We’re having a heart-to-heart!”

“Exactly.”

“Ugh!” Jaskier flings himself back on the bed, kneeing Geralt in the thigh as he squirms to get comfortable. Geralt pinches his leg in retaliation, making him giggle. “Fine. Don’t tell me, then. I’ll just assume you are susceptible to my charm and wit. You saw me in Posada and thought, ‘Yes. Now there’s a man I’d let rub chamomile on my lovely bo—‘”

“It was one time, Jask.”

“One very memorable time, on my part.” Jaskier grins, cheeky and lecherous. With a face like that, there’s no wonder he was knocked up before the age of twenty. 

Geralt makes himself end that line of thought the second it arrives. 

Instead of admiring his friend’s fuckability, he grunts. “It’s not too late for me to leave you along the road somewhere.”

“No!” Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, his head knocking against his hip. Geralt twists to accommodate him, letting the bard rest his head in his lap. “I’ll surely shrivel up and die the moment you leave me. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

“I think you overestimate how much you need me. You’d make it just fine on your own.”

The omega tips his head to level an unimpressed look up at him. “When we met, I was getting booed out of taverns and stuffing bread in my pants so I’d have something to eat later.”

Geralt just hums.

Jaskier pokes him in the side. “I’m happy with you, Geralt. It’s a peculiar arrangement, but I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Geralt watches him for a moment, aware his face was probably too fond at the moment but too content with the omega’s closeness to care. “You pet your stomach when you’re tired, you know that?”

Jaskier looks down. Sure enough, his hand had strayed to the little bump and was smoothing over it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Winter isn’t for another two months still.”

“Very astute, love.”

Geralt snorts and tugs his hair until Jaskier yelps and bats his hands away. “I mean, I think we should find somewhere safe for you until it’s time to make the trip to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier frowns and turns to lay on his back, his head still in Geralt’s lap. The hand that had tugged his hair now smooths it back. “You want to split up?”

“Only for a couple weeks,” Geralt says. “The Path, as I’ve said, is no place for you right now. You’re only going to get more uncomfortable in the coming months, and you need to be somewhere you can rest and relax. It would��� I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the pup because you’re with me.”

“What do you propose, then?”

“I can put you up somewhere. Somewhere with good weather and plenty of things for you to do. Somewhere you can relax and pick at that lute you’ve barely touched the past few weeks.”

Jaskier frowns. “Fingers were too swollen.”

“The swelling will go down if you rest.” Geralt leans over him to catch his eye. “And as much as I love having you close, knowing you and the pup are safe and healthy, I’d feel better knowing you were somewhere you can get warm baths and hot food whenever you want.”

“How do you propose we do that, hmm? It isn’t as if we have the money.”

Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier’s chest to hold him steady as he reaches over the edge of the bed for his sword. He unclasps the pin there, the one he’d pulled from Renfri’s body as a reminder all those years ago. He holds it out for Jaskier. 

The bard takes it and studies it. “I’ve seen this but didn’t want to ask.” His thumb runs carefully across the clasp. “I figured it was sentimental. It’s fine craftsmanship. I’m sure it would sell for a pretty penny, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“It is,” Geralt says. “I’m not sentimental. The person who gave it to me is long dead. It was more of a… reminder to myself, than anything else. I don’t…” He looks at Jaskier. The bard was now holding the hand Geralt had put on his chest, stroking his wrist softly as he watches Geralt with those wide, innocent eyes. “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart rate spikes for a moment as he turns the pin over in his hand, pink flushing his cheeks. “If you’re sure,” he says. “I don’t want you giving up any more than you already have for me, Geralt. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

“I’m not doing this so you’ll pay me back.”

“Then why are you?”

The same question from earlier, just rephrased. Glancing at Jaskier, Geralt knows he did it on purpose. Geralt sighs and takes the pin back, just to give himself something to do. “Because you’re special, Jask.” The bard beams, and Geralt nudges him softly. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m going to sell this so you don’t freeze or go hungry while I’m gone. I’ll let you pick the town.”

“Oxenfurt,” he says without hesitation.

Geralt frowns. “Why Oxenfurt?”

“I’ve got friends there, at the university,” Jaskier explains. “I know at least one of them will put me up, especially if I pay for food and whatever other expenses I’ll have.”

