#soft!jaskeir

[eggcompany]

Jaskier and his Snuggly Wuggly Killing Machines Part 5

“I’ll show you your rooms but then it’s straight to the bath! You’ve got grass and dirt all over you! Dirty boys.” Jaskier said as he stepped up the final stair. There were five doors. One was grey, Jaskier’s bedroom. One was a clean glossy white, the bathroom. And three were plain white, the boys’ rooms. 

“Our rooms ?” Eskel said and peaked around to look at Jaskier’s face. Jaskier smiled and turned to face them when he had his hand on the first doorknob. 

“Of course darlings. Everyone deserves some privacy. I have my room, you all have your rooms. Now this is… Geralt’s.” Jaskier said as he opened up the door. The wide eyed fluffy wolf walked into his room in front of his brothers. Geralt gasped. They all stood and gawked.  The walls were a calming space blue and the floor was covered in an amazing plush carpet. There was a full sized bed covered in a big duvet that had a moon and stars pattern on it along with matching pillows, (four pillows!) and a plushie that was a cute super soft black rabbit. There was a plain blue heavy duty plastic bin in one corner and cubbies on one wall that held blue and grey bins. And finally there was a TV up on the wall. 

“Th-this i-it’s for me? Just me? You did it for me? It’s mine?” Geralt asked and started to tear up. Eskel and Lambert looked at each other. This is what Bear got? What do we get?

Geralt ran over and hugged his daddy. Jaskier smiled and hugged him back tightly. 

“Yes darling. Now you can look around while I show your brother’s theirs.” Jaskier said and pulled away from Geralt, who started to look around. At the toys in the bin, the clothes, the balls and yoga mat under the bed. Jaskier pulled the other two toward the other doors and they could hear Geralt squeal. 

“Eskel darling this is yours.” Jaskier said as he threw open the door. Lambert looked like he was attached to an electric wire, he looked so excited. 

“Oh my gods… daddy did this for me?” Eskel said quietly and walked across the squishy mats on the floor. He looked around with bright eyes and a still tail. He looked at the toy bin and started wagging a smile as it all started to set in. He bounced up and down as he looked at the pretty red pattern on his wall and the big fuzzy bed. He gasped and looked over at the only slightly full bookcase. 

Jaskeir took Lambert's hand and walked him to the last room. Lambert was purring and smiling. 

“My room! My room! It’s my room isn’t it? Is it my room, daddy? Daddy is it my room?” Lambert said quickly and excitedly. Jaskier nodded and as he opened the door Geralt walked out of his with a chew ring in his mouth and walked to Eskel’s. 

Lambert let out a loud long high pitched noise that could be a meow or a whine. He shaked and wagged and smiled and flapped his hands around while looking around. He look in the plush carpet that was almost identical to Geralt’s but was a dark green and the carpet that went up the wall and the pastel wallpaper. He wanted to jump on to the big bed that had so many colorful quilts and pillows on it but he didn’t because he’s dirty. He squealed and laughed when he noticed the scratchy poles in two of the corners and the pile of toys in the other corner. He also gasped when he noticed the TV. 

Jaskier smiled and watched the youngest discover for a while. After they had a little bit of time he stepped back and whistled, calling each boy to come out and look at him. He clapped quietly. 

“Bathtime Witchers. Shuck off and pile your dirties in this basket.” Jaskier said and stood in front of the bathroom door with one of their dirty laundry baskets.

All three smiled and pulled their clothes that the center sent them home in, plain white shirts and grey scrub like pants. Jaskier couldn’t help ogling a bit. Each of them were splattered with scars. Over their very lovely nice big huge really really perfect muscles. Jaskier looked at the scars, bite marks, cuts, broken bones maybe? There were just so many. He should ask while they were in the bath. As soon as their pants were shucked Jaskier put the basket outside the door and opened it. 

“Now, only one at a time but when you get out or before you can sit on the floor. Just sit on a towel, okay babies?” Jaskier said as he grabbed two towels and put them on the floor near the door. There was still a good four feet between the towels and the bath. The boys looked over at the caddies on the sink. And were chattering to each other and smiling and wagging with their ears high above their heads

“Those are your bathroom baskets! We can keep them here or in your rooms or wherever. I keep mine in my room. There’s a comb, a brush, soaps um.. Oh washrags and loofahs and lotions! Baby Bear, yours is the blue one. Wolfie darling yours is brown. And Kitty Dearest yours is green. Why don’t you hold onto those until it’s your turn in the bath.” Jaskier explained and watched the boys examine each item in their basket before holding them close to their chests. They all nodded and Jaskier smiled and just watched them. So beautiful. Works of nature’s true talent. 

“Okay who's up first?” Jaskier asked as he blinked and got out of his pet worship. He plopped down onto his knees on the bathmat outside the large corner bath.  He turned and flipped closed the drain and started to fill the bath with hot-ish warm water. The boys said they liked hot baths but he didn’t want to burn them. He heard whispering for a moment before Geralt stepped up and squatted down next to him. 

“I wanna get a bath first, please. Lammy wants to go last though cause he gets embarrassed.” Geralt whispered. Jaskier nodded and took Geralt’s basket and put it on the floor next to him. 

“Alright test the water and if it’s good, hop in!” Jaskier told the white haired babe. Geralt stuck his hand in the water for a moment before frowning a bit. 

“Can it be a little bit more hot?” Geralt asked and Jaskier smiled and nodded and flicked the knob over a bit more. Geralt out his hand under the faucet. “Much better! Thank you, daddy.” He said and climbed into the tub. He gasped at first and Jaskier thought he was hurt. 

“It feels so good~” Geralt moaned out and flopped over so his whole front was pressed against the bottom of the tub and his knees were bent and his feet kicked up the side. He rolled over so he was belly up. Jaskier laughed at him and he wiggled around and got all soggy. The water slowly filled until it was only about four inches from the lip on the bath. Geralt scrubbed his face and ears with the back of his hands and made his happy high noise. 

Jaskier looked back and saw that Eskel was sitting crisscross with his eyes closed and taking deep breaths and Lambert was wrapped up in his towel asleep. The steamy air felt so nice to Jaskier so it probably felt amazing to the babes. 

Jaskier grabbed the bottle of body wash and a washcloth but he soon found that the bath water was already kind of discolored. Gods bless the massive hot water heated he splurged on when he bought the house. 

“Well my stinky boy, I’m going to let the water out because you’ve already got it dirty. How about we get a nice shwoer and wash away the dirt and then we can fill the tub and I can wash your hair and do all that? Sound better?” Jaskier asked as he let the water drain. Geralt nodded. Jaskier watched him stand up. He had such broad shoulders, such a storytelling back with all those scars… Jaskier was about waist level with Geralt when he noticed something. He hadn’t yet gone through their actual medical records, just their behavior part. 

“Geralt, love, are you neutered? Is that a Geralt thing?” Jaskier asked when he noticed that yeah, there was nothing there. There was nothing behind the wolf’s phallus. He glanced back at the other two but he couldn’t see. 

Geralt got all red in the face and reached down to cup himself shyly. 

“Um.. witchers are sterile but when everyone got scared that we would um… mate...and breed, centers and pounds started to kinda make a fail safe. I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t. I think they did it to all witchers. Since we’re already sterile it didn’t make us sick or fat like other pets.” Geralt explained and hid himself from Jaskier. Jaskier listened intently and nodded. 

“Yeah and some people think it’s better to be neutered. For aesthetics so they don’t have to see it when they use you.” Lambert angrily grumbled. He sat up in his towel burrito looking disgusted and mad. 

“That’s horrible! I’m so sorry that happened. And I’m so sorry that anyone ever saw you wonderfully brilliant boys as something to be- to be used. I don’t care either way. I care more about making you happy than aesthetics.” Jaskier said. He really hated people sometimes. Geralt stood in the now empty tub, pink from the water and from being asked about his… thing. 

“Okay shower time, baby bear. Do you care if I take off my shirt?” Jaskier asked as he stood. He could practically feel two pairs of eyes blazing into his back. Geralt shrugged, “I would like it a lot” he said quietly. 

Jaskier could feel the air around his ankles shift with the obvious wagging of the two outside the bath. Jaskier smiled and nodded and pulled his shirt up and over his head and tossed it over to Lambert who immediately took it up to his face. 

Jaskier reached and turned the water to go up to the showerhead instead of the faucet. He also flicked open the drain. He took the showerhead off the wall and held it away from the baby until it was nice and hot. Then, he turned and started with Geralt’s feet. He just sprayed him down and Geralt giggled a bit cause it felt so nice! Jaskier then sprayed away the dirt and ick from his calves, then thighs, butt and bits, tummy, chest, back, and then he handed the shower to Geralt. 

“I don’t wanna waterboard you, honey tart, do you get your face and hair wet for me.” Jaskier said and Geralt sprayed himself directly in his face and then got his hair all wet and flipped his hair over so he could rinse his neck. Jaskier took a handcloth and wiped some of the splashed droplets off his chest but his chest hair was already semi wet. All the while Jaskier went and checked on Eskel by squatting down and kissing his head and asking what he was doing. 

“Meditating. The air reminds me of the hot springs in the Keep. It feels nice on my scar too… it gets dry sometimes.” Eskel admitted. Jaskier gently brought his hands slowly toward the garish mark, slow enough for Eskel to pull away or nip him or tell him no. Finally Jaskier made contact, Eskel looked like he was ready to be smacked. Jaskier touched it lightly and pouted. 

“Poor baby. I’ll order you some special balm so it won’t hurt as bad. My precious Wolfie shouldn't hurt.” Jaskier kissed his scar near his mouth and Eskel looked so pretty. His eyes looked softer than dough and they were big and round and his shoulders were relaxed. 

“Daddy, ‘m done.” Jaskier heard and turned around to a soaked witcher with hair all in his face. He had his ears drawn down so no water got in. He looked droopy but happy. Jaskier got up and came back to him. 

“Oh good job Bear! Now plop down I’ll get your hair all shiny and soft in no time. Are you doing okay?” Jaskier asked and Geralt sat down and flipped the drain shut and smiled up at his daddy. Jaskier smiled and acted like Geralt just solved world hunger. 

“Oh good job! You are so smart! So helpful! Thank you baby!” Jaskier bent and kissed his head. Geralt was glowing and he made his little happy noise. That’s when Jaskier realized he didn’t even have a cup to rinse Geralt's hair with. The shower would be much too harsh and Jaskier didn’t wanna accidentally get soap in the baby’s eyes. 

“I forgot a cup! Can you all be good boys and stay here? I need to grab a plastic cup from the kitchen. Is that okay? You can close or leave the door open, whatever you boys wanna do.” Jaskier looked around at the boys all looked at each other and nodded. 

Jaskier ran down the stairs and got a blue plastic cup that he must’ve gotten from a slushie place or something and ran back up to find all three boys giggling.  Jaskier looks at them all. Eskel having rolled over onto his back, Lambert was still burritoed in his towel and had his leg stretched out in front of him, and Geralt was laughing in the almost full tub.

“What’s going on here? Who’s being a silly goose?” Jaskier asked as he put his hands on his hips and looked at each boy with a silly face. Lambert covered his mouth and Geralt just smiled and sunk down so his mouth was underwater. That left Eskel. 

“I said you look like a badger cause you got fluff on your tummy and you got fur.” Eskel said teasingly. Like a five year old saying you’re stinky. Jaskier faked extreme insult. He gasped and put his hand on his chest and did a big turn. 

“A BADGER? I’m not a badger! Silly boy. And I don’t have fur, I just have alot of chest hair.” Jaskier said and got back to Geralt who was wagging under the water and looking up at him like a hippo. Jaskier turned the water off and tapped the top of Geralt’s head lightly. 

“C’mon you little hippo, up with you. Time to wash this beautiful hair. I’ll wash your ears first though so try and stay still.” Jaskier told him and guided Geralt until he was recinling against the tub wall and Jaskier could get to the backs and tops of his ears. He would clean the insides of their ears later or tomorrow. 

Jaskier carefully brought the cup, now full of water, up to the pretty grey and white ear. He gently pressed the back of his ear against the surface of the water. Then he grabbed the chamomile shampoo up and gently rubbed it into each ear with his thumbs. By the time he rinsed them Geralt was just jelly. Big beautiful jelly. He was purring and looked half asleep. 

Jaskier didn’t say a thing the entire time he massaged conditioner into his ears or when he scrubbed his hair twice and left the conditioner in there for a while. He didn’t say anything when he turned around and Lambert was back to sleep and Eskel was silently meditating. 

Jaskier smiled and felt his heart fill with love and the feeling of contentment. He brought the cup up and rinsed out Geralt’s long white locks, which were much whiter now that they were clean. Geralt barely stirred when Jaskier brought a soapy wash rag up to wash his arms and back or when Jaskier stretched over him to turn him so he was long ways. He watched with droopy eyes as Jaskir washed him but by the time Jask was done he was already out cold again. 

“Baby… Geralt~... Sweetheart~... Baby Bear you need to get out so Wolfie can get in. You can have a nice fluffy towel.” Jaskier whispered into Geralt's ear. The puppy just opened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip. Jaskier didn’t budge though so Geralt sighed and stood up out of the lovely water. Jaskier brought him a towel and started to pat him dry. Jaskier put the now wet towel on the towel rack and brought Geralt a nice dry towel and let him go lay next to Lambert and doze off. Jaskier lightly touched Eskel’s hand and whispered to him. 

“Eskel honey, Bathtime darling. We can rinse in Geralt’s water and ten get you your own clean water. Come on my brilliant beautiful wolf. You can nap after.” Eskel opened his eyes and nodded. He held Jaskier’s hand and slowly got down into the tub. Jaskier grabbed Eskel’s caddy and slid Geralt’s near the towel rack for later. Jaskier got a rag and wet it in the water and rubbed at Eskel’s arms and legs and tummy and bits and back and neck. Eskel was only about half away as he realized all the water was drained and he went to stand but Jaskier settled him back down but scooted him forward so he was sitting in the middle of the tub.  

Jaskier turned on the shower and gently sprayed Eskel, avoiding his face and head. And then flicked the water back to the faucet. Jaskier was petting down Eskel's back when the babe spoke up to him. 

“Daddy, can I give you a hug? Like um uh skin to skin?” Eskel said timidly. He was really letting his walls crumble and be swept away. Jaskier smiled and pulled Eskel back to the wall of the tub by his hips. Jaskier reached over and pressed his back to Eskel’s and wrapped his arms around Eskel’s neck. Eskel relaxed and melted into the warmth of someone who loves him and the warm water that was cradling around him. 

“Of course, love. You can have as much skin to skin affections as you want. Did it make you feel better pup?” Jaskier said into the fluffy backside of Eskel’s left ear. Eskel nodded. 

“Let me get you all cleaned up and washed. I got you lavender soap so you can smell as pretty as you look. You can rest now, let daddy take care of everything.” Jaskier rubbed up and down Eskel’s scarred biceps and then leaned back. He repeated the same ear, ahir, body as he did on Geralt. He had to wake up Eskel when he was done and the eldest babe got up, got dried off, and went and woke up his baby brother. 

Lambert kept a tight grip on his towel even once he was near Jaskier. Lambert was red as a tomato but let his covering fall. Jaskier smiled and put on his least judgmental face as he let Lambert sit down in the bath. 

Jaskeir kind of understood why Lambert was so… embarrassed. He had a tattoo on his hip that symbolized his sterilization and a bite mark scar on the inside of his thigh. Is this why he was so angry about being used? Was he used at a- a fuck toy? Stay calm Jask. You can be angry when you’re alone. 

Lambert stayed alert and awake but did relax a bit once he was in fresh warm water. Lambert’s hair needed a little extra love but three washes and it was quite fluffy. Lambert looked softer now. Smaller, more innocent, younger. A baby like he really was. 

Lambert got out and wrapped himself in a nice fluffy towel

Time to wake up the other two, get some clothes on, and go get cuddles- Uh watch a movie. 

<- Last Chapter Next Chapter ->

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Comfort

Yennefer is strong and independent. She rarely asks for help, and tries to take care of things on her own. She can handle most things on her own, but when it comes to the common cold, she gets...clingy. And grouchy.

First, she will be grumpy. Really grumpy. Bite your head off and feed it to the dogs grumpy. Then, after she lays in her blanket cocoon for a while, she decides she wants cuddles and shuffles out of her room like a zombie. She will hunt down the nearest warm body and cling like a limpet.

Jaskier was still awake when Yennefer dragged herself out of bed. She had been trying to sleep off her head cold, but it wasn't working. She felt antsy, and she was cold. And her nose kept running. And she kept coughing. And her throat was sore....

And Geralt had gone out on a hunt. And she had snapped at Jaskier earlier that morning when he'd just been trying to take care of her, and now she was feeling a little guilty about it, and a little lonely.

He'd been so attentive too...making sure she was comfortable, tucking her in with her old plush cat, making sure she ate and drank, and cuddling with her until she fell asleep.

She supposed her head cold was some kind of divine punishment for laughing when Jaskier and Geralt had fallen out of the van they were restoring while running from the cockroaches that had swarmed out from under the backseat. And the paneling. It had been funny, though...