“How do you know these friends?”

“Stand down, guard dog,” Jaskier chuckles. “We grew up together. Priscilla was from a neighboring family, and we were the same age, so we always sat together at parties. She is kind, and generous, and happily bonded to her alpha, Philippa.” He gives Geralt a significant look and Geralt stops bristling—which he didn’t even realize he was doing. “They’re good friends, Geralt. They’ll ensure I’m looked after while you’re gone.”

Geralt nods, smoothing a hand down Jaskier’s chest. His gaze strays to the little bump on the bard’s belly, where Jaskier is still stroking.

“You want to feel?” the omega offers. “Pup won’t be moving for a couple months, probably, but it’s a fascinating feeling.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier takes his hand and lifts his chemise, letting Geralt finally rest his palm over the little swell beneath his navel. His skin is hot and smooth, little divots where his skin has begun stretching to accommodate the life growing beneath the surface. It’s not big—Geralt’s hand covers the full expanse of it—but it feels significant. If he focuses, he can feel the vibrations of the pup’s heartbeat. His breath leaves him in a rush. 

“What?” Jaskier asks in quiet alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Geralt says. He strokes his hand across Jaskier’s belly gently, soothing him in and taking in the feel. “I can feel their heartbeat.”

“Really?” Jaskier slips his hand under Geralt’s, brows drawing in with the effort of trying. 

Geralt chuckles softly at him. “You won’t be able to. Witcher senses.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier squeaks. The scent of tears alerts Geralt to his sudden burst of emotion.

“Jaskier?” He shifts around so the bard is no longer on his lap and leans over him, one hand still on his belly and the other on the bed. “Jaskier, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No, no.” Jaskier gives a shaky laugh and wipes his face with the hand not trapped under Geralt’s. “I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He flips his hand over to catch Geralt’s fingers in his. “That was the greatest gift you could give me. Guh.” He gives a mighty, nasty sniff that makes Geralt laugh. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of a poor, pregnant omega.”

“I would never.” Geralt raises their joined hands to his lips before he even realizes what he’s doing and presses a kiss to the omega’s knuckles. Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink and his scent takes a sultry spike that Geralt doesn’t let himself linger on. “So, we’re agreed? Tomorrow we leave for Oxenfurt, where you’ll stay with your friends if they’ll have you. I’ll return for you in two months when it’s time to make the trip up the Blue Mountains. We’ll spend the winter in Kaer Morhen until the pup arrives, then we stay as long as you need to recover.”

Jaskier blinks up at him. “We… you mean you intend to keep me around after the pup arrives?”

“Of course,” Geralt says, though he hadn’t put much thought to it before. All he knew was that there was no way he was willing to part with his omega. 

No, not his omega. Just Jaskier. Jaskier, who happened to be an omega. Jaskier, who was carrying another alpha’s pup. 

Jaskier can’t seem to find words—a rare occurrence for him—so he just pulls Geralt down into a crushing hug. Geralt keeps himself up, afraid to put too much weight on the bard. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes and smearing all over both of them. “Thank you, thank you.”

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

very short but i had some Thoughts and essentially used this ficlet to hate on the song from season 2 (which I still have yet to actually watch) tagging @roughentumble ​ of course! also on ao3 here!

Jaskier calls him Butcher now.

Geralt learns it sitting in a shitty overcrowded tavern on the outskirts of southern Kaedwen, a usurped princess sat across from him, picking at a rabbit pie with her hood drawn up. She has no explanation for the way Geralt suddenly stiffens at the sound of the word. He hasn’t heard it in years, over a decade. Not like this, anyhow. Not directed at him like the most hateful of curses.

It’s not Jaskier singing in the tavern. A small mercy, Geralt supposes, not entirely certain he could withstand it if it was. But the bard performing is singing words Jaskier had written. Geralt had traveled with him long enough to immediately recognize his work even when performed by another. The meter, the diction, the rhythm, all of it the style of Jaskier the Bard. Geralt's stomach turns.

Gone are all the other words Jaskier had once called him. White Wolf. Witcher dear. Darling. Friend.

Gone in a moment, now a year passed, like smoke from a puff of dragon fire, whisked away by the wind.