The bard was laying on the couch, his blanket on his chest, staring blankly at some latenight horror movie. He looked comfortable, and warm. Maybe he would let her curl up with him for a while.

Yennefer croaked his name, and Jaskier jumped with a startled cry that turned into a pained squeak.

Yen-! Oh f***********!

He curled up as pain flared briefly in his groin. Yeah...he'd definitely pulled something falling out of Roach.

Yennefer was standing over him, wrapped in a blanket, and clutching Sammy. In the eerie light of the tv screen she looked like a zombie: pale, disheveled, hoarse...

"You scared the h*ll out me, Yen!" he laughed when he could uncurl again. "I almost p*ssed myself! What are you doing up dear heart? Was the tv too loud? Did I wake you?" Yennefer shook her head and coughed, and Jaskier started to move to sit up and make room for her on the couch.

She didn't even wait for him move. He was still laying down when she crawled up on him.

Jaskier tensed, breath hitching when she settled her body weight on him, but then he grunted in surprise when the pain just...disappeared.

He lay there a moment afraid to move in case the pain decided to come back. But it didn't, and he turned his attention to Yennefer when she shifted a little so she could lay her head on his chest.

"You miss that big idiot Witcher, huh? Well, I'm not as warm as Geralt, but I'm warmer than Sammy, and a better cuddler." Jaskier patted the stuffed cat on the head "No offense, Sammy."

Yennefer smiled a little and lightly held on to him, rubbing the thin material of his t-shirt between her fingers like she usually did to Sammy's ear.

Sorry I snapped at you, Songbird.

Hush, now. I know you don't feel well. Everyone is grumpy when they're sick. Except for Geralt. He's grumpy all the time.

Jaskier tucked her blanket around her lower half, and slowly ran his hand up and down her back. He could feel a little fever heat through her oversized t-shirt (which she'd stolen from Geralt), but it wasn't too bad.

He lay with her like that, humming to her, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head, and flipping through the channels until she fell asleep. Then he was left watching some bad comedy show while trying to ignore her congested snoring and the drool and snot that was slowly soaking into the front of his shirt.

He would have gotten up and put her back in bed, but he was loath to move her. She had stopped shivering, and she looked so relaxed and comfortable.

He winced a little as he moved and realized that the snot had glued his shirt to his chest hair. Ugh, it was already getting gooey! Maybe the drool would keep it from dying out completely.

Yen muttered in her sleep, twitching a little, and Jaskier carefully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Shhh, I'm here, Yen. I've got you."

Jaskier carefully shifted around, bending his knee to rest it against the back of the couch, and moving his other leg so his foot could hang off the edge of the seat. "Sorry, love, but my legs were falling asleep." he said apologetically when the witch grumbled a sleepy protest.

He rubbed her back in slow circles for a few minutes until she was properly back asleep, then tucked Sammy under her arm. He reached down and picked his blanket up off the floor from where it had fallen ealier, and put it up near his head, out of the way of the snot and drool puddle on his chest.

Jaskier yawned, finally begining to lose the battle with sleep. He worried briefly what Geralt was going to think if he came home and found them like this. It wasn't their usual way of cuddling.

He hoped the Witcher wouldn't think they were doing anything behind his back. Sure Jaskier had a reputation, but surely Geralt wouldn't think...surely he knew him better than that?

He loved his friends, and he'd never hurt them like that! Sure, he called Yennefer sexy (because she was), but Yen was special to him.

She was both the motherly older sister and the How Much Trouble Can We Get Into Today sister he didn't know he'd been missing.

He loved her and he would never jeopardize their relationship. I'm not the kind of guy who would go behind my best friend's back with his lady!

No, you'd blatantly do it right in front of him! came Yen's barely coherent, yet amused thoughts in his head.

"Reading my thoughts again, dear heart?" Jaskier whispered with a quiet chuckle, kissing her hair.

Distorted images of a 10ft tall Yennefer putting her foot up Geralt's backside danced through Jaskier's head.

Jaskier responded with a sleepy smile and hugged her "I know, you'll set him straight." He felt her relax in his arms as she her mind voice mumbled affectionately, "Sleep well, Bard."

He whispered fondly "Sleep well, Witch." before finally falling asleep.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

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

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

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

____________

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

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

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

“What are those for?!”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fourth.”

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

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

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Geralt!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

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

“Heh, no I think your o-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.” 

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

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

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

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

[witcher-and-his-bard]

Winter Prompts Day 7: Candles 🌲

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): none Rating: general

Fic Summary: Jaskier is nervous about his first visit to Kaer Morhen, so Geralt enlists his brothers to help him relax and feel welcome. 

🌲 Doing this thing  🌲

Everyone expects Jaskier to be delighted about his upcoming trip to Kaer Morhen, it's the first year he'll spend the winter with Geralt and he is excited. But mostly he's terrified. Things have been somewhat tense since his and Geralt's reunion and while it's not a bad sort of tense, Jaskier worries about what it means. But more than that, he worries about what the other Witchers will think of him, what Geralt may have said to them whilst the two of them were separated. If it was anything like what Geralt said to him on the top of that mountain, Jaskier's not sure he's ready to meet Geralt's brothers. 

But Jaskeir doesn't want to be rude and after spending so much time apart, he can't bear to lose Geralt again, even just for the winter. He's still feeling raw and anxious about it, as though Geralt will suddenly realize he was wrong to come back and change his mind if he and Jaskier are apart again. 

So Jaskier keeps his concerns to himself, especially when Geralt is kind enough to stop in Oxenfurt on their way north to pick up supplies. It gives Jaskier a chance to tell his friends he won't be visiting for the winter and to find someone to cover his winter classes. Everyone he talks to is happy to hear he and Geralt have resolved their issues and most of them are eager for stories of their winter together the next time Jaskier returns. Jaskier doesn't have the heart to tell them how he really feels about it. 

And all too soon they're on their way. Geralt tells him about the mountain pass and how hard it can be if the snow has fallen already. Jaskier doesn't mind a little snow if it delays the inevitable. But all too soon the looming shape of Kaer Morhen appears in the distance, bringing with it a sick feeling in the pit of Jaskier's stomach. 

The feeling only gets worse until, as they make their way into the courtyard, Jaskier feels as if he's going to throw up. He's terrified that he won't be welcome and he'll be sent out into the snow - or worse, that he'll have to spend the whole winter in the keep with a bunch of Witchers who dislike him. 

Geralt comes over to him, rubbing his back and adjusting Jaskiers cloak over his shoulders and whispering to him. Jaskier doesn't comprehend the words, but they're soft and calming and soothe him enough to be convinced to go inside. All the way across the courtyard, he convinces himself that if Geralt wants him here, so will the others, but he doesn't truly believe it. So he's still relieved when they walk into the main hall and no one else is around. 

"I'm going to find the others," Geralt says, "do you want to come with me?"

"I'd rather wait if it's all the same," Jaskier says quietly. 

"I'll show you to your room."

Geralt leads him up a long winding staircase and down a hall to a surprisingly large room. Geralt has told stories of growing up sharing rooms with multiple other boys, but Jaskier was still expecting something much smaller than this. Geralt waits for a few moments before leaving to find his brothers and Jaskier is alone. 

He slumps on the end of his bed then drops onto his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He's seized by an unfamiliar terror, an absolute dread that he won't be welcomed in by Geralt's family. He didn't realize how important it was that they like him until now, though he supposes it makes sense. Geralt is more important to him than anyone and being welcomed by his family would mean the world to him. And not to be, well, he doesn't know what he'd do. 

Geralt doesn't know the true extent of his feelings, but Jaskier hasn't made his affection for him a secret, and Geralt isn't a stupid man. He has to know Jaskier thinks of him as more than just a travelling partner, a muse, a friend.

Maybe Jaskier should have told him how he felt, asked Geralt for his opinion before they got here rather than worry himself sick about it on his own. But he's a coward and an idiot, so here he lies staring up at a dark ceiling in an unfamiliar room, wishing he'd done things differently. 

At some point, he must have drifted off because the next thing Jaskier knows is Geralt gently shaking him awake. Jaskier blinks, looking up into Geralt's face and Geralt smiles softly at him. 

"Good nap?" he asks and Jaskier just grumbles sleepily at him, "If you're up for it I have a surprise for you."

"Hm?"

"Come with me." 

Geralt takes both his hands to help Jaskier up off the bed and only releases one as he guides him down the hall. Jaskier's still a little sleepy, and he's not sure he's not still dreaming, but he winds his fingers around Geralt's and squeezes lightly as he's led down the hall.

Geralt takes him to another room downstairs and when he pulls the door open, Jaskier is speechless. There is a large tub pulled into the centre of the room and as soon as the door opens, the scent of lavender hits his nose. Jaskier inhales deeply, taking in the sight of the tub, surrounded by candles - some set on stools and some on the floor, but dozens in total. Jaskier looks up at Geralt for a response and Geralt slides both hands over Jaskier's shoulders, tugging off his doublet.

"I know you've been nervous about coming up," Geralt says, "and I can't tell you how grateful I am that you still made the trip with me. I… mentioned to the others that you were worried about visiting and they helped me set this all up for you."

Geralt runs his hands down Jaskier's sides and Jaskier shivers under the touch as Geralt tugs Jaskier's shirt out of his trousers. The shirt is pulled up over his head and Geralt's hands rest on Jaskier's hips so just his thumbs brush against bare skin. 

"You're… very important to me, Jask. You do so much for me, I wanted to do something in return. Eskel was happy to help, especially when he found out you were nervous. Lambert was a little harder to convince, but Vesemir can be persuasive."

"What did he do?" Jaskier asks, his voice a little shaky. 

"Threatened to put him on dishes for the rest of the winter," Geralt chuckles, tipping forward to press his nose into Jaskier's hair. "If you want to be left alone, I'll go help Eskel. He's getting supper ready."

"Stay?" Jaskier asks quietly. He turns in Geralt's arms, standing back just far enough to look him in the eyes. "I'd like the company and it was a long trip up, you wouldn't say no to a warm bath would you?"

"With you? Never."

[dapandapod]

*Looks at the order board*

Can i get uhhhhh 43, jaskier/ eskel 🥺🥺🥺

43. raising the other’s hand to their lips to kiss it softly

Good choice! With some extra melty feelings on the side, on the house! Please enjoy, this writer accidently became very soft while writing them!

On Ao3 Hand holding prompt collection

The rooms in Kaer morhen may be small, the beds narrow and hard, but as the sun shines in through the window, Jaskier feels like he is in one of the better rooms in the continent.

It could be related to how the sun warms his bare back where he lies on the bed. Their bed, actually, and to the witcher he shares it with, who is currently trying to find a clean shirt.

Jaskier lets one of his hands trace the cold stone floor, his fingers following the cracks as he watches Eskel rummage around. He is beautiful like this; when the weight of the world isn’t his burden to carry, when his body is allowed to relax and recover, and when Jaskier’s affections are still fresh on his skin.

There is a big hickey on his neck, one that Jaskier feels particularly proud of. Eskel looks up and notices him watching.

"What?" he asks, small smile on his lips, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Jaskier is glad he is already laying down, because he can feel his heart melting.

"You are beautiful," Jaskier says, raising his hand and reaching for his witcher. Eskel rolls his eyes, fishes out a shirt and takes the few steps needed to join their hands.

Fingers dancing, caressing, touching without holding, just for the tickling sensation on their skins. Both their hands are rough but oh-so-very-careful.

"You have terrible taste," Eskel murmurs and Jaskier chuckles.

"I beg to differ, Master Witcher. I am told I have refined taste, only going for the very best."

Eskel doesn't blush, but he makes that face he usually does when he is embarrassed. He tries to free his hand, but Jaskier doesn't let him.

He sits up, the blanket pooling around his hips, baring his chest and all the love marks Eskel bestowed upon it.

"Don't run from me. Please," he begs, pulling Eskel closer, into the v of his knees.

They look at each other, hands finally linking properly.

"I never could," Eskel says with a soft smile. "You are too clingy."

Jaskier huffs in mock offense, Eskel drops the shirt he is holding in his other hand, soothing him with a gentle hand on his cheek. The bard nuzzles into it, closing his eyes.

"I love you," Jaskier says quietly. Then he realizes he never said it out loud before, so he looks at Eskel more closely. "I love you," he repeats.

Eskel's mouth falls open, he is looking a little lost.

"Jaskier..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know."

Eskel ducks down and presses a kiss to his lips. Then he leans back, angling their hands so he can press a kiss on the back of Jaskier's hand.

They smile together, and it takes all Jaskier has not to pull the witcher back on top of him, to bask in the soft morning light a little longer, to sink into the warm feeling inside.

"You are beautiful to me too, Jaskier. It is so hard to believe sometimes, that you want me."

A mischievous glint lights in Jaskeir's eyes, and Eskel catches it.

"Oh no you don't," Eskel warns with a chuckle, but too late. Jaskier is giving in, throwing himself back at the mattress and inviting him into his arms.

"Yes I will. Come here, Eskel. How dare you neglect me like this?"

There are worse crimes than being late for breakfast. There are worse crimes than skipping dishing duty.

But not for one moment will Jaskier let his witcher doubt the affection he holds, the love that he carries, and the longing he feels in every waking moment when Eskel is not by his side.

And, in the morning light, on a bed too hard and too narrow, he does his best to prove it.

[samstree]

Prompt word: present (any form of the word)

“Geralt! I think we've found a winner!”

Jaskier's voice comes through the back of the changing room, muffled by the drapes, but the excitement is not to be contained.

“Hmm.” Geralt hums without any heat. It's not that he doesn't want to believe Jaskier. Only the bard has eventually said no to every outfit he's tried on in the past three hours, picking out inconsequential details just to throw out the whole thing. At this rate, Jaskier will need to go buck naked while being handfasted.

“May I present to you—” The drapes slide open, and Jaskier steps out with a dramatic bow. “—The most dashing groom in the Northern Realms.”

Geralt looks up with a long-suffering sigh, and freezes to the spot.

It’s…perfect.

The doublet is pale blue, like the cloudless sky over the sea, the trousers an identical match, making Jaskier’s eyes pop. The cut is slim, showing off his waistline and the curve of his butt all the while complimenting his broad shoulders. The embroidery is subtle, stretching down his back with a silvery glint.

It’s beautiful and vibrant and eye-catching, just like Jaskier. He will, indeed, make the most dashing groom in the Northern Realms.

Geralt’s heart sinks and the word is out before he can stop himself.

“No.”

Jaskeir’s smile stills with confusion. “Why? It’s my favorite so far.”

“Um…” Geralt splutters. “The color doesn’t suit you.”

“You mean the color of my eyes? Jaskier looks almost offended. “No way.”

Yeah, that was a desperate blow, a failed one too. Geralt curses himself silently and attempts to salvage his mistake. “Perhaps it is fine then.”

“Right?” Jaskier skips over to the body-length mirror and preens, twirling around and almost dancing on the spot. “Valdo will love it! I know he will! Did you know that, when he professed his love to me, he just blurted out ‘your eyes are so blue!” like a buffoon? Oh, that man…”

“I know the story, you don’t need to—”

“…I was so smashed. Had been smashed for days, and bawling my eyes out in my dorm room. At least that’s how he found me, and for the first time, he was being nice! Oh, that night… Who would have thought all the jabs and insults were only there to get my attention? That sweet man… Sweet and stupid, stupid man.”

Jaskier giggles to himself and Geralt wants to be anywhere but this shop.

He doesn’t want to think about the reason Jaskier was crying for days and drinking his sorrows away. He doesn’t want to think about how the other bard offered Jaskier comfort at his lowest and thus captured his heart.

It’d be a knife through the chest.

Instead, Geralt makes sure there’s a smile on his lips for Jaskier. It’s what his friend deserves, softness and support, and Geralt vowed to do better after all.

He’s trying to do better. By the Gods, he’s trying.

“This one it is,” Geralt answers. “You do look lovely, Jask.”

With that, Geralt stands from the settee and turns to leave the shop. The air is too thin and he needs a break from the merriness, but a hand catches him by the elbow, the warmth burning into his skin.

Jaskier is right there, his eyes so blue.

“Thank you, Geralt,” he says, tentative and for once serious. “I’m glad we made up. Really. I’ve missed you, and I’m so glad you got here just in time for the most important day of my life.”

The look on Jaskier’s face is of pure happiness, of the promise of marrying a man who loves him whole-heartedly, and of having his best friend back.

So Geralt holds the smile, letting the knife twist without mercy, leaving his heart in a million pieces.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Chapter 11 of Watch Me Burn is up, featuring cottagecore softness and more yearning than anyone knows what to do with.

Excerpt: “For an abandoned cottage on the coast, this is suspiciously nice.” Jaskier looks around at the three-room cottage, taking in the sturdy furniture, the skillet hanging on the wall above the hearth, and the quilt draped over the back of a chair. “Geralt, did something terrible happen to the previous occupants of this house?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Geralt says, which is not reassuring. Jaskier probably should have expected their new home to have a grisly history, since Geralt found out about it while taking a contract for a werewolf that had been terrorizing the little fishing villlages that dot the Koviri coast west of Lan Exeter.

“Are there going to be bloodstains all over the place?” Jaskier looks down at the wooden floors, which appear mercifully bloodstain-free. “Because you know how I feel about viscera.”