Once, Jaskier had singlehandedly rebuilt Geralt’s reputation from naught but ash and blood. He had woven a tapestry with his songs, transforming Geralt from a boogieman to an almost mythic figure, besting nigh unbeatable foes in his service as a friend to humanity. Striga and kikimore and hordes of griffins, vanquished and slain, always with a grain of truth at the core of his tales despite the poetic license he used for the details.

His songs, epics and ballads and odes, had earned Geralt coin and acknowledgment where there had only been blind scorn and cruel whispers that haunted him like the ghosts of Blaviken. And now with one song, one damned word, it was gone. The pedestal Jaskier had built him was now a funeral pyre, set alight with his words.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel the flames licking at him. From the suddenly spiteful look the waitress casts his way to the innkeeper charging double the previously agreed upon price for a room and the alderman only paying half the promised reward for a contract.

The trek north will be even more arduous now. For both him and Ciri. Contracts are already growing fewer and far between with winter approaching, already a  bone-deep chill lingering in the air. Even his brothers might be less welcoming once the song reaches their ears. All because of a single word.

Jaskier calls him Butcher now. All Geralt can do is ache. It feels quite a lot like burning.

[kuwdora]

oh cause i got writing about paintings on my mind... Here's another witcher snippet. Some silly Yennskier wrapped up in my old Jaskier and Geralt story.

The lamp from Jaskier’s desk accentuated the shadows that draped across his features, deepening the lines arcing from the corner of his eyes, making his white beard look sharper, more imposing. It gave him an almost stoic-like appearance. Geralt smiled when he realized what it reminded him of. He leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat.

“You look like your portrait at the university,” he said.

Jaskier looked up, his lips parting in surprise. “Geralt,” he breathed, the relief palpable. Geralt followed the warmth of his voice into the room and Jaskier’s face softened into delight. He watched as Jaskier’s lips slanted into the comfortable and theatrical annoyance when he registered what Geralt had said. 

“That artist did nothing to capture my essence,” Jaskier pointed out, his nose scrunched with indignity—immediately proving that point. That artist had depicted Jaskier as stodgy, unsmiling and too serious, completely at odds with who Jaskier was as a man, even as a professor. 

“Mmhm,” Geralt agreed soberly. Jaskier had spent the better part of a decade bemoaning that portrait that still hung on the wall of the distinguished faculty at the university. Geralt had soothed him with mild teasing and a strategic press of lips against his neck, though Yen always managed to be more clever and playful with her insults and the way she fed into Jaskier’s neuroses about it.

Geralt set down the plate of food containing a small hunk of cheese, half a fish pie and some dates, giving him a variety of options depending on how Jaskier’s stomach and disposition were that evening. He shifted the bottle of wine from the crook of his arm to his free hand. 

“They should have left the other portrait up. The one from ’72,” Jaskier added, lifting his chin and smoothing down his hair.

Geralt felt his lips twitch in amusement. “That was the portrait they retired and Yen liberated? I liked that one.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and his face twisted in the pain-humor-frustration-delight that always appeared when Yen managed to pull the metaphorical rug from beneath him. Geralt didn’t know why he ever thought Yen would relent in the games she played with Jaskier as he got older. If anything, their games had become more unpredictable and sometimes out of hand.

That ’72 portrait of one Professor Julian Pankratz had made its way to a certain house in Novigrad and hidden behind a tapestry. Yen had spent months manipulating threads of conversation out of Jaskier and carefully dosed his drinks so she could magically capture his voice to piece together and create Sonnet No. 66: Declaration of a Feckless Bard. She had enchanted the portrait to recite the poem in the middle of a conversation they’d been having after dinner, much to Jaskier’s horrifying squawk. He went from confused and anguished to impressed by the creative and technical effort Yen had put into the endeavor.

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered. “I still have nightmares about that, you know. She could have given me a heart attack. What kind of birthday present would that have been?” Jaskier demanded.

“It wasn’t your birthday and she made it up to you. Your heart was more than fine,” Geralt said, chuckling.