“You can go stay outside with the horses if you’d prefer.” Yenna, who is apparently unconcerned about the possibility of bloodstains and viscera, strides into the house and plops her bags down onto the scarred oak table. “This will do nicely. I wasn’t expecting you to find a place so soon, Geralt.”

“I was tired of Jaskier complaining about sleeping outside,” Geralt says dryly. “Wasn’t expecting him to complain about the house too.”

“You probably should have,” Ciri says as she plops down at the table.

“Har.” Jaskier heaves a very put-upon sigh that he knows will make the girl giggle. It’s been just over a week since they arrived in Kovir, so he knows they’re lucky to have found a place to sleep that isn’t a roadside campsite or a shitty inn. That doesn’t mean he fancies the idea of sleeping at the site of a massacre.

Geralt presses a hand between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, eliciting a shiver that Jaskeir can’t quite suppress.  “The younger son was the werewolf. After I cured him, his parents decided to move him and his brother away out of fear of retribution from their neighbors. They offered me the house, at least until they deem it safe to come back, which probably won’t be for years.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks. “That’s awful, but significantly less gruesome than I imagined. Why didn’t you just lead with that?”

Geralt shrugs again.

Jaskier sighs and pokes him in the arm. “You’re not supposed to torture your bard, witcher. It’s bad form.”

Geralt cocks an eyebrow and Jaskier hears what he just said. "Your bard." He looks away, feeling his face flush.

[officerjennie]

The Woods are Lovely, Dark, and- which way was home again?

CW: Jaskier breaks his leg, a tiny bit of dark humor, shifter!Eskel, shifter!Geralt, mentioned shifter!Lambert, soft tummies (briefly mentioned), 2.5k+

Summary: Jaskeir gets lost in the woods and some helpful wolves find him

Taglist: At the bottom - let me know if you want on/off it!

For @fontegagrilledcheese and her trick or treat flashfic challenge, run in @thewitcherbog. My personalized Treat was "shifters" and "lost in the woods", with a minimum of 1k in 24 hours. A lovely treat for this time of year

What, exactly, had past Jaskier been thinking when he veered off into the woods? Jaskier was cursing himself, pulling his practically useless flannel tighter around himself, scrunching up his shoulders and burying his nose into his fall scarf as he tried to shiver the cold wind away.

There was a path, and paths had to lead somewhere. But he’d been walking it and had taken so many twists and turns that he was sure even turning back wasn’t an option anymore - how was he to remember when he took a left or a right when he’d taken so many?

It was far too dark, but he’d left his phone at home. One too many arguments with his ex, one too many concerned and unhelpful texts from his parents asking him if he really wanted to call off the wedding he’d called off months before. Driving off to an unknown hiking location in just his street clothes and sneakers had not been smart but he’d not been thinking, and now his empty thermos was tucked into one elbow while the sun colored the hints of sky that peeked through the trees oranges and purples that matched the falling leaves around him beautifully.

Beautiful, yes, and also dangerous. He kept walking, ignoring the ache in his legs and hoping the path would get him out of here eventually, and hoped eventually came before the sun fully set and he’d have to blindly feel for the path instead of squinting to try to see it.

A noise in the brush caught his attention, but at least he knew not to startle this time. He looked over and frowned at the trees, slowing his steps to a pause, wondering if it was perhaps a bunny or a bird this time. Last time it had been a turkey. And considering his butt still felt wet from that tumbled fright to the ground, he now rightfully hated turkeys. The fuckers.

It sounded larger though. Or...maybe not; Jaskier walked a step closer, squinting harder, fighting against the dying light to see where it was far too dark to. Sometimes, most of the time, the little critters sounded way bigger than the stray deer that would pad carefully out onto the path. There was no telling what it was or how big it might be when he had such little experience in the woods, but he’d always been far too curious for his own good.

The dark was too thick though. Even stepping just a little closer, bushes brushing against his jeans, couldn’t make it take any sort of shape. Just a mass of darkness- Jaskier jerked his head, frowning as he looked behind himself, to the other side of the path and out into the woods there. Woods that had light filtering through them, where the shapes made sense even if he could barely see them, outlines of far off trees blending into each other but still recognizable even in the darkness.

When he looked ahead once more, the darkness was looking back.

Jaskier gasped, his thermos dropping to the dirt path as he scrambled backwards. Large, yellow eyes stared at him and the fact that they were above eye level tore a noise from his throat. But the path was littered with fallen leaves and his sneakers were not meant for hiking, so Jaskier found himself falling to the ground not for the first time that evening.

This time, with far more dangerous consequences.

Sharp pain shot through him as he landed on his right leg wrong, a cry breaking through the quiet around him. His hand was on his leg as the cry turned to a whimper, but he didn’t have time to look it over, his eyes drawn back to the trees as the bushes rustled.

The darkness took shape. A large, furred head, brown and red. The eyes yellow and almost gold when they came into the light, ears flicking back and then towards where Jaskier was hunching in on himself on the ground. Sharp, white, glistening teeth set into a permanent snarl where half of the creature’s maw had been ripped up and scarred. Its paws were silent as it stalked towards him, tail brushing against the bushes it walked out of.

A wolf. A bloody wolf the size of a fucking- well, something much larger than a wolf should be. Jaskier couldn’t make a good comparison as it walked closer, a low rumbling coming out of it and making him whimper.

Why, exactly, had he been avoiding texting his cousin again? Had he turned the stove off before he left? Silly, inane thoughts crossed his mind as he had the odd urge to laugh, staring his death in the eyes as the wolf lowered its giant head to growl in his face.

“H-hey there, big fella,” Jaskier squeaked out, pretty certain that saying anything would get him killed faster but suddenly finding his brain-to-mouth filter was nonexistent. Lovely. “Nice day for a walk, isn’t it? Didn’t mean to intrude, it’s your woods, I can just leave, don’t eat me-”

The last was rushed out as the wolf crowded him further, pushing him back to the ground and shoving its snout right into his scarf and sniffing furiously. It sniffed at his clothes and neck and face, all while Jaskier garbled out syllables that could have been words if they’d been strung together in any sensible order.

Another growl put a stop to both the sniffing and the choked out nonsense, the brown wolf that was standing over him snorting and sneezing all over Jaskier’s face. But it ignored his indignant noise and accusation of “that’s very rude and disgusting”, turning its giant head towards another too large wolf that was walking towards them.

One that’s snarl wasn’t quite as permanent, but seemed far more angry because of it.

This one was pure white, and smaller than the first though not by much. Its red eyes never once left Jaskier, narrowed and angry, face twisted up as its tongue flicked out from behind its bared teeth.

“Big fellas- hello, big fellas, okay,” Jaskier blinked rapidly, his heart going far too fast for his thoughts to keep up with. Fellas. Not just fella, and wasn’t that such a comfort. At least his leg might not be hurting for much longer.

Mr. Big, Brown, and Not As Furious hunkered down over Jaskier more, ears laid back as the low rumbling in his chest got louder. Jaskier managed to finally cut his words short, blue eyes wide and flicking back and forth between him and the albino wolf so fast he couldn’t really focus on what they were doing. At least the albino wolf’s attention was drawn away from him, the both of them snarling at each other, brown fur brushing against Jaskier’s clothes and heat radiating off of the big wolf enough to make him sweat.

Okay, it was actually the sharp teeth and the ‘Oh god so this is how I die’ making him sweat but. Semantics.

The white wolf wasn’t going to put up with his bullshit, apparently, coming up close enough to give the other a nip on his flank. Which made him make a rather adorable noise as he snapped right back. Jaskier really shouldn’t think any of this was adorable, but, well. Not really his fault when something makes a sound like an overgrown puppy.

At least it wasn’t going to be a fight. The two wolves sniffed each other after that, the white one giving Jaskier a look before snorting and shaking himself, any trace of anger melted away. It pacified the brown one enough to stop hunkering over him, stepping aside to get back to his inquisitive sniffing.

And he promptly shoved his snout right against Jaskier’s right leg, and if the shooting pain and the cry it drew out of him immediately was anything to go by it was certainly his broken leg.

“Fuck, fucking, ow, cock-” Jaskier bit his lip hard, his entire body tense from the pain, from his curled toes to his shoulders and squeezed shut eyes. The wolf had drawn back almost as soon as it had shoved its nose into him, but it was a minute before Jaskier could relax himself enough to open his eyes and see what it was doing.

He had no idea what it was doing.

The wolves were certainly communicating somehow. Obviously wolves could do that, but something about the pain and the adrenaline coursing through him made it seem like they were communicating. That their ear flicks and gentle snorts and growls meant something that he could have maybe even figured out if he could think much past expletives and repeated ow ow ow. They nudged at each other, the albino’s ears flattening again but this time no snarl accompanied them, his red eyes looking down at Jaskier and considering him for a moment.

Whatever conclusion he came to, he wasn’t happy about it. The big wolf grumbled and gave a snarly nip at the other one but it stepped towards Jaskier, big head coming to rest right next to his own as it hunkered down on the ground and pointedly did not look at him. Jaskier blinked and tried to breathe normally, looking back up to find the brown one looking quite pleased with himself, giving a shake that shook his tail and fluffed up his fur even more.

Then, he came over and started doing his best to roll Jaskier over, something he was not amused with.

“Hey, would you- hold on now, what do you think you’re doing?” Jaskier found himself pressed into the white fur of the wolf that did not like him, clearly, trying to push himself back without actually touching him and failing miserably. Especially since the brown one really wouldn’t let up, giving an adorable whine as Jaskier strained his neck to look back at him.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said simply, as the brown wolf tried his best to nudge his leg up over the white wolf’s body. Okay, so apparently he was supposed to climb up onto him. That was normal and absolutely not a life threatening thing to do. Which is exactly why he did it, hoisting himself up and taking a firm grip of the wolf’s fur as soon as he felt it shift beneath him.

It’s something he’d done plenty of times as a kid. Technically. Somewhat. Hopping up on the family dog’s back and yelling out the fierce battle cry of “Mush!” as the dog promptly dropped its bottom to the floor and he slid right off. But this time his battle cry was a yelp and he didn’t slide off, pressing his face into the soft fur and hoping desperately that it wouldn’t shake him like his ex’s horse loved to do. Shake him right off and damn near trample him every fucking time.

A cold nose pressed against his ear, making him jerk his face up. Big yellow eyes and a cocked head, the damn thing was more than twice his size and impossibly cute as it gave him one last sniff. Then it licked his face and Jaskier swore loudly, grumbling as it turned on its heels and shot off through the trees.

His dutiful battle mount took a much more leisurely pace, saving him from nasty tumbles and scratches from the brush they walked through. It definitely gave him plenty of time to question all of his life choices even further. By the time the wolf was taking him up some sort of incline, up a rocky surface, he’d gotten all the way back to why on earth he had been so adamant about polka dots in primary school.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved some colorful dots, but he shook his head remembering the tantrum he’d thrown when his mother had suggested something else for one outfit. She deserved a card when he got home. Or some flowers. Both?

He hadn’t known they were coming up on a cave until they were right on it, the wolf ducking into some foliage that led them into a surprisingly well lit den. Jaskier blinked and dared to push himself up just a touch, catching sight of a fire burning away in one corner - how were they not being choked out by smoke?

It was then that the wolf decided he’d had enough, shaking Jaskier off unremorsefully into a pile of furs that were bunched up against one of the walls. Jaskier glared up at him, puffing his bangs out of his face, but the wolf plopped down next to him with a massive sigh and closed his eyes, not even sparing him a single glance.

Rude.

“Just be thankful Lambert’s off with his mate.” A deep voice made Jaskier’s breath catch, and when he looked up it was taken from him fully. “He takes even less kindly to strangers.”

The man was big. Brown hair a mess as he tied it back in a bun, muscled arms, a soft stomach. He only wore a simple pair of trousers and that left Jaskier’s eyes to roam, following the thick trail of dark hair that curled up his stomach all the way to his large chest, and the bit of scruffy beard.

And the scarring that tore up one side of his mouth, a bit of teeth permanently showing. Just like the big wolf’s had.

He wasn’t going to think any further on that.

“We’ll get you to town come morning,” the man said, and then he was climbing into the nest of furs as if it was the most natural thing in the world to cuddle with a complete stranger. Not that Jaskier hadn’t done far more with strangers before, but he still couldn’t help but blush when the man tucked him right up into his arms.

“My, what big arms you have,” he said dumbly, ending with a very soft, “cock” to curse his lack of a filter. He could still blame the leg pain. Right?

“It gets cold even with the fire,” the man said, clearing his throat. And wow, didn’t the color pink just look so nice splashed on his cheeks.

Jaskier just nodded, and the wolf at his back chuffed out something that must have been laughter, since the man reached out and swatted it with a grumbled out “shut up”. But Jaskier was still definitely not thinking any further about the wolves, and this man, and how he had definitely somehow fallen into some sort of fairy tale where wolves and men could be one and the same.

Instead of thinking about it, he just decided to fuck it all and snuggle up as close as he could to the stranger, closing his eyes and letting the cold world outside melt away. Though his nose crinkled up a little as he drifted off, his last thought a little miffed: if ‘monsters’ and werewolves could exist, why, exactly, was he not some rich and pampered prince? Where was his castle and who did he have to fuck to get it, and someone please say it’s the bear whose arms he was falling asleep in.

-

@fontegagrilledcheese @damnbert @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @sulkyshengshou @trickstermoose67

[zoebeeeeeeeee]

Pain in his Side

Fucking AO3 is down and i have 12 hours to post this so its going here!

My entry into the @thepassifloradiscord team bingo event, I was part of Angst Team 1 and this prompt is Hidden Injury.

CWs: Vomit and graphic depictions of what pain feels like. So pain? I guess? Idk, i feel like its a little different than just pain and its more on how it feels ya know.

1049 words

   Jaskier leaned his hand against the nearest wall, a spike of twisting pain drove itself into the muscle fibers of his torso and stuck around for a moment before slowly receding back into oblivion and giving him a moment to breathe. His head felt light and the world tilted at an angel as he tried to center himself. This had been happening on and off all week, ever since he and Ciri had been ambushed by a small troop of Nilfgaard on their way to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier had figured that one of the bastards had gotten him with some sort of poison or spell somehow but didn't have time to think back on it, there was a lot of work to be done around the keep and a lot of brothers for the witchers to bury. Infact, there had been so much going on that Jaskier had the chance to forget about the pain entirely, that is, until the mystery pain rears its ugly head and left the bard all but doubled over in pain.     Jaskier lifted his head and looked down the hall, Geralt was there, staring at him with a confused look on his face and a basket of laundry on his hip. A nauseous wave of annoyance washed over Jaskier at the sight of his former friend and when the witcher turned and started walking towards him he took the opportunity to walk away before he could get cornered.     “Jaskier.” Geralt echoed down the hall, picking up his pace a bit to catch up to the bard. Jaskier kept walking but the pain returned and made him stop dead in his tracks, clutching his gut with both hands as he grunted through the massive spike of pain. 

   “Yack?” Geralt asked, hand reflexively reaching for Jaskier’s back and gently offering him reassurance. Jaskier shrugged off Geralt hand and straightened himself up. 

   “I’m fine.” He said, trying very hard to ignore the clenching of his stomach and acid running up the back of his throat. 

   “No your not Jaskeir.” Geralt said, walking in step with Jaskier as the bard attempted an escape. 

   “Oh wow, im so gla-” The spike of pain was back and it sliced up and around Jaskier’s insides. He couldn’t stop himself from doubling over and vomiting up lunch, but it wasn't just lunch. When Jaskier peaked open one of his eyes he saw a curdled black and brown mess at his feet, and before he could be stunned by the disgusting sight more forced its way up and out. 

   “Jaskier that-” Geralt was cut off by Jaskier’s hacking, spitting up a few more dribbles of incredibly worrying bile. Geralt shook his head and let the basket of clothes drop to the floor as he scooped Jaskier up into his arms and marched him straight to the infirmary. 

   Yennefer looked up from her work and watched for the door to burst open as the sound of Geralt’s footsteps got closer, she didn't flinch when it was kicked open but did when she saw the sight of Jaskier in his arms. 

   “Jaskier…” She said as Geralt laid him out on the table in the center of the room. The bard curled over on himself and let his head hang over the side of the table as pain twisted harder though his torso and the emptiness of his stomach threatened to force more acid up his throat. 

   “He’s in pain and throwing up blood.” Geralt stated, gently brushing hair out of Jaskier’s face. 

   “Jaskier what did you do?” Yenefer asked, placing a hand on the bard’s back and searching for an answer. She snapped her hand back as she felt the same twisting spikes of pain Jaskier was feeling tear through her own torso. She gave a pitiful sigh as she watched Jaskier shake with pain on the table before gently putting her hands on his shoulder and rolling him onto his back. 

   “Bard.” She said cooly, giving Jaskeir a soft look that eased some of the tension in his face. “What im going to do is going to hurt-” Jaskier whined and tried to roll away but was held in place by Yennefer’s hands on his shoulders and Geralt’s hand on his chest. “But it will get rid of the curse making your hurt. Ok?” 

   Jaskier whined again and his chest flinched under Geralt's hand before he nodded. Yennefer smiled and looked up at Geralt. 

   “Hold him down for me.” She ordered, and Geralt followed suit, kneeling behind Jaskier’s head and firmly holding his forearms down. 

   Yennefer took a deep breath and positioned herself to be seated on the table, leaning on Jaskier’s lower half to hold him down as well. She placed her hands lightly on the bard’s abdomen and sent tendrils of magic into the soft flesh. When she found what she was looking for she paused and looked at Jaskier. He was tightly holding his eyes closed and was digging his nails into the wooden table, bracing himself for the pain. With a deep breath Yennefer befan to pull out the curse that had wrapped itself around Jaskier, and he screamed. It felt as if Yennefer was digging into him and ripping tangled rose bushes from his torso, pulling with it his intestines and stomach and all the other parts in there. Geralt and Yennefer strengthened their hold on the surprisingly strong bard as he thrashed and yelled in pain, and tears flowed down his face in heavy streams. Yennefer was almost done, almost had the last of it out and was doing her best to untangle the last bit of the curse. When it was done, when the curse was all out, the force of Yennefer’s pulling nearly knocked her off the table. Steadying herself she looked back at Geralt and Jaskier for a reaction. The bard was passed out, limply laying with only the movement of his chest giving any sign that he was still alive. Geralt was gently cupping his face in his hands and looking over the bard’s soft expression for any signs of distress, when he saw none and the last few hints of sour smelling pain had gone he looked over at Yennefer with one of his rare, glowing smiles. 

   “Thank you.” He said with love.

[jaskiersvalley]

AHHHHH just scrolled all the way down your tumblr (yet again), love how SOFT (TM) Jaskier is with all his Witchers

At the moment it is very much Jaskier soft with his Witchers hour in my head. So have some more gentle idiocy at Kaer Morhen.

Winters were dreary and dull. Really, even Jaskier got bored of the monotony after three days and he began to understand why the witchers trained so much. There was nothing else to do. The ransacking had destroyed the library, there were no musical instruments to play with, even cooking was frugal and bland to preserve their stores. It made sense but it was rather dampening on the spirit to have rations yet again.

Even Jaskier was on the verge of asking if he could train with the witchers each morning, just to have something new to do. If his body was tired, he might find sleep more fulfilling because he’d gotten so bored, sleeping during the day to pass time had become quite appealing. However, if he trained, it meant the others couldn’t burn off as much energy. Which led to cagey, bickering witchers. There was nothing for it, Jaskier had to come up with a solution.

“Vesemir,” he trilled in the courtyard. “May I borrow your pups for a project?”

The prospect of doing something else, anything else really, was wonderful and Jaskier had four witchers at his disposal. They went out into the forest and, with Jaskeir’s careful instructions they felled several trees. From there, they worked them into sturdy, smooth logs. All through it, Jaskier nodded and directed while the others worked. An A-frame was coming along very nicely, as were the other bits and bobs. Eskel was tasked with honing his igni into a careful flame that burnished a wide wooden plank.

Each night the wolves fell into bed tired both mentally and physically as they assembled Jaskier’s curious projects. Even Vesemir got pulled in, given ropes to twist together into sturdy lengths.

Finally, Jaskier stood back and admired their work. It was ready.

“What exactly is all this?” Eskel asked, standing next to him.

“Those there are called swings,” Jaskier pointed to the A-frame. “Next to them are monkey bars and at the end, that’s a slide.”

It was obvious the names meant nothing to the witchers so he took them to the swings first. “Geralt, sit.” Hesitant but trusting, Geralt sat. “Lift your feet and hold the rope.”

A grunt left Geralt when Jaskier gave his back a gentle push and started him on a slow swing.

“I’ll teach you how to swing yourself. But you can also push each other.”

Immediately Lambert gave Geralt a massive shove and cackled at the manly yell of fright. Thankfully, nobody saw Vesemir turn away with a barely stifled laugh.

“Lambert, don’t be rude. Come and look at this.”

At the monkey bars, Jaskier gestured to them. “First challenge, make your way over to the other side without your feet touching the ground.”

Lambert scoffed and hopped up onto the first rung, making quite swift work of it, crowing triumphantly at the end. Just like Jaskier had expected.

“Good job. But can you come back the other way doing a handstand over the top?”

It became apparent that Lambert could not. He crashed down onto the bars four rungs in and slithered into a pouting heap on the ground with a small thud. However, it was obvious he was absolutely caught up in the challenge, getting back up and trying again. And again. And again.

While he was busy tumbling to the ground in less graceful falls, Jaskier took Eskel to the slide.

“Climb up the back, sit at the edge and let yourself slip down.”

At the top, Eskel looked a little nervous. Jaskier stood at the bottom and gestured with a smile.

“Come on down, I’ll catch you.” A ridiculous idea really, because there was no way Eskel’s bulk could be caught and held by a human. Yet Eskel nodded and gave himself a little push. He whooped, and all but slammed onto his back as he slid, hands almost touching the edge to catch and slow himself. Before he could though, he was at the bottom and Jaskier was patting his legs.

“Holy shit,” Eskel sat up and stared wide eyed back to the top of the slide, “it’s like being swallowed by a selkimore but clean.”

Suddenly, Jaskier understood witchers in a new light. Some of their more disgusting habits were nothing more than thrill seeking. If they’d missed out on such simple things like playgrounds as children, no wonder they looked for more extreme things to get that kick. They didn’t know there were other ways to get the same rush.

Over the weeks, the playground became a popular past time. Jaskier taught them how to propel themselves on the swings, much to Lambert’s delight as he tried to get to the highest point of them all.

Vesemir even helped create a merry-go-round which ended up in asinine games like dizzy wrestling and seeing who could spin the most after lunch without throwing up.

The best part of it all though was how the courtyard echoed with laughter and mock annoyance. Lambert liked to pelt his victims with berries and nutshells from atop the monkey bars which he had declared his second home. Eskel could often be found sitting in a swing, swaying, eyes closed in meditation. But the evenings were Jaskier and Geralt’s, they often sat in a swing each, holding hands and watching the sun set.

And, when it was all dark so nobody could see. With all his pups curled up and fast asleep, Vesemir would sneak out and stifle his own little whoops of joy as he slid down the slide then turned and tried to run up it because using the ladder was for children.

[tears-and-smiles-ao3]

Petals In A Storm

Chapter 4: a horse, a cart and a portal

Fic masterpost

Jaskier didn’t know why he was so incensed. Geralt had frequently ignored him during the twenty odd years they’d spent on the road together and, while he hadn’t been particularly chatty in the last few weeks, it wasn’t like Geralt had blanked him. So, why did it sting so much watching Geralt happily talking away with the dwarves?

He sighed loudly, trying to shake off this bone-deep, simmering anger that he felt while watching Geralt speak so animatedly with Yarpen. When no one turned around to pay him any mind, Jaskier sat on a log a little back from the group and bit his nails in frustration.

Sam was busy helping out, getting stuck in and preparing dinner alongside two squat dwarves. It was yet more rabbit, which Jaskier would be moaning about but this stew smelt good. Definitely better than another night of roasted rabbit.

By the time Sam joined him and handed him a bowl, it was getting dark. The dwarves were in full swing, shoving food down their gullet as fast as possible so they could get back to drinking and laughing raucously. Jaskier ate a bit of his food, then huddled closer to Sam, his head resting on the baker’s shoulder.

“Are you doing okay?” Sam asked, his fingers slowly combing through Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier hummed. He didn’t really want to lie to Sam about how he felt. He linked their hands together, rubbing his thumb over the tough skin of Sam’s hand. He often wondered how Sam felt about his hands, about the calluses at the base of his fingers and the frequent burns he’d have. They were uniquely Sam and Jaskeir could have recognised them anywhere.

His own hands bore less weather, with only his fingertips suffering the damage of strumming his lute.

“I just want a nice bed to lie in,” Jaskier decided to say. That at least was true, and Sam bent over to lay a kiss against his forehead in response.

Eventually, Sam started falling asleep, his hand dropping by his side and his body jerking when he nearly fell off the log. It was then that Jaskier suggested he go to bed. Sam smiled, kissing him goodnight.

“Don’t be late,” he said.

“I won’t,” Jaskier replied.

Now all alone on his log, Jaskier intended to glare over at Geralt, but all that happened was he looked over longingly. He probably looked like a puppy who had been kicked. Geralt’s hair was shining in the firelight, like some kind of halo. Everything else faded into darkness.

He leaned on his knees and stared over at the witcher; his want shining in his eyes. He could feel that familiar thrum of arousal coursing through him and with it, guilt. He fidgeted in his seat, unable to keep his hands still.

His preoccupation with Geralt is definitely why he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone sat beside him.

“You look like you could do with company,” one of the female dwarves said. She had luscious blonde hair and dark brown eyes and she held out her hand, waiting for Jaskier to shake it. “I’m Solris.”

Jaskier recovered quickly from his shock, smiling as he gently gripped her hand and brought it to his lips to place a gentle kiss. “Jaskier, a humble bard at your service.”

Solris giggled; it was a laugh that could make the sun shine through the darkest clouds. Jaskier laughed too, pulling her hands into his lap.

“I’ve heard all about you. I know you have very talented hands,” she whispered in his ear, her voice as soft as silk.

“What, these things?” Jaskier teased, his fingers running in circles along her palm. “They can’t compare to the hands of one who has seen battle.”

Solris’ eyes reflected the moonlight and Jaskier let himself be enchanted. She was the only one paying him any attention and he was hungry for affection.

“Shall we slip off back to my tent,” she suggested.

“I never thought you’d ask.”

-

It had been a long time since he had slept with a woman, but Solris seemed to be quite determined at how she wanted this to go. All he had to do was lie down as she straddled his face, her hips grinding downwards as his tongue licked against her.

“I knew that your mouth would be good,” Solris panted heavily. Jaskier just groaned in response, thrusting his fingers inside of her to the rhythm she had set. She was so wet, her juices ran down his hand and onto his sleeve. Her scent was warm, like honey. He desperately wanted to hear her come this way, using him to get off.

Jaskier squeezed around the meat of her thighs as she rode him, delighting in the little gasps she was making. Her moans were like an angel’s, and her panting escalated as she finally reached her peak, clenching down tight around his fingers.

She still wanted more afterwards, sliding down his body and taking his neglected cock deep inside her easily. She felt so wet, bouncing up and down on his length like she was desperate for it.

Her eyes were half closed. Her movements fluid, and Jaskier felt like this was art incarnate. Her blonde beard tickled as she leaned forward and dropped her head into the crook of his neck.

“Are you close?” she asked, her breath ghosting across his skin.

“Yes. You?”

“Almost. Touch me.”

Jaskier’s hands reached between them and rubbed his thumb against her clit in circles. Solris let out a deep moan, her hips moving faster and faster. Jaskier moved his thumb faster, too. They were like animals, rutting towards orgasm.

“Please come,” Jaskier begged. He didn’t want to spill inside her. Another thing he had forgotten about sleeping with women: the possibility of pregnancy.

Solris’ hips moved one, two, three times more and then she stilled, her mouth hung open, her eyes screwed shut, as she came again. There was silence for a heartbeat and then she grunted, clenching down hard against his cock. Jaskier bit his lips, staving off his pleasure.

When Solris climbed off him and noticed he was still hard, she frowned.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier pacified. “Just didn’t want to, well, you know.”

“Oh,” Solris exclaimed. “I take herbs. You didn’t need to hold off. Do you want a hand?”

Jaskier nodded. It didn’t take long till he spilled over Solris’ fingers and his stomach.

Sam was still awake when Jaskier made his way over to their bedroll.

“Hi,” he said quietly as he snuggled in beside Sam. Immediately, his lover’s arms were around him and Jaskier let out a soft sigh of contentment. Sam leaned over and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“I thought you would be asleep by now.”

“Not yet. Was restless, but I’m better now.”

Jaskier snuggled deeper into Sam’s arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. It wasn’t long before they both drifted off to sleep.

-

The next morning, Jaskier was the last to get up. By the time his eyes opened and took in the morning sun, everything had been packed up. Yarpen and his dwarves were on their cart already, and Geralt was putting his bags onto a dark coloured horse.

Sam knelt down beside him and stroked his hair. In his other hand was a small tin of food. “Saved some breakfast for you,” he said, watching Jaskier sit up.

“Thanks. Where did that horse come from?”

“Oh, the dwarves. Geralt wants us to ride on the cart.”

Jaskier choked. “What? The witcher actually wants to save our poor feet.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, your poor feet. But I think he just wants us to move faster.”

He couldn’t help the low grumbles he made as he stood up. After quickly eating his food and then throwing on his clothes, Jaskier headed over to Sam and the cart. Solris caught his eye and patted at the large space left for them. Jaskier swallowed, thinking of all the ways this could turn awkward.

Sam either didn’t seem to notice or just pushed it out of his mind, opting to start talking to the dwarf he sat beside.

Luckily, Jaskier had his lute to distract him. Hopefully, the dwarves would like his music.

-

It took a week to get to their destination. A week where Jaskier huddled into Sam and just prayed for this whole thing to be over. Being jostled and sitting in a cramped cart for hours each day was making him feel claustrophobic. Even having sore feet was starting to feel preferable.

Somehow, they made it through. Sam had made a few friends in the dwarves, while Jaskier tried and failed to even talk to any of them, except for Solris.

It had been the same story every night. Sam went to bed and then Solris approached him. He’d let her have whatever she wanted and then he crawled back into Sam’s arms, exhausted and feeling numb.

It wasn’t that Solris wasn’t nice. The sex was nice, but that was just it. Jaskier had got so used to sleeping with people who were rough with him that it just wasn’t working for him. There just weren’t any other options.

So, it was a relief when the cart stopped after only a few hours travelling.

Jaskier looked at Sam, his brows raised in silent question, then the driver called, “Time to get out.”

The dwarves all filed out, axes in hand, and walked over to the front of the cart. They looked ready for a fight.

Then Jaskier heard a familiar voice. Was that Yennefer?

He dashed off the cart, landing on the ground with a thud. He didn’t even stop as he ran around the line of dwarves, skidding sharply at the end. When he saw her, Jaskier stopped immediately. He made so much noise that everyone turned to look at him.

“Bard,” Yennefer exclaimed, her tone sounding almost surprised.

“Witch,” Jaskier hissed, but the smirk on his face betrayed the implied meaning of his words.

Still, he was taken aback when Yennefer marched forward and hugged him.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “Things are just…shit right now.”

He snorted, slowly raising his hand to hug her properly. “You don’t need to tell me that twice.”

The hug didn’t last long before Yennefer pulled back, looking over his shoulder. “Who is this?” she asked, voice soaked in curiosity.

Jaskier turned and urged Sam towards him. He put his arms around his waist, pulling their hips together. “This is Sam. Sam, this is Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“A pleasure,” Yennefer said, her eyes gleaming with something akin to mirth. “You will have to tell me more about this,” she demanded, her forefinger moving between the two of them, “when we get back to the keep.”

The keep? Kaer Morhen. Jaskier felt like his breath had been stolen from him as many years of longing to see what this mysterious place looked like poured over him once more. Surely, Yennefer was mistaken and Jaskier wasn’t invited.

“Yennefer,” a new voice called, off to Jaskier’s right, “who are these people?”

“Friends,” Yennefer replied to a young girl with long blonde hair, who stood beside Geralt. “Come on, you two,” she said, motioning to Jaskier and Sam to follow her. She walked towards the witcher.

Jaskier felt Sam’s hands tighten around his own and he squeezed, trying to reassure him wordlessly. If they were both to be abandoned here in the middle of nowhere, at least they would be together.

They walked up behind Yennefer, watching Geralt ruffle Ciri’s hair. He smiled at her, happiness spread across his features. It was a smile that dimmed when he looked at Yennefer.

“Ready to go?” she asked the witcher, and he nodded. Yennefer opened the portal, a hole in the fabric of reality shimmering and showing a dark hallway, lined with grey stonework.

Geralt let the young girl walk through first, then he looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Thanks, Yarpen, for all your help.” He walked through and disappeared. Jaskier gulped. Was this it? Had Geralt once again walked out of his life and not said a word to him?

Yennefer cleared her throat loudly. When Jaskier looked up, he saw she was gesturing with her free hand towards the both of them.

Oh. Oh, right. Sam began walking forward first, then Jaskier followed.

Walking through a portal was unlike anything Jaskier had experienced before. It felt like his body had been pulled apart, spread thin over the vast universe. Every fibre of his being belonged not to him but was part of the stars, the land, the sea. Just when he felt like he was losing himself to this feeling, he snapped back into his body. He retched, throwing up on the stone floor he now found himself standing on.

“What the hell was that?” he spat out. He shut his eyes, then opened them wide. No matter what he did, the room seemed to move.

“It’s rough the first few times,” Yennefer said. “Just take deep breaths.”

He tried taking a deep breath and choked. He tried again, and his lungs burned. As he kept trying, the sickness he felt slowly eased.

By the time he looked up, he saw that Sam was sitting on the ground, his back against the wall.

“Are you alright?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah, okay.”

Jaskier swallowed. He did not feel well at all.

“Good,” said Yennefer. “It’s time to find your room. What would you like? A cold dark room or a cold dark room?