“It was the day before my birthday and…she did make it up to me,” Jaskier said, his face softening with the dreamy smile of memory. Yen had become equally as innovative in the ways that she’d fuck Jaskier senseless over the years, much to Geralt’s amusement, confusion, and occasional concern. Geralt was just glad they hadn’t accidentally burnt down any neighboring buildings during one of their sexual games like they did at her home in Novigrad. Yen was still paying off the fines to the magistrate. The church had slapped an obscene interest rate on the fine’s repayment plan because there were those in the church who still bore a grudge against Jaskier for a song he’d sung about the Hierarch’s flatulence in prior decades.

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, his smile widening when he focused on Geralt and pushed himself back from the desk, motioning Geralt closer.

on ao3

[inun4ki]

TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER!

I. favourite colours: purple, black, mostly cooler shades ! teal's a pretty big one, it's what i usually dye my hair

II. favourite flavours: lychee, green apple, blue raspberry, white chocolate, banana, cookies & cream, pumpkin pie, um... i have a lot r.i.p.

III. favourite genres: dark fantasy, high fantasy, supernatural anything, and romance !

IV. favourite music: i listen to all kinds of music, but i'm very very big on metal, indie, hip hop, and trap ig. used to be just straight up indie rock and emo, but i've expanded my horizons quite a bit. if ever you wanna trade music, i'm game !

V. favourite movies: i have so many ! but i suppose the ones i like best are LOTR, Howl's Moving Castle, The Cat Returns, John Wick, The Devil's Candy, FF7:AC, Scream...etc. my favorite genre is horror though. huge horror buff.

VI. favourite series: MHA, JJK, Chainsaw Man, Inuyasha, Samurai Champloo, um... that i can think of right now, in terms of anime. games are a different story, but that list is too damn long; DMC, Dragon Age, Elder Scrolls, Final Fantasy, Star Ocean, The Witcher, Silent Hill, Fatal Frame - deadass there's too many i love to choose just one.

VII. last song: i can't read or type cyrillic, but this song by ghostemane

VIII. last series: mmm that i watched? The Boys

IX. last movie: some documentary i can't remember the name of tbh

X. currently reading: the guardians of the flame series for the thousandth time. came out in the 80s so a bit of a product of its time, but it's an excellent series. all the main characters are deeply, deeply flawed and there's some unfortunately realistic grit in there. the author also doesn't beat around the bush - very ' to the point ' style of writing. i think there's...8 books? in total. or 11. idk there's quite a few

XI. currently watching: my partner play Elden Ring

XII. currently working on: a very, very long wip that i'll never finish. it's at 140k+ words so far, but i think the characters got away from me a bit and i'm not sure how to reel them back in. it's very ambitious, lots of stuff going on there, lots of angst. but it's become unsatisfying to write as of late

Tagged: @ratiosalaryman & @circusmxnkeys tysm ! Tagging: whoever would like !

[the-not-so-silent-back-up]

Tagged by @solaq once again 😍🩷 thank you

Your Name: Alina

where in the world are you? In Germany

your favorite color: recently yellow 💛

a song that always puts you in a good mood: Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, cause i am now a fan of them for 10 years and the song still kicks like the very first time i ever listen to it

your favorite flower: oh okay i can't pick just one i need to pick at least three

Daisies 🌼

Sunflowers 🌻

delphinium 🩷💜💙 (it's Jaskier's name in German "Rittersporn")

it's a beautiful sunny day and you're going on a picnic with friends. what snack are you bringing to share? : oh my beloved Apple pie with cinnamon

bumblebees or butterflies?: Bumblebees 100% i love them a lot and if i were an insect i'd definitely be a bumblebee

describe your ideal weather: around 23 -26°C, sunny but not too hot, some clouds but still warm enough to spend the whole day outside and i can wear shorts or a light dress.

what are you reading right now?: still the witcher baptism of fire, i got like 150 pages left

museum date or nature walk?: that's a tough one but i would go for a nature walk date that would be nice

it's movie night in the park and your turn to choose, what are we watching?: Mamma Mia!, How to train your dragon and monty python's life of brian

and finally, share some sunny words for your friends & followers: you are you your whole life, so be kind to yourself and take care, your future self will be thankfull 🩷

Tagging: @dechart @mournmourn @creepkinginc @weescottishcrowley @blaidd-gwyn @dragonleighs