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Good as Gold pt.19

[part eighteen] | [part twenty] [prostitute!jaskier masterpost] 

 Geralt stumbles into the brothel, doubled over and breathing hard, sure that this is the time they'll toss him out for good. But by the grace of some unknown god, he makes it up the stairs without being stopped, his control still intact - if only just. He knocks on the door and it's opened before him quickly, but as soon as it is, Geralt is assaulted with Jaskier’s scent and he groans as the burning need claws at him.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks, "are you okay?" He reaches out to touch him, but Geralt knows better than to let him. Not when he’s like this.

"Don't," he warns, waving an arm for Jaskier to stay away without touching him. Jaskier is undeterred, the frown on his face deepening as he steps closer. "Stop fucking around Jaskier." Geralt growls, shoves Jaskier back. Even the light tough rips through him and Geralt curls that hand into a fist, dropping it to his side. "I need your help."

"Anything, darling, just tell me what it is." Jaskier’s voice is light and just this side of panicky. Geralt hates to hear him like this.

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, which proves to be a mistake when the scent of citrus and cloves fills his senses once more. He steadies himself.

"I don't know how to explain.”

“Try, darling.”

“There are certain plants that serve, in small doses, as an aphrodisiac. They're mostly harmless if you avoid them, but in large doses, they can be-" he takes another steadying breath as arousal sears through him "-overwhelming. I was fighting a fiend, got thrown into a field of the damn things."

"So you're-" Jaskier starts and Geralt can feel his eyes track down his body, settling low with a soft gasp before snapping back up to his face. "Fuck." The smell of arousal curls up between them and Geralt grinds his teeth against it.

"It'll work through my system eventually, but if I don't submit to it, it will become excruciating. I don't know how long it could last, sometimes you just need to come once and it eases up, sometimes it's hours."

Jaskier's lips twitch and Geralt is expecting some snarky response, but he gets none. He takes a step forward and Geralt moves back.

"Jaskier, I need to hear you say it."

"Melitele's sake Geralt, of course, I'll help you!" He rolls his eyes as he steps toward him. The second Jaskier's hands are on him, Geralt lets out a low moan, letting himself be walked backward. His back hits the wall and Jaskier drops to his knees, quickly undoing Geralt's trousers and freeing his aching cock.

Geralt whines as Jaskier's mouth wraps around him. He drops his head back against the wall, sliding his hands through Jaskier's hair and trying not to push too hard. But Jaskier's mouth has never felt so fucking good and he needs more of it. His whole body burns with the need for more, to fuck, to come. And Jaskier does his best to offer that, sucking hard and taking Geralt's cock deeper than seems possible.

Geralt comes, remarkably quickly, just like that, both of them still dressed with Jaskier's mouth wrapped around him. He shudders through the aftershocks, rocking into Jaskier's mouth until he's spent. Jaskier rises to his feet, presses up against him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure."

Jaskier hums thoughtfully as he pulls at the straps of Geralt's armour. It's such a practiced motion that he hardly even looks anymore and Geralt stands patiently as Jaskier removes each piece with care. He moves onto his clothing after that and there's a constant buzz under Geralt's skin, but he doesn't know if it's the affliction or just Jaskier, not that it matters much either way.

"It's okay," Jaskier says, taking in the frown on his face, "we'll get through this." He dips his head to kiss Geralt's shoulder where his shirt pulls away and lifts the shirt over his head before dropping to remove his trousers. Geralt's pulse spikes at that, but it's still not so urgent as it was when he arrived.

Jaskier rises back to his feet, kissing up Geralt's stomach as he presses him back toward the bed. He presses him down and smiles encouragingly at him before turning away. But the second Jaskier's hands aren't on him, the urgency returns like a storm, racing through his veins. Geralt groans at the intensity of it, dropping onto his back and wrapping a hand around his cock.

It feels... better. Not great. but better than the desperate ache when he's not touching himself. Not as good as Jaskier's hand. Not as good as his mouth.

He's not even aware of Jaskier's return until soft fingers slide around his wrist, pulling his hand from his cock. Hr groans at the loss but a moment later Jaskier's palm presses against him, slick with oil and so, so good. Geralt arches off the bed with a moan, barely aware that Jaskier is talking to him.

"If we're going to be at it all night, you're going to get sore just using your hand like that."

Geralt's breath catches as Jaskier slides over him and he reaches down, brushing his fingers over Jaskier's. He slips further, pressing back between his legs and Jaskier breathes a low fuck.

"Okay, darling, let's get you up on the bed properly, alright?" He slips off the bed himself and Geralt moves as quickly as he can, forcing down the rising heat in his skin. Jaskier arranges the pillows under his head as Geralt takes hold of himself again, getting him settled.

But after even a second, it's not enough and Geralt drops his free hand between his legs again, pressing against his hole. It feels good, better, but it's still not enough and he pushes further, grunting when it's too dry. Jaskier helps, tipping the bottle of oil onto his fingers and Geralt is quick to press deeper into himself. Jaskier's fingers slide in next to his and Geralt rolls his head back, breathing hard.

"Oh fuck," Jaskier breathes, "you're already ready." His eyes flick up to Geralt's and Geralt can't bring himself to speak. He can't tell Jaskier that he barely made it here or that he spent half an hour fucking himself on the plug before realizing that wasn't going to be enough.

Jaskier gets him off again just using his hands, stroking and fucking into him until Geralt is breathless and limp beneath him. But his cock remains firm, aching.

Jaskier ducks, nosing at the base of his cock and working his way up, mouthing at Geralt's skin. It's not enough, not nearly enough to satisfy the need, but it does feel good and Geralt doesn't want him to stop. Jaskier's knees come up under his thighs and Geralt reaches for him, slipping his hands around the back of his neck. He wants to touch as much as he wants to be touched and Jaskier is more than happy to allow him.

He ducks down into Geralt's hold and his cock nudges against Geralt's hole, pressing into him even as he shifts positions. Jaskier drops onto his elbows and Geralt presses his nose into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of Jaskeir's skin. He rocks his hips down and Jaskier doesn't hesitate any longer, pushing steadily into him.

He pauses when he's fully sheathed and Geralt rolls his hips slowly, revelling in the way Jaskier fills him. And he gives this so easily, so readily, drops everything to help him. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, kissing and biting at whatever bit of skin he can reach with his mouth.

Jaskier picks up his pace, rocking a little quicker, a little harder and Geralt moves with him but doesn't let him get far away from him. The ache is lesser with Jaskier inside him, but he still needs more than he's getting, more than is likely possible, he realizes. Because this isn't arousal, this is some sort of magic at work that makes him need this. And Jaskier does his best to give it to him.

He doesn't last long when Jaskier starts talking in his ear and he comes hard, squeezing around Jaskier’s cock and pulling him over the edge with him. Geralt remains still under him, arms still wound around Jaskier's body. He's exhausted, but his body isn't satisfied unless Jaskier is touching him, so he holds him close for as long as it's comfortable.

As soon as Jaskier starts to shift, Geralt releases him, and almost immediately the need returns. He's still rock hard, his cock having refused to give up even after three orgasms. Jaskier flops onto his back next to him.

"How are you feeling?" he asks and Geralt can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"Okay," he says, "better." It's a half-truth, but Jaskier looks and sounds exhausted and Geralt would like nothing more than to lie down and sleep beside him.

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

“Mm, good.” Jaskier rolls onto his side, shifting back until he bumps against Geralt and he settles with a soft sigh. Geralt takes the opportunity to curl around him, shutting his eyes and breathing in Jaskier's scent. Most nights it's comforting, but today it's like a goddamn aphrodisiac itself and Geralt doesn't need any encouragement. Already, he's struggling to get comfortable, trying to shift into any position that doesn't have his hard prick sliding against Jaskier's ass with every little movement.

Eventually, Jaskier tires of it and reaches around, grabbing Geralt's hand and pulling his arm over him. He gives a little tug, just hard enough that Geralt moves without consideration and his cock presses up between Jaskier's cheeks. Jaskier doesn't seem to mind, apparently ready to roll with whatever this night brings, but the heat of his body is overwhelming.

It picks away at Geralt's composure even as he settles in to rest and he's already so fucking hard. He doesn't need the reminder of what it feels like to be inside him, doesn't need the reminder of how ready and willing Jaskier always is for him. Heat zips up his spine and Geralt groans with the restraint it takes to not just rut against Jaskier's ass until he comes. Fuck, but it would feel so good and he can practically feel it already... His hips shift unbidden and he freezes immediately, but Jaskier isn't convinced.

"It’s still bad," he realizes. Geralt winces at the sound of his voice, thick with exhaustion, but he knows he can't lie to Jaskier. It wouldn't do him any good anyway. So he says nothing. "Geralt," Jaskier says, already turning around to face him, "you don’t have to lie to me. You asked me for my help, let me give it."

Geralt is about to insist that he can hold out a little longer, but then he's rolled onto his stomach and subjected to the wet heat of Jaskier's mouth, pressing a line of kisses down his back. Jaskier shifts to straddle his thighs and Geralt is surprised to find him already half hard. Jaskier rocks against him and it doesn't take much encouragement to bring him to full hardness again. Beneath him, Geralt just moans, pressing his face into the pillow and breathing in Jaskier's scent as the head of his cock presses into him. As soon as he's inside, the painful need stops, replaced by a different type of want that feels much more natural.

Jaskier fucks him slowly, kissing Geralt's shoulders. Like this, Geralt can hear every little moan and groan that spills from his lips and he presses his hips back to try and push him deeper. Jaskier appeases him, pushing harder with the next thrust as his teeth graze Geralt's neck.

"Good?" he hums and Geralt just whines.

There's a soft laugh against his ear and Jaskier's hand works its way beneath him, wrapping around his cock and squeezing hard. Geralt's breath catches, but his hips snap forward instinctively, fucking into the heat of Jaskier's fingers. He grinds forward, muffling a moan in the pillow as Jaskier's thumb rubs over the head of his cock.

Trapped between Jaskier's cock and his hand, Geralt is helpless to do anything but rock between the two, and it's good, fuck is it good. But after a few minutes, the pleasure plateaus and Geralt whimpers as he grinds harder against Jaskier's fingers and works his hips quicker, to no avail.

"What do you need, love?"

Jaskier's voice is low and thick with sleep and what he's sure is supposed to be an encouraging question only makes him feel guilty. Jaskier is having none of it. He pulls out and rolls Geralt onto his back, crawling up to lie against him. Geralt suspects it's a ploy to keep him from looking away, but right now he doesn't mind because he likes having Jaskier pressed up against him. Jaskier brushes his hair back, rocking his hips against him and it keeps the need away but doesn't get him any closer to coming.

"Geralt," he hums, "tell me what I can do, darling. I want to help."

"I don't know," Geralt groans. He's hot and sweaty and so fucking horny but his godsforsaken body won't cooperate with him. Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, looking down on him and Geralt groans in frustration.

"If I'd had more time to prepare, I'd tie you up," Jaskier murmurs, dipping down to kiss his neck, "you seemed to like that last time."

"Yeah," Geralt agrees. Jaskier's teeth press into his skin and electricity zips through him. He tips his head back, giving him more space and Jaskier hums thoughtfully before doing it again.

Geralt lets out a low groan and his cock throbs against Jaskier's, hips pushing up into him. It's ridiculous that he should have such a reaction; he's been taught from the beginning that a Witcher needs to protect his neck, volunteering it to be bitten is about as far from that as he could get. But Jaskier's teeth sink into the skin under his jaw and he whimpers as the lust that rushes through him.

"Oh," Jaskier breathes and Geralt almost misses it as nimble fingers tangle in his hair and tug. He's vaguely aware of Jaskier talking to him, mumbling against his skin, but Geralt sinks into the pleasure, unaware of anything until Jaskier's cock nudges against him again.

As he presses in, Jaskier tugs his head down and licks a stripe up his throat, letting his teeth graze over the cooling skin. Geralt sinks into the mattress, letting Jaskier take full control over him as he rocks into him, quick and hard. His head is foggy and he feels like he's floating, like Jaskier's mouth and hands are the only thing tethering him here and it feels good.

He knows he shouldn't want to give someone control over him, but he can trust Jaskier and aside from the other wolves, he's never felt as comfortable with someone.

Jaskier's cock bumps up against his prostate and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. Mindlessly, he reaches for his own cock, jerking himself quickly as Jaskier grinds into him, angling his hips to hit that spot with every thrust. It doesn't take long after that, with Jaskier's fingers in his hair and his mouth against his neck. Geralt spills between them, arching off the bed with a desperate cry and Jaskier follows seconds later, collapsing against him.

They both fall back to the bed, still tangled together and Geralt hums as Jaskier tucks his head under his chin. He reaches one hand up, slipping his fingers into Jaskier's hair and his eyes fall shut.

Geralt doesn't know how many hours have passed, but he awakes to something hot and wet around his cock. He moans as he blinks awake and leans up to find Jaskier halfway down the bed with his mouth around him. Any other day, he'd be overjoyed to be woken up like this, but he'd hoped he was finished with this damn curse. Evidently not.

Before he's even awake, his body jerks and he only realizes he's coming when Jaskier pulls off and it splatters against his chest. He blinks as Jaskier slips up against him, wiping his stomach with something soft.

"You were hard again in your sleep," he hums, "didn't want to wake you."

"Why were you awake?" Geralt mumbles, wrapping an arm around Jaskier's shoulders as he curls against him.

"Unimportant." He kisses Geralt's chest and Geralt knows it's a diversion. When he scents the air, Jaskier's regular scent is tinged with something sour.

"You were worried."

"I've never seen you like this," Jaskier whispers.

"Hopefully you never will again."

"What does it feel like?"

"Awful," Geralt mumbles, "hot and like I need it to survive. If I hold out for too long, it feels like I'll lose control, like I can't stop myself. You shouldn't worry though. I won't hurt you."

"Geralt," Jaskier scoffs, "I'm not worried about myself. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

Something shifts in Geralt's chest and it's overwhelming. To think that even like this, Jaskier trusts him so blindly is nothing short of incredible. He shifts onto his side, pulling Jaskier up against his and presses his lips into his hair. He doesn't know what to say in the face of such trust, so he just holds him close and shuts his eyes.

As they lie there, the nagging urge creeps up on him again and Geralt doesn't realize his hand is drifting until it slips around Jaskier's soft cock. He strokes him slowly and Jaskier lets out a little shuddering gasp as he presses back against Geralt's chest. He's only vaguely aware when his strokes become quicker, more focused on the sound of Jaskier's breath and the way he squirms against him, grinding back against his cock.

"Geralt," he breathes, hushed and strained, "I don't think I can come again, but I want you to fuck me."

"You're sure?"

"Completely, love. Let me help you through this." Geralt grumbles against his neck, but Jaskier just huffs another soft laugh and reaches back to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair. "I'm here for you."

Geralt slides his hand back, dragging his fingers between Jaskier's cheeks and he's surprised to find the plug missing, but Jasker is slick and ready for him anyway.

When Geralt presses into him, it takes every ounce of control not to just shove his cock in and fuck him hard, but even from the beginning, something feels different. Jaskier must be exhausted, but he still rocks back onto him like he's desperate for it, keeping one hand firmly in Geralt's hair. It's quick and hot and this time, Geralt comes quickly, burying his face into Jaskier's neck as he ruts into him.

He's tired, afterward, but the bone-deep exhaustion doesn't return and once Jaskier has cleaned them both up a little, Geralt settles. He's sweaty and sticky and sore and they'll probably both be feeling it for days, but he feels calm. The burning itch under his skin is gone and he sighs softly as he turns away from Jaskier.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles and there's barely a second's hesitation before Jaskier's fingers slide against his arm.

"Don't be sorry darling, no one keeps things interesting like you do." It's meant as a joke, Geralt knows, but it doesn't stop him from tensing up immediately. There's a soft fuck, and Jaskier presses up behind him, kissing his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean to upset you, this is different for me, too."

Geralt doesn't know what to say to that because this is different, has been different for a long time, but neither of them has ever brought it up before. Geralt wouldn't trust anyone else to see him like this and he knows if another Witcher came in, unable to control his lust, Jaskier wouldn't welcome him so easily.

"Geralt?" Jaskier shifts behind him, lifting his chin to rest it on his arm. "Geralt, you know you're important to me right? This isn't just... you're not just someone I fuck because you pay me." He leans into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder and Geralt nods.

He does know. He's terrified of it and he doesn't know what to do with it, but he does know.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XV

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A very steamy chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

take a look at @gen-syz-art‘s sinfully hot art for this chapter right here

(look out for chapter spoilers and your virginities)​

_________________________

Jaskier is usually very warm when he sleeps. 

Geralt finds some special kind of pleasure in that warmth, gets as close to it as he can without waking Jaskier up, and it allows him to sleep better than ever before. 

Jaskier reaches for the witcher’s own warmth in return, and they spend the nights curled up together just like Asra and Lucio on the other side of the bed. 

But this night turns out to be especially cold, and when the fire in the hearth burns out, the room too loses most of its warmth. And it’s only a few hours after the sunrise that Geralt wakes with a start from Jaskier trying to hide his freezing-cold hands between his thighs. 

He hisses, recoiling from the touch involuntarily, and that wakes the bard up. His long eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes, and the look on his face is so innocently confused that Geralt can’t help the smile tugging on the corners of his lips. 

Jaskier burrows himself deeper into the soft furs, hiding from the cold, and presses his nose to Geralt’s chest. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, still half-asleep. 

Geralt sighs, rolling his eyes affectionately, and wraps his arms around the bard, trying to ignore the bites of cold when Jaskier does the same but still flinching. 

“You’re cold,” he mutters, blindly searching for one more blanket to cover them both with. “And you’re trying to warm your hands on me.”

Jaskier smiles - if not grins - and moves to press the soles of his feet - just as cold - to Geralt’s shins, making the witcher growl a warning low in his throat. 

“Scary Witcher,” the bard murmurs with a satisfied smile, teasing mercilessly. 

Geralt growls at him again, louder, but in return, Jaskier simply props himself up on one elbow, leans in and kisses him on the nose.  

“Pretty boy,” he says in that same murmur. “Gorgeous.”

Geralt pointedly moves away, fighting back both a smile and the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“I’m not one of your dogs.”

“Of course not,” Jaskier agrees, making himself comfortable on the endless pillows and closing his eyes with a content sigh. “Bet I could make you whine like one, though.”

And oh, that is way too much. 

The heat from Geralt’s chest spills all over his neck and cheeks, making him suffocate for a second, and he immediately hides his eyes, throwing an arm over Jaskier’s middle and pulling him closer, until the bard’s back is pressed to his chest and Geralt is sure he won’t be able to see him.

“You’re playing with fire, bard,” he warns, still, getting a grip on Jaskier’s thigh. 

Jaskier doesn’t try to get out of it, just laughs, completely disarming the witcher. 

“What did you just call me?” he asks. 

“Bard,” Geralt repeats. “What, would you prefer me calling you Prince?” 

Jaskier considers it, making himself more comfortable on the bed and rolling his hips against Geralt’s almost accidentally.  

“My Lord, perhaps?” he suggests. 

And that’s… well, very fitting. And, whether Geralt wants to admit it or not, thrilling. 

But he’s not going to lose this game this easily.

“Well, then,” he hums. “You’re playing with fire, my Lord.”

In this position, he’s got perfect access to Jaskeier’s back and the witcher uses it to his full advantage. He moves away just enough to see the mark between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, and doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction as he runs his thumb over it, his skin tingling with the low thrum of magic. 

Whatever Jaskier was going to say dies on his lips as he gasps. 

“Don’t you dare,” he warns but Geralt has never been the one to listen to warnings if there’s something in it for him.

So instead, he shifts lower, until he can brush his lips over the softly glowing mark, and Jaskier arches his back with a moan, moving away from the touch and leaning into it at the same time. 

Geralt pulls him closer again, slips a hand down his bare thigh, and leaves another kiss on the same spot, dry and warm, barely even there, but it’s enough to make Jaskier hide his face in the pillows, his breath coming fast and heavy. 

“You’ll pay for this later, Witcher,” he says but it does nothing if not thrills Geralt. 

“I know,” he murmurs, nosing at the bard’s shoulder before going back to his shoulder blades. “But if you want to stop me, you’ll have to use your magic.”

He’s half-expecting Jaskier to take that offer on, keep him away with a force that’s stronger than the witcher, and that thought thrills him, the sheer power that Jaskier holds in his hands almost intoxicating to think about. 

But Jaskier doesn’t try to restrain him, doesn’t tie his wrists and doesn’t try to move away again. He just shudders, face hidden among the pillows so that Geralt can’t see him. 

It’s an invitation that Geralt cannot turn down, even if there’s going to be a price to pay later on. 

He’s dying to ask what it feels like, why Jaskier reacts to it so strongly to every touch, but he’ll have time for that later, when he’s had his fill. 

Slowly, Geralt starts a line of kisses down Jaskier’s neck, moving to his shoulders as he goes, mindful not to overwhelm him right from the start. He waits for Jaskier to relax in his arms, let go of the control that keeps his shoulders tense, and gradually, he gets what he wants. 

Jaskier melts under his attention, soft moans escaping his lips every time Geralt brushes a kiss over a particularly sensitive spot, all of them marked with love-bites. He arches his back, the line of his spine defining in the sweetest of ways, and presses his hips to Geralt’s, allowing the witcher to brush his hand up and down his thigh. 

It’s making Geralt feel lightheaded, just how much Jaskier trusts him. 

As he brushes his lips over the mark in a warm, dry kiss, Jaskier shudders, sucking in a breath. His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest, and Geralt can’t help but prop himself up on one elbow to lean over and kiss him on the cheek to comfort his lover. 

It doesn’t really matter what kinds of games they play, what’s most important to Geralt is that it’s not on the wrong side of too much. 

“Breathe for me, Jask,” he murmurs, peppering warm kisses along the line of his jaw. “If you really want me to stop, all you need to do is say, hm?”

We should choose a word for that, he thinks but doesn’t say it. There will be time. 

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier breathes, barely above a whisper, as he chases Geralt’s lips in a kiss. 

His eyes are darkened and hazy with pleasure, bottomless and hypnotising like the ocean, and it’s too late for Geralt to think about making it out of those waters alive.  

He breaks the kiss, allowing Jaskeir to hide his face among the pillows once more, and lets go of his thigh just for now, wrapping an arm around his waist instead to pull him closer, make him feel warm and safe. 

They’ve got all the time in the world to explore each other, so Geralt doesn’t rush.

Jaskier’s skin is soft and smooth where he presses his lips to his shoulder, and it smells of vanilla and dried herbs and pomegranate. He uses pomegranate bath salts, and though it was a little overwhelming for Geralt’s heightened senses at first, he grew to love it. And, well, it was worth the time they spent together, bathing.  

“There are so many things that I want to do to you now that you’re mine,” he murmurs, a soft purr to his voice. “But this is most definitely a priority.”

He runs his fingers over Jaskier’s side, over the filigree ribs, all the way to the middle of his back, and then moves up his spine, keeping his palm flat against the bard’s skin even as he reaches the mark, and Jaskier gasps, breaking off into a moan as he digs his fingers into the soft fur on the blankets and clenches his fist so hard his knuckles turn white.  

But he doesn’t ask to stop. 

Geralt shifts just enough to be able to reach his shoulder blades with his lips again, and this time, he’s bolder.

Just as Jaskier relaxes back into his touch, he runs his tongue over between his shoulder blades, and the bard cries out, his heart beating in his chest like a bird in a cage. He presses his hips closer to Geralt’s, and it’s torture because the witcher’s already rock-hard, and it doesn’t help when his cock slips over the crease of Jaskier’s thighs. 

He knows from experience that Jaskier is still stretched enough from the night before, that it wouldn’t take long to prepare him, and the thought alone makes him dizzy. 

And yet, he’s just too tempted to see how far he can push the bard just like this. 

“You know, it’s almost unfair,” he murmurs, leaving two soft, calming kisses just on the edge of the mark but that, too, makes Jaskier tremble. “How this makes you suffocate even more than when I’m inside you.”

Jaskier leaves him without an answer, breathing heavily, but his entire body leans into the touch when Geralt slips his hand over his hip and between his legs, wrapping his fingers over the base of his cock, already fully hard. 

He runs his hand over the entire length, twisting his wrist as he moves up, and the sweet little moan that Jaskier gives him in return makes his blood boil. 

“Whatever price I’ll have to pay for this later, it’s gonna be worth it,” the witcher grins, going back to what he’d started. 

He concentrates all of his attention on the mark on Jaskier’s back, following the softly glowing lines with his lips, and moves his hand slowly over the bard’s cock, smearing precome over the tip and making Jaskier tremble harder with what seems like every touch. 

Jaskier moans and whimpers, keeping his face hidden as he writhes on the bed, and whenever Geralt brushes over a particularly sensitive spot, his gasps break off into stifled little cries.

Geralt keeps him grounded, whispering comforting affections against his skin, and that keeps Jaskier’s senses from overwhelming. 

“That’s it,” Geralt murmurs, moving his wrist just a little faster, fingers slick and sticky with precome. “That’s it, I’ve got you.”

In the far end of the room, a tall standing mirror cracks and shatters as Jaskier loses control over his magic, and though he flinches at the sudden sound, he doesn’t recoil from Geralt’s touch still.  

“C-close--” he chokes out, squeezing his thighs to make the pleasure sharper. 

The mark on his back glows brighter, just like it always does when he uses his magic, and when Geralt presses his lips to it in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his entire body seems to catch ablaze with the intensity of that power.

It’s… certainly the most unusual thing he’d ever done to someone but gods, he loves it. 

The air is heavy with the scent of lust and pleasure, and the sharp undertone of salt only makes Geralt’s head reel more. He knows there are tears in Jaskier’s eyes from overstimulation, and he also knows he’s going to be the one wiping them off, but right now Jaskier doesn’t ask him to stop, and so Geralt concentrates on his pleasure alone. 

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, clenching his fingers just a little tighter. 

And that’s all it takes to push Jaskier over the edge. 

His entire body seizes, and he comes with a broken whimper, making a mess of his stomach and chest. 

Geralt immediately pulls him closer, holds him as the bard trembles through the aftershocks, and peppers comforting kisses all over his neck and shoulders, Jaskier’s skin hot under his lips. 

“Gods, you’re incredible,” he whispers, burrowing his nose into the hair on the nape of the bard’s neck and inhaling his scent. “I love you.”

It’s easier now, saying it. 

When he knows that his feelings are reciprocated, there’s no fear of rejection.  

For a few long, blissful minutes, Jaskier just breathes, still trembling all over, before turning around and hiding his face on Geralt’s chest. The witcher wraps his arms around him readily, giving him the comfort and safety he needs. 

They’re both dirty but Geralt can’t find it in him to care.

“I love you too,” Jaskier finally whispers. “But you’re paying for that.”

Geralt laughs quietly, dipping his head to leave a kiss in Jaskier’s hair. 

“Name the price.”

***

Jaskier keeps him wondering for the entire day. 

After sleeping for a couple more hours to get back to his senses, Jaskier goes back to the poem he’d been working on for the past week, and Geralt finishes off his letter to Vesemir, deciding on not mentioning anything about the royal blood in Jaskier veins or the lack of it. 

The bard purposefully keeps him at an arm's length, saying that Geralt can’t touch him until they’re back in bed, and though it’s nothing less of a torture, Geralt knows that he’d promised to play by the rules, so he obliges. 

The day lasts torturously long.

There’s a constant, low thrum of heat under Geralt’s skin, because he’d only cared about Jaskier’s pleasure in the morning, neglecting that of his own, and now the bard turns that against him, slipping out of his touch again and again, leaving Geralt with nothing. 

Geralt could, of course, just push him up against the nearest wall and take it from there, but abiding by the rules promised something far more interesting. 

Jaskier, for his part, has his fun with being in control. 

In the early hours of the evening, he leaves to take a bath, leaving Geralt downstairs with the dogs, and when he comes back, he’s wearing nothing but his silk dressing gown. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t even notice Geralt as he settles down to read on his settee, the fabric slipping down his thigh and revealing his entire leg. There are still faint bruises on his knees, and Geralt is dying to press his lips to it, run a line of kisses from the bard’s ankle and all the way to his inner thigh, but Jaskier spares him no more than a look. 

He does look like a prince like this. 

Despite himself, Geralt finds it thrilling - just how unfazed, almost indifferent he can be. How well he knows what he’s worth. 

How well he knows that he’s in control, unafraid of what his provoking could lead to. 

Geralt tries to keep himself busy with a book of his own, having found an impressive bestiary among the endless shelves, but he can’t concentrate on what he’s reading. 

And so when Jaskier finally puts his books away and stands up to head to the bedroom, giving the witcher a look over his shoulder, Geralt finds it hard to control the thrill of anticipation in his veins. 

They make their way up the stairs and into the far end of the west wing, where Jaskier opens the door of their bedroom and lets Geralt through first, making sure to keep the dogs out of the room as he follows. 

“The bed,” he says, turning the key until it clicks in the lock. “Don’t touch your clothes.”

His voice is different to anything Geralt had heard from him before. 

It’s calm and perfectly measured, leaving no doubt that his words are an order, and Geralt can’t help but oblige, the magic radiating off Jaskier making his knees weak. 

He crosses the room to sit down on the foot of the bed, leaving his clothes untouched like he’d been told to, and watches Jaskier light up the fireplace and the candles that Geralt is almost sure weren’t there before. The fire casts a low, pleasant light around the part of the room where the bed is, leaving everything else in the shadows, and the way it makes Jaskier’s skin glow takes Geralt’s breath away for a long moment. 

Mine, he thinks, Absolutely perfect, and mine.

Jaskier crosses the room, coming closer, and the magic on his fingers is still so strong that it sends a shockwave through Geralt when the bard lays both his hands on his shoulders to straddle his hips. 

“You’ve been so good at following the rules today,” he says, a soft, low rumble to his voice as he tips Geralt’s chin up with his index finger and leans down to brush their lips together, so lightly that it’s barely a touch. “Will you be good for me still?”

Now that they’re back in the bedroom, Geralt can finally touch him again, and it’s almost before he even realises it that his hands already move up to rest on Jaskier’s hips. 

“If you want me to be,” he says, holding Jaskier’s gaze, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

“No,” Jaskier says, still holding the witcher’s chin up. “Say it.”

A wave of suffocating heat rises from Geralt’s chest and he feels the urge to avert his eyes, but he reminds himself that he’s safe here, and that if Jaskier trusts him enough to let him do anything he wants to him, even if it makes him lose control over his magic, then he should trust him the same. 

So, he takes in a breath. Lets it out. 

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “For you.”

Jaskier smiles, his eyes lighting up, and leans down to kiss him, slow and sweet. He runs his tongue over Geralt’s lips, parting them, and licks into his mouth, hands coming down to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one. 

Geralt lets himself be led, gives himself over to his lover, and though it’s very new to him, it lights that familiar fire in his chest. 

Testing his boundaries, he slips his hands under the silk of Jaskier’s dressing gown, runs them up his thighs, the skin warm and smooth under his fingers, and he’s half-expecting Jaskier to slap his hands away, but he doesn’t. 

Breaking away from his lips, the bard finds his way to Geralt’s neck, kissing a line down its side, deft fingers slipping under the hem of the witcher’s shirt, and Geralt doesn’t have enough time to bite back a moan that falls off his lips. 

The neck had always been a sensitive area for him, and when it’s Jaskier kissing him, it makes him feel lightheaded within seconds. 

He helps the bard strip him of his shirt, and falls onto his back when Jaskier pushes down on his shoulder, the soft furs pleasant against his bare skin. Before he really knows it, the rest of his clothes are on the floor, too, and if there’s magic involved in that, it’s too hard to single out in the overall energy of it in the room.

Jaskier, on the other hand, still has his dressing gown on, held closed with a silk belt, and it’s maddening - knowing that he’s naked underneath, that all Geralt needs to do is untie the belt. 

But he keeps his hands to himself this time, allowing Jaskier to climb over him and leave another kiss on his lips. 

“Tell me, Witcher,” he says, running the tip of his index finger over a scar on Geralt’s chest. “Have you ever had anyone put a cock ring on you?”

Geralt’s breath catches. 

“I haven’t,” he says, the fire in his chest flaring up. “But I’m… familiar with the concept.”

Jaskier hums, a pleased smile on his lips, and catches Geralt’s gaze again, his eyes black in the low light. 

“I want to put one on you,” he says, magic snaking around his fingers in shifting colours, glowing like a flame. “But you can say no.”

Geralt’s heart beats hard in his chest, and Jaskier’s voice gets right under his skin, sending a shiver through the witcher’s body. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Jaskier’s eyes light up even more, and that shine is all that allows Geralt to breathe, keeps him from drowning in those two dark oceans. 

“I love you,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to give the witcher a praising kiss and then moving down his body. 

When exactly does the toy appear in his hand, Geralt can’t tell.

He’s already half-hard, and the touch of Jaskier’s fingers sends sparks of pleasure up his spine, making Geralt bite his lip and try to concentrate on his breathing, getting it back under control. 

The ring is a pleasant pressure around the base of his cock, the material soft enough not to cause any discomfort, and the added pressure-points of beads all around make him swell almost immediately. 

“There,” Jaskier hums, brushing his lips over Geralt’s hipbone in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “This will make the pleasure brighter. For both of us.”

The silk of Jaskier’s robe is pleasantly cool against Geralt’s skin when it brushes over it, sending shivers up the witcher’s body, but he would much rather have Jaskier without it, no matter how good he looks with the fabric halfway down his shoulders.  

Without thinking, Geralt reaches for one of the ends of the belt, but before he can pull on it, Jaskier slaps his hand away, the sound echoing through the room. 

“Did I say that you can do that?” he asks. 

His voice is still calm but the spark in his eyes turns into a flame before Geralt can even take a breath. It sends a thrill through him.

“No,” he says, taking his hands away obediently. “Forgive me.”

Jaskier hums, leaning down to touch a soft kiss to the witcher’s shoulder. 

“That’s better,” he nods. “You wouldn’t want to break your promise, would you?”

His lips are hot and wet where he brushes them over Geralt’s chest, starting with the collarbones and moving down. 

Geralt leans into every touch, careful to keep his hands to himself, and arches off the bed when Jaskier runs his tongue over his hardened nipple and closes his lips around it, sucking it into his mouth. 

Geralt never even knew that he’d be so sensitive to that kind of pleasure, that it would feel so good, but when Jaskier bites on the sensitive bud, he suffocates. 

“Does that feel good, Witcher?” the bard asks, rolling his hips against Geralt’s, and the feeling of his bare skin makes Geralt’s vision go dark for a moment. 

“Yes,” he makes himself say, shutting his eyes against the feeling of Jaskier’s hot tongue. “Gods, yes.”

Unsure of whether or not he’s allowed to, Geralt runs his hands up Jaskier’s thighs, rests them high on his hips, and when Jaskier doesn’t protest, too preoccupied with playing with his other nipple, Geralt allows himself to clench his fingers a little tighter, digging into the soft flesh. 

His eyes flutter shut when Jaskier sucks a mark onto his chest, and then moves up again, one hand slipping into Geralt’s hair to pull on the silver strands, making him throw his head back and expose his neck.            

They both know that he heals fast, and that any marks or bites or scratches will not last longer than a night, but that seems to only fuel Jaskier’s interest in leaving them, for he’s got a clean canvas every time. 

“Turn around for me,” he murmurs into the witcher’s ear, letting go of his hair. “On your knees.”

A familiar flush of uncertain embarrassment rises up in Geralt’s chest, but he does as he’s told, thankful that it’s dark enough for Jaskier not to see the colour on his cheeks. 

He turns around, keeping his chest on the bed, and uses the opportunity to hide his face among the pillows as he props his hips up, knees digging into the soft blankets. It’s strange and unfamiliar - being on display like this, but Jaskier runs a calming hand down his thigh, and slowly, Geralt allows himself to relax again. 

“That’s it,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re doing so good, my love.”

The praise gets right under Geralt’s skin, flows through his veins in pleasant weakness, and he can feel his cock throb with it, heavy between his legs. 

The pressure of the ring is more tangible now, fueling the fire low in his abdomen, and though he knows that it’s only the beginning, he already starts feeling lightheaded from the attention. 

The fabric of the dressing gown slips off Jaskier’s shoulders almost soundlessly, and Geralt might not have even noticed it had it not been for his heightened senses, but once it does, he can’t help but sneak a look at his lover, now completely bare. 

Slowly, Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers down the curve of Geralt’s spine, watching the movement carefully, and slips over the crease of his thighs, teasing at the hole but not pushing in. Geralt’s cock twitches in response, and he can feel the drops of precome, threatening to drip down. Perhaps, the ring affects him more than he thought. 

“Tell me, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs, shifting to follow the line of his spine against, but this time with his lips, torturously slowly. “How long has it been since anyone has touched you like this?”

Geralt shivers under his touch and shuts his eyes again. 

“Long,” he says. “It’s… not easy for me to give someone this kind of control.” 

His breath catches when Jaskier wraps a hand around his waist, pressing a comforting, warm kiss to the middle of his back and resting his forehead against it.                                                        

“I got you, my love,” he whispers, giving them both a few long, comfortable moments before going back to what he’d started. “Tell me about the last time.”                                                                             

Geralt has never been the one to discuss his sexual experiences with anyone unless he lost a bet and it takes him a couple of seconds to get around the sudden dryness in his throat. 

But it’s Jaskier. 

“I was spending the winter in Kaer Morhen,” he starts, focusing all his self-control on keeping his voice from shaking. “We had a guest from a different School, another witcher. Both similar and different to us.”

Jaskier doesn’t interrupt him, mapping out the lines of his back with his lips and paying special attention to the scars that he finds, and that almost allows the witcher to concentrate, but then Jaskier’s hand slips between his thighs again, and Geralt struggles to recall what he’d been talking about. 

“Go on,” Jaskier urges, taking his hand away for barely a moment, and when he teases his fingers around the rim again, they’re slick with oil. 

“We took a liking to each other almost immediately,” Geralt makes himself say, clenching his fists to keep himself from rocking back onto Jaskier’s fingers. “He’s younger than me but incredible with his weapons, and really, all it took is him pushing me down onto the ground and pressing a knife to my throat. The evening of that same day we were already in one bed.”

Jaskier shifts, resting his chest against Geralt’s back, and leans down to his ear, pushing two fingers inside and making the witcher gasp, back arching. 

“Is that how you like it, then?” Jaskier murmurs, slowly sinking his fingers deeper. “Should I put a knife to your throat?”

The thought alone makes Geralt dizzy, and he doesn’t even notice as he rolls his hips, taking Jaskier’s fingers in deeper. A sharp slap to his thigh brings him back to his senses, making him go still again, breathing heavily. 

“Not now,” he manages to say, biting back a moan. 

Jaskier hums, leaving a comforting kiss on the back of his neck, and rises to his knees again, running his free hand down Geralt’s back and stopping on his hip, holding the witcher in place. He moves his wrist slowly, still not sinking his fingers in all the way, and Geralt nearly whimpers with how maddening the anticipation is. 

His cock throbs almost painfully, the ring making him more sensitive, and even the calming kisses that Jaskier’s leaves on his thigh don’t help. 

“Please--” he whispers before he even knows it. 

That seems to be exactly what Jaskier had been waiting for. 

He pushes his fingers deeper, up to the knuckles, and Geralt shudders with pleasure it brings him. 

“I’ll have you come just like this, on my fingers,” Jaskier murmurs, finding the right spot inside him without mistake, and though Geralt muffles his moan with a pillow, it still sounds too-loud in the quiet room. “And then fuck you again, with a different toy. And then again. Witcher stamina, hm?”

Geralt’s head is reeling too much for him to be able to say anything to that, but the thought alone zaps through his body light lightning, making his arch his back even more, panting as Jaskier fucks him with two fingers, brushing over just the right spot every single time. 

He’d never been fucked with toys before, never even thought about it, though he’d seen quite a variety in Passiflora, but now the promise immediately pushes him closer to the edge, and though he manages to bite back a whine, he knows that eventually, Jaskier will get what he wants. 

“You can come whenever you like,” Jaskier murmurs, moving his wrist faster. “This time.”

Geralt doesn’t have it in him to answer, and so he just moans, head spinning with hyperventilation. If it wasn’t for the ring, he would’ve come already, even before he got his permission, but now it makes the pleasure last, building into a tight, hot knot low in his abdomen. 

“I’ve never slept with witchers before,” Jaskier says, running his free hand down Geralt’s thigh and then slipping onto its inner side, when the skin is more sensitive. “Tell me, is it true that your refractory period is non-existent?”

He runs the tips of his fingers over the length of Geralt’s cock, smears the precome over it, catches on the ring, making Geralt absolutely delirious with overstimulation, but doesn’t take him in hand. 

“It’s true,” the witcher chokes out, bucking his hips involuntarily and getting another sharp slap to his thigh that makes the pleasure flare up even more. “But we have our limits.” 

Jaskier makes a pleased little noise, leaning down to touch his lips to the place where his hand had landed, and sinks his fingers in deep, just as his other hand catches on the edge of the ring once more. 

Pleasure spills through Geralt’s veins like wildfire, taking all air away from his lungs, and he comes with a desperate, choked moan, painting his stomach and chest with streaks of white. 

Jaskier fucks him through it, slow and deep, until it’s too much, until Geralt is so overstimulated that he whimpers, trembling all over. 

“You did so good,” Jaskier whispers, peppering soft, calming kisses all over his thighs and lower back but not allowing him to lie down. “So good, my love. Gods, you’re gorgeous when you’re on the edge.”

His voice is barely audible over the thundering blood in Geralt’s ears, but the praise still sends a shiver down his back. He keeps his eyes closed and just breathes, letting Jaskier take care of him even as he knows that this isn’t nearly the end. 

With his heart beating in his chest like a trapped bird and his head still reeling, he feels lighter than he can ever remember being, all doubt and anxiety fucked out of him. 

“You ready for another round, my love?” Jaskier asks, nipping at his thigh to get his attention. 

He smooths a hand up his back, making Geralt get back into his initial position, and the magic in his touch makes Geralt suck in a breath. 

“What do you say we add something else to the game, hm?” Jaskier murmurs, running his tongue over his fluttering hole before pulling away, and Geralt nearly loses his fucking mind at that. 

Jaskier readjusts the pillows, until Geralt’s chest is resting on one, and chooses a high cushion for his head, leaning down to steal a long, sweet kiss from the witcher’s lips before settling behind him again.

“Both arms behind your back,” he says, in that same voice that tells Geralt it’s an order. 

His body recovers quickly, but his mind is still hazy with pleasure and the last aftershocks of an orgasm, but he still obliges, putting both arms behind him so that they are resting upon the small of his back. He knows what Jaskier is going to do, but even so, he shudders when the bard’s fingers slip over his wrists. 

“We have two options, Witcher,” he says. “My first thought was ropes. But you’ve been so good for me that as a reward, you can get a silk belt, instead. What will it be?”

Ropes would be much more effective at holding him down, they both know it. But he’d promised to be good, hasn’t he?

“Silk,” he says, voice hoarse. “Please.”

He doesn’t see Jaskier’s pleased smile but he can feel it. The same way he can’t see the magic swirling around his fingers, but he can feel it with his very being. 

“Wonderful,” Jaskier says, slipping off the bed. 

He reaches down to pick up his dressing gown, pulls the long belt free from its loops, and, just before returning to Geralt’s side, hands him a cup of cold water that Geralt downs in one. Before Jaskier takes it away, he risks intercepting his wrist and pulling his hand to his lips, leaving a grateful kiss on the knuckles. 

Jaskier smiles at him, warm and loving, and brushes a stray strand of silver hair out of his face, leaning down to give the witcher one more kiss before pulling away. 

Geralt gets his arms back behind his back, and closes his eyes, concentrating on his breathing as Jaskier ties them, starting at his wrists and moving halfway up his forearms. The silk is pleasant against his skin, but tied tight enough to keep his arms in place. 

“You like it when you can feel my magic, don’t you?” Jaskier murmurs, running his hands up Geralt’s thighs. 

Even though he expects it, the witcher still shivers. 

“You know that witchers feel it differently than humans,” he says, the last word breaking off into a gasp as Jaskier slips his fingers back inside, moving his wrists slowly.  

He’s still more sensitive than usual, and once Jaskier brushes over the right spot inside, Geralt bites on his lip to silence a moan. He’s still half-hard and swelling fast, the pressure of the ring making him lightheaded with oversensitivity. 

Jaskier doesn’t seem to be in the mood for waiting any longer, so he gets him ready fast, fucking the witcher with his fingers until he’s fully hard again, panting and whimpering with pleasure, each touch bordering on too much. 

He doesn’t need a lot so soon after the first orgasm, and it’s barely minutes that he’s on the edge again, his cock leaking with precome and making a mess of the sheets under him. 

Behind the haze in his head and the overstimulation, Geralt barely notices his medallion trembling. 

But then, without warning, Jaskier pulls his fingers out, and Geralt whines at the loss.

“There you go,” Jaskier purrs. “Told you I could make you whine.”

And then, before Geralt can say anything in his defence or even form a sentence in his head, he pushes a glass toy inside, and all words leave Geralt’s mind. 

It's much longer than Jaskier’s fingers, and though the width is about the same, the three beads along the length are wider, each next one bigger than the previous, and as Jaskier slips the toy in all the way, there are sparks behind Geralt’s closed eyes. 

He arches his back until it hurts, barely able to breathe, and Jaskier gives him a few moments to get used to it, to adjust to the pleasant burn of the stretch, wrapping his fingers around the base of the witcher’s cock and giving him a couple of long, slow strokes.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, pulling the toy out halfway and then sinking it back in. 

The glass feels deliriously good when it brushes over the right spot inside, the pressure almost overwhelming, and Geralt clenches his fists, desperately trying to get control over his breathing. 

“Feels good--” he chokes out, hips twitching when Jaskier moves the toy again. 

He doesn’t have it in him to say anything else, even to try, and Jaskier doesn’t seem to be waiting for him to do so, for he picks up his pace almost immediately, knowing as well as Geralt that he’s already on the edge. 

He fucks him fast and hard, pulling the toy out of him almost entirely every time and then sinking it back in, filling the room with the dirty, obscene sounds of it. 

Geralt doesn’t even try to hold back his moans and broken whimpers, rocking into every thrust, and though at first Jaskier slaps him on the hip, soon enough he allows for it.

“You can’t come until you have permission,” he says, and Geralt clenches his jaw so tight it hurts, keeping himself on the edge. 

The pressure of the ring drives him insane, makes him leak with precome, ruining the sheets beneath him, and he feels like he will just pass out if he’s not allowed to come for much longer. 

His entire body trembles uncontrollably, and it’s hard to keep his knees steady under him, but it feels so agonisingly good that Geralt still takes every thrust greedily, even as his eyes burn with tears of overstimulation. 

“You know, I wanted to fuck you myself after this,” Jaskier murmurs, running his lips over Geralt’s thigh and sucking a mark into it, slow and thorough. “Test your limits. But looking at you now, I think I want you in me too much.”

The thought goes straight to the witcher’s cock and he bites his lip, the copper taste of blood spilling over his tongue, if only to keep himself on the edge. 

He can’t remember ever coming untouched twice in a row before, but Jaskier knew his way around maddeningly well. 

“What do you think, my love?” he urges, leaving another mark beside the first one. “Do you think you’ll still have enough energy in you to properly fuck me, hm?”

Every time Jaskier sinks the toy deep into his body, his cock twitches, throbbing painfully, and Geralt is far beyond making sentences, let alone talking.

But Jaskier seems determined to get an answer, for he slips his other hand into his damp hair and pulls hard, making the witcher throw his head back. 

“An answer, Witcher,” he demands.

Geralt knows that there are tears in his eyes, knows that Jaskier can see them shine in the low light of the candles, but it’s too late to hide now. 

“Anything you want--” he manages to say, somehow. “Gods, anything--”

As soon as he gets his answer, Jaskier lets go of his hair, allowing him to hide his face in the pillows again, and it might be minutes, might be hours, Geralt is too delirious to tell, that he finally leans down to his ear, still moving the toy inside, and whispers:

“Anytime you want.”

That’s all it takes to push Geralt over the edge. 

He comes with a broken whine, making an utter mess of his stomach and the sheets beneath, and just like last time, Jaskier fucks him through it, until it gets so much that Geralt begs him to stop. 

His head is spinning worse than from any alcohol or elixir he’d ever had, so much that his consciousness threatens to slip away, and he doesn’t even notice as Jaskier unties his arms, just sighs in relief when the bard rolls him onto his side and then onto his back, his lips and hands all over him. 

“Gods, Geralt, do you know how perfect you are?” he whispers, peppering kisses over his neck and running his warm hands down his sides, calming and comforting. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“All yours,” Geralt echoes, wrapping an arm around the bard’s back but unable to as much as open his eyes.

He knows that Jaskier won’t give him enough time to fully recover, that after an orgasm like that he’ll need an entire night of sleep, and despite himself, the thought of another round thrills him.

He’s proven right within minutes, when Jaskier, still mapping out his chest with his lips, reaches down to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock. 

He slips the ring off, making Geralt shudder at the pressure of it, but once it’s gone, it feels like he can breathe again. The relief washes over him like a wave, fueling the last aftershocks of pleasure, and he doesn’t even try to bite back a trembling moan. 

Slowly, his head clears enough for Geralt to blindly find Jaskier’s wrist, unafraid of any punishment that might follow, and pull the bard into a kiss. 

Jaskier allows him that little disobedience, kissing him back with just as much feeling behind it, licking into his mouth and moaning softly as Geralt catches his lower lip between his teeth. 

Despite the dark haze over his mind, his body recovers faster, and Jaskier’s fingers feel so maddeningly good that within minutes, he’s fully hard again. 

“Fuck, I won’t last long,” Jaskier whispers, pulling him into another kiss before breaking away and straddling his hips. 

He rolls his hips over Geralt’s, ruts against him, and the feeling of his warm, smooth skin against the witcher’s cock is beyond unbelievable. 

“You’re not--” Geralt starts, unable to focus his gaze on Jaskier’s face, but the bard cuts him off.

“You don’t think that while I was taking a bath, that was all I did, do you?” he smiles, pushing back against Geralt’s cock. “I had a little fun of my own, Witcher. With magic like mine, there are so many ways I can play with myself.”

Geralt’s always had a rather vivid imagination, and the fantasy flashes before his eyes in a set of bright images, making him throw his head back with a moan, hands coming up to rest on Jaskier’s hips. 

“You’ll have to show me one day,” he whispers, and by the way Jaskier’s eyes light up he knows that it won’t take a lot to get what he wants. 

Jaskier smiles at him, full of promise, and then he can wait no longer, reaching behind him to wrap his fingers around Geralt’s cock, so slick with precome and spend that there’s no need for oil, and sink onto it, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. 

Even as he takes Geralt in easily, he’s still so unbearably tight that for a second, Geralt feels like he won’t be able to take it, but then Jaskier starts moving, and the witcher’s mind goes completely blank. 

Jaskier doesn’t give either of them time, his own cock flush and throbbing, and picks up the rhythm immediately, both his hands pressed to Geralt’s abdomen for balance. 

He moans, open and sweet, fucking himself onto Geralt’s cock fast and hard, fully in control of his own pleasure, and Geralt’s head reels with it, every move resonating through his own body in waves of sweet weakness. 

They both know that he’s too overstimulated to last long, but it barely matters, if at all. They’ve got all the time in the world now.

Geralt doesn’t even notice his own moans, too focused on Jaskier’s voice, but at the same time, though very distantly, he’s aware of how good they sound together. 

Jaskier drags his nails down his chest, leaving burning scratches behind, and whimpers as his pleasure builds, getting hotter, sharper. 

“You’ve been so good this whole time,” he whispers, voice husky with lust. “And I want you to do just one more thing for me.”

Geralt isn’t capable of answering anymore, nor does Jaskier wait for him to be. 

“I want you to come together with me,” he says, biting on his lip to prolong his pleasure just a little more. “And I’m so fucking close--”

Geralt doesn’t need to hear it to know. It’s in the way Jaskier clenches around him, in the way he loses the rhythm of his moves, in the way that he smells. And gods know Geralt will obey him at anything he wants right now. 

He nods, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Jaskier’s thighs, and the bard shuts his eyes, moving faster and faster, scratching Geralt’s chest raw with his nails, until finally, his body seizes, and he comes with a sharp cry, spilling all over both their bodies. 

He clenches around Geralt painfully tight, shaking through his orgasm, and the witcher is still so overly-sensitive that it’s all it takes for him to reach his high, too, filling Jaskier’s tight heat with his spend.

For a second or two, his mind slips into complete darkness, shutting down, but before Jaskier can notice, he comes back to his senses, breathing hard. 

He’d had three orgasms in a row before but never this powerful, and he can barely even feel his body with just how much it’s been. His fingers tingle with hyperventilation, completely numb, and he can barely find it in him to wrap his arms around Jaskier when he carefully pulls off and falls onto the bed beside him. 

“I love you,” Jaskier whispers against his chest, still trembling with the aftershocks. 

Geralt knows that he’s an absolute mess after three orgasms, and that he should tell Jaskier not to touch him until he cleans up, but fuck, he’s just a man, and there are some things that are just beyond him. 

“I love you more,” he echoes, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as Jaskier pulls a warm blanket over both of them.      

He’s barely conscious, exhaustion tugging him into the sweet realms of dreams, but he’s still awake when he feels Jaskier smile against his chest and say:

“Not possible.”

[dapandapod]

Longing for you

Written for the Witcher Bog Fluff Battle!  The prompt was:   Dancing!  It’s 1821 words, and I gave myself feelings. Here on Ao3, enjoy <3

The ballroom is sparkling in all its glory.

The chandeliers are newly polished and gleaming in the candlelight, the dance floor big and filled with couples of all shapes and sizes.

Jaskier lives for this.

Lives for watching the happiness on their faces, the subtle seduction of a wanted partner, the romancing of a loved one. The small touches, the twirls, the dramatic lifts and dips. He always get a front row view, best place in the house; on the stage.

With him on the podium is a small ensemble of other bards, playing various instruments and harmonizing with his words every now and then.

It is a lovely night. The only thing that is missing is a partner of his own.

Oh how he longs to dance, to be out on the floor. To have a hand in his, to lead or to be led through the intricate moves, someone's heartbeat close to his. He is aching with it, honestly, and the good thing with that is that it adds an extra flair to his music.

Or so he’s been told. Repeatedly.

So he holds on to that ache and longing, pouring it out for the ballroom to enjoy. This is a very well paying gig after all, and they certainly can use the money.

They, as in him and Geralt. They picked up the pieces after the mountain. Used words, talked about it, and things are as they were before.

Alright, no. It’s better, more like an actual friendship.

The barbs don’t sting anymore, and there are smiles now. Finding Ciri probably helped. She is with Yennefer right now, learning how to handle her magic.

So Geralt and Jaskier set out on the road again. And if Jaskier wasn’t so hopelessly in love with his witcher, everything would have been perfect.

Jaskiers eyes search for Geralt in the crowd, knowing him preferring to be a wallflower on these kinds of nights.

This song has no words, lucky for him, because when he spots that white mop of hair, Geralt is already watching him.

His chest flutters, flips, tingles, and he can’t help the small smile on his lips.

Geralt is standing closer than he expected, and Jaskier can see him break into a soft smile too.

Fuck, he is a goner.

His cheeks burn, so he breaks the stare, takes a breath, and looks back out on the crowd. Fuck he wants to be there. He wants to dance with Geralt, knowing full well it will never happen.

Not only because he is always the entertainment and rarely gets the opportunity, but because Geralt would never. Especially not with him.

Another bard comes to take Jaskiers place and hour or so later. It is going to be a long night, so they are taking turns. That’s what it is when royalty marries.

The second Jaskier leaves the podium he goes to find Geralt. How can he not? His throat is parched, so he should probably find himself something to drink too.

Geralt is where Jaskier saw him last, leaning against the wall. Only, there is a lady there now. A small, petite lady with big eyes, with a hand on Geralt's arm. And he is letting her.

Jaskier frowns.

And when Geralt smiles down at her, Jaskier knows he can’t go there.

So he turns, and finds himself a drink.

Too weak for his state of mind, but a blessing for his throat. He can’t look back. Won’t.

He feels raw, having poured out his longing in his music again. It’s not as obvious as it could be, this time, but he still feels exposed.

Suddenly he feels so alone.

In a sea of strangers, he finds himself standing on the edge of it all. Watching the couples twirl, and a pang of longing punches him in the gut.

This will not do.

Jaskier drains his drink and gives it to a bypassing servant and sets his aim for the gardens.

The garden is equally magical. Small lanterns are hung everywhere, some with colored glass, lighting the pathways and hedges.

Out here it’s calmer.

Some people are strolling arm in arm, some sit and whisper on benches. Jaskier takes aim towards the gazebo, where a single bard with a violin plays for the dancers there. He leans against a pillar, arms crossed and head leaning against the cold stone, and pretends. Pretends that he could be among them.

He is so lost in this fantasy that he doesn’t notice someone approaching. He startles when Geralt's arm touches his, and looks up to see Geralt standing right next to him.

“You disappeared.” Geralt says, nudging him again. That is a thing they do now, touching.

“Yes. You seemed busy, and I decided I needed some air.” Jaskier says, half truths and almosts on his tongue.

He looks away, studying the man playing violin rather than the dancers.

“You sang really well today.” Geralt says, and that’s new. Jaskier looks back at him with big eyes and mouth half agape.

“I- uh… Thanks.” Jaskier unfolds his arms and stands up straight. “You look nice tonight.”

And yes, he really does. Once again, Jaskier managed to squeeze Geralt into some finery, the doublet has golden details that brings out his eyes. Jaskeir especially likes it because of the barely there floral pattern, hidden around the waist. And Geralt, for once, didn’t protest when Jaskier presented it. Just draggin a finger over the fabric and put it on without complaint.

It felt oddly intimate, and Jaskier feels like he in some secret way marked him as his. His witcher, even though he knows full well he is not. Geralt is his own, and never someone else's. Not even Yennefers.

And now those golden details does its job, the small lanterns and the golden threads makes Geralt look otherworldly. Jaskier swallows thickly, ignoring the pitter patter of his heart. Why does he keep doing this to himself?

Geralt tilts his head questioningly.

“What’s wrong? Are you sad?” Geralt asks.

Ah. So something is showing on his face after all. Geralt has gotten better at picking up those things from Jaskier, for good and for bad.

“It’s nothing.” Jaskier says, smiling despite himself. “I just never get to dance, is all. Is what it is to be a bard sometimes.”

They stand in silence for a few beats. Jaskier watches the dance, slow and gentle and intimate, the violin achingly sweet.

“Do you want to dance?” Geralt asks. Jaskier looks back at him quizzically.

“Yes?”

Only when Geralt takes his hand in his does the coin drop.

“Oh you meant with- oh.” Jaskier mumbles when Geralt leads him out on the floor and then stands to face him. “Do you know how to…?”

Geralt smirks, and it punches the air out of Jaskiers lungs. It doesn’t feel real, and then Geralt's hands snake around his waist.

“I have been alive for a very long time, Jaskier.” he says, and leads them through the steps. Jaskier lets his own arms rest over Geralts, so close to his shoulders. It feels too much almost, but it’s tempting.

Together they dance across the floor, so much smoother than jaskier had anticipated. Their eyes never stray from each other, and Jaskier can feel himself smiling. Again it strikes him, how unreal it feels. Almost enough to make him want to pinch himself.

“Having fun?” Geralt asks, and the gentle smile is painful, so painful. Jaskiers fingers curl in the fabric of Geralt's doublet.

“Yes. Thank you, Geralt, for doing this for me.” He says.

“My pleasure.” Geralt says back, pulling him just a little closer, and oh. Jaskier draws in a shuddering breath.

“Geralt?”

“Jaskier?” The way his name falls off Geralt's tongue. It’s intoxicating.

“Why are you dancing with me?” Jaskier asks, despite his fears, despite the terror of being left again.

“You wanted to dance?” Geralt says simply, tilting his head in question again.

“Yes, but you don’t? You never do? And you could have danced with the lady inside?” And Jaskier has to look away now, finally. He can’t look at Geralt when he asks, he can only be so brave.

Geralt doesn’t reply at first. They dance, fluent and flawless, turning among the other couples.

“You don’t know?” Geralt asks, so quietly Jaskier isn’t sure he was meant to hear.

“Don’t know what?” Jaskier dares a look, and Geralt's eyes are fixed on him, his arms tightening and pulling him just a little closer.

They are almost touching now, only inches separating them. He steers them to a corner of the gazebo, out of the way of the other dancers, and stops.

Geralt draws in a breath, as if preparing to say something hard, still holding Jaskeir close. Jaskier can’t breathe, his eyes unwillingly dropping to those parted lips so close to his, and then back up to those amber eyes.

“I care for you, Jaskier. I care about your happiness, about your smiles, everything that makes up you.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier breathes, burning, shattering, breaking and healing all at the same time.

“I love you.” Geralt says and Jaskier feels his eyes sting, his chin wrinkle. Fuck.

“I wanted you to know, because… I’m not the best at words, but I don’t want to lose you again.”

Brave, brave witcher. He looks terrified, with every word he looks terrified but determined, and Jaskier can’t help himself.

Finally he lets his hands slide up over those shoulders, wrapping around them, and then he leans in.

Geralt meets him in the kiss, pulling him flush to his body. It’s hard to breathe, all the feelings contained in his chest fighting to break loose.

The kiss is short, just like Jaskiers breath, and instead he presses his forehead to Geralts, just to be close.

“Fuck.” Jaskier whispers, trying to piece himself back together. “Fuck.”

Geralt smiles and nudges his nose against his. One of his hands to cup Jaskiers cheek.

“Ever the poet.” He teases, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck off.”

“Alright.” Geralt says, and makes to pull away, but Jaskier grips him tightly.

“No.” He whines. “No, stay.”

“As long as you’ll have me.” Geralt says, and leans his cheek against Jaskier.

“Say it again.” Jaskier begs.

“I love you,”

“I love you too. Have loved you for years."

They stand there for what seems like ages, closely together. Eventually they have to part, Jaskier has to get up on the podium again. But this time, when he sings, the aching is another. He can’t help but to watch Geralt, where he waits by the wall, watching him.

And when the night ends, the sun rising above them, Geralt and Jaskier retreats, ignoring Jaskiers room in favour of Geralts. They hold each other close in sleep, sweaty and warm, but not letting go.

Waking up makes Jaskiers chest ache for an entirely different reason.

Love.

[samstree]

Four times Geralt wakes up his bard with kisses + one time the favor is returned (4/5)

[1] [2] [3]

(geraskier, wrist kisses, 930 words, cw: past torture and injuries, nightmares)

4.

Geralt walks down the hallway while shaking off the remaining snow on his clothes. 

Warmth hits him as soon as he reaches the library, stinging his frozen fingers and cheeks. The flames crackle in the fireplace, interrupting the peaceful silence along with his heavy footsteps. He halts by the threshold when he sees that he’s not alone in the room.

In the corner of the library, next to a dusty shelf, Jaskier is curled up and dozing on the small settee.

His head is propped up by what looks to be a hundred pillows and facing toward the entrance, which allows Geralt to see his relaxed features. The bard’s cheeks are flushed by the roaring fire, and his lips slacked from sleep. His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, casting down long shadows. The rise and fall of his chest are faint under the coat draped over his midsection. The dark winter coat also covers his bent knees, obscuring most of his body from view apart from the arm that rests on top of the thick fabric.

Geralt leans back against the frame, careful not to make a sound, and just watches Jaskier sleep for a moment.

It took a while for Jaskier’s injuries to heal. By the time he could resume his usual chores in the library – something Vesemir assigned him years ago when Geralt brought him to the keep for the first time – heavy snow already settled in. Even now, a full day’s work still tires Jaskier, so it’s not uncommon for him to nap right here by the books.

On top of that, Geralt knows Jaskier hasn’t been sleeping well, despite the bard trying to hide his red-rimmed eyes and dark circles. The nightmares are a recent development. It’s like the trauma on his body isn’t enough, his mind has to suffer it over and over again in dreams, making him relive the hurt when he is the most vulnerable.

Geralt winces at the memories of waking up alone, their bedsheets filled with the stench of fear and panic instead of Jaskier’s usual floral scent. During the long life of a witcher, Geralt rarely feels the powerlessness that overwhelms him in those moments. The enemy is an untangible past that only exists in his lover’s mind.

As if on cue, Jaskier’s steady heartbeat quickens to a frantic speed. His breathing chokes deep in his throat like a silent cry, unable to find release. The signs are too familiar for Geralt to miss the fact that Jaskeir is having yet another nightmare.

He quickly moves to the settee with a few long strides. Dropping to his knees, Geralt’s hand hovers tentatively, not knowing if the touch would be welcome. The smell of pure terror once again fills Geralt’s senses.

“Jask,” he says softly, “Wake up, Jask. You are dreaming.”

At his words, Jaskier seems to calm a little, but still unable to fully wake. So Geralt tries to gently shake him while continuing to whisper comforting words. He traces the line of Jaskier’s forearm, and reaches his hand. Jaskier’s pulse still flutters rapidly under Geralt’s fingers, so he plants a light kiss there.

Jaskier wakes with a choked whimper. His eyes snap open, wide and vulnerable, the sky blue pained with tears.

“It’s okay, Jaskier. You are safe. You are not there anymore.” Geralt’s heart breaks when, for a moment, Jaskier doesn’t seem to believe what he’s seeing is real. “I’m here, Jask. It’s just a dream.”

The repetition sounds weak but it clicks behind his glistening eyes. In relief, the bard lets out a shuddering breath as the tears fall freely, soaking the mussed hair by his temple.

Geralt presses his lips to the soft skin on Jaskier’s wrist one more time to soothe him, before wiping away the wetness at the corner of his eyes. His hands are still cold from training outside all day, but Jaskier nuzzles into his palm anyway.

Minutes pass as Jaskier’s heartbeat returns to normal. A hint of embarrassment now knits his brows into a frown. Sniffling and composing himself, Jaskier sits up on the settee, pulling Geralt from his knees as well, so they face each other. Jaskier’s gaze is kept down, avoiding Geralt’s concern.

“Your hands are freezing,” he says, voice hoarse from the tears, apparently not wanting to acknowledge his previous distress. “Can’t let a witcher lose his fingers.”

Jaskier tugs Geralt’s hands under the coat and tries to rub some heat back into them, still not looking up. To Geralt’s bitterly cold fingers, it’s like a furnace in there and it sends a nice shiver down his spine.

He knows Jaskier is fussing over him to avoid talking about his dreams, but Geralt still warms at the attention and the soft touches.

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s warm fingers to stop his motion.

“Jask –”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, a little desperate, “Please, can we – can we not talk about it? Not now.”

He looks up at Geralt, a storm of emotions held back in the sky blue. Geralt cannot deny a plea like this, so he nods and leans forward to let Jaskier rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. The bard inhales deeply and sags, completely drained of strength, only supported by the Geralt’s arm.

They breathe in tandem. The crackling of fire is somewhere distant in the background. Right now, Jaskier is safe and sound, free of the violence that plagues his dreams.

The road to recovery is long and winding. They have to talk about it at some point, Geralt knows.

But now, he is content just holding Jaskier close.

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

cross-posted on AO3

tagging: @lexieconextreme​

[gregre369]

A geraskier prompt idea:

I know everyone always writes the fic where Geralt ends up hearing Jaskeir’s thoughts, and thus finds out he loves him.

But what if for a change it’s Jaskier that can hear geralts’s thoughts. What if he hears that internal monologue about all the idiot people around them, and the constant description of sounds from nature. Or descriptions of how everything looks for Geralt with his super Witcher eyes.

And Jaskier realizes Geralt is not only super funny and sarcastic but really poetic and soft (only in nature). But also like really sweet towards kids and stuff. And then he hears Geralts’s opinion of him or his singing. So Jaskier starts to sing softer songs or mainly G’s favorites.

I don’t know it would be fun. Like book Geralt’s internal monologue is my favorite thing. The shit he thinks about other people is hilarious to me.