#Oldandkinky writes

[oldandkinky]

A Honey update (Kind Of)!

Someone wrote their version of the end of Honey, and I enjoyed it immensely! Thank you kindly, anon!

If you want to give it a read, this way, please:

I'll get back to this soon. Ish. Promise.

[spielzeugkaiser]

Geraskier Lovechild Masterpost

Once again: This became more than I anticipated... [Backstory] [The beginning] [Traveling with Geralt] [Jaskier is a good Dad] [Jaskier is a good Dad II] [Jaskier has stretch marks] [Milek is ill - meeting Visenna] [Yennefer finds out] [Milek loves horses] [Jaskier is teaching Milek to write] [Adventures make tired..] [Little Baby has a flower name] [Milek wants a pet] [the reality of being a witcher is more gritty] [Milek is anxious] [How old is Milek?] [Jaskier is herding goats] [Milek bumps into Eskel] [Milek bumps into Eskel - II] [Eskel and Milek playing] [Reading a story] [Eskel makes Jaskier eat] [Eskel and Jaskier talk] [Jaskiers jobs through the years] [Jaskier and Milek through the years] [The Baby loves animals] [The Baby loves animals - III] [Milek puts Jaskier to bed] [Milek is ill and Geralt feels helpless] [meeting Valdo and riding a horse] [Jaskier carrying baby Milek] [giggles] - [chonky bebe] [everything changes] [Milek and Jaskier talking about his time in the brothel] [Jaskier is a tired dad] [Jaskier giving birth] [Jaskier and Radovid in this AU] [What led Milek to run away] [Jaskier and Milek travelled to Kaer Morhen] [Spending time at Kaer Morhen] [Milek drew Geralt a picture] [Geralt sees a picture of the Baby] [How it should have been] [Geralt is a dad too!] [Milek talks with Ciri]

[Milek meeting all the other AUs]

Fanfiction: Sweet Little Lies (by Omission) by @alaskanbby Small Mercies by @alaskanbby If Only It were so Easy by @alaskanbby Just a Pinch of Salt in the Wound, You'll Be Fine by @oldandkinky All that counts now by @kell-be-belle I have my reasons why by @magdelanesingerin Unfair by @magdelanesingerin

[restless-witch]

better not wake the baby - spring part 2

link to chapter on ao3- ya gotta be logged in though

Fic Summary: Jaskier isn't helpless. He'd been a shepherd before. He'd killed a wolf before. He'll slaughter again if that's the price of freedom.

Fic Rated M: explicit gore/medical descriptions and miscarriage/abortion aftermath, swearing, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, really gross attitudes towards omegas, abusive relationships, references to fucking, brief suicidal ideation, tbh I'll probably write some actual fucking later

This fic was current up and to part 17 of Honey - Sometimes the Tunnel Only Leads to Darkness and after better not wake the baby- spring part 1. You'll enjoy this fic more if you’ve read them <3

Witcher 3 + Netflix / This part is rated T for contains references to sexual stuff and swearing

heyyo @oldandkinky it's a treat for you and me we've got some plot happening

Drown yourself in crocodile tears Curse the gods what made 'ye Pine away for your banner year But it better not wake the baby How long will this go on? How long, indeed? bang a drum 'till the money's all gone- but it better not wake the baby -The Decemberists -  What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World

He'd spent his first weeks on the lam in the wilds and resolves not to fucking do that again- even now that he's got his pack properly filled. It's easier to avoid Geralt in the woods but the constant trapping of game for supper wore on him as quickly as the misery of waiting out the spring rains did. 

All told, he was lucky to be in this part of Redania, where itinerant work was a little easier to come by and the locals generally still observed the customs of hospitality.

He emerged from Lettenhove in time for the spring plowing and thanked the lone lucky star watching over him that the local gossips were still chattering over the white haired witcher that left weeks ago. 

He was free of outrunning Geralt, for at least a little while.

Geralt was hunting him, he was sure- the scorched garden back home confirmed Geralt's rage even if Jaskier was foolish enough to think the witcher would take his flight easily. Living on the path, however, was not free and Geralt would need to slow his chase for coin. 

Jaskier really hoped he wasn't banking too much on gossip to keep him ahead, or behind, Geralt. 

He drifted between towns for a few weeks, living just a little better than hand to mouth, taking jobs in the fields and hunting for herbs to sell. The cuts and bruises he accumulated on jobs went away as easily as if he'd wiped them off and, more out of boredom than anything, he forms the sign of igni and a sputtering flame erupts from his fingertips. Which scares the shit of him enough that it's another week before he tries again: the signs have mixed success but he's torn between the terror of his foreign body and the desperate drive to take any advantage he can. He feels unsettled by this life- too close to what he experienced on the path, too close to the little jobs he'd take back home- feels like he's stagnating and mouldering even as he pushes his body farther beyond what he knew he should be capable of.

It's outside of Rinde that the grift begins.

It was raining- a heavy downpour through the night and into the day that seemed to follow Jaskier as he slogged through the muddy roads and only the guess-timate of Rinde being a three hour walk that forced his feet all the way to the inn.

Well, he thought it was the inn, but the unamused Ealdorman's clerk quickly dashed that presumption. The clerk mutters a curse into his ledger before asking if the amount on the posting is enough for him to just get on with it .

"Pardon?" Jaskier can't help but be polite.

"One drowner," the clerk enunciated, like Jaskier was some kind of fool, "I understand that's more a nuisance in your profession," he exaggeratedly looked down at Jaskier's chest, "but Kazimierz finally emptied the orphanage."

Oh. The medallion. The lover's medallion, smaller than Geralt's but, proclaiming an allegiance to the school of the Wolf. He'd nearly forgotten he wore it at all and had kept it around his neck merely to keep it safe for when he eventually pawned it. It must have wrested itself outside of his clothes while he hunched from the rain. With Tomek wrapped and strapped to his back and his gambeson worn to protect him from the cold- he can't even fault the clerk for his assumptions. 

Before he can help himself, he's agreeing to the contract.

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

In retrospect, killing his first drowner wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever done but it was the most frightening thing he'd ever done by choice. The White Wolf killed the others a few weeks back, but the lone remnant had made enough trouble by the bridge that the ealdorman promised him room and board for a week if he'd rid them of it. The room was a barn stall and the board was a meager basket of vegetables and eggs, but he'd been on the road enough that a week with the same roof over his head was plenty. 

He's so fucking stupid- but wasn't like trying to outsmart a witcher had really gotten him any progress. He knew a lot about drowners, for all that the witchers griped about contracts for them- it really was because they were a nuisance to a witcher. Hardly a monster and more of giant rancid smelling pain in the ass that mostly got handled by witchers because a crowd of them would overwhelm a normal human by the stench alone.

This was... doable if he didn't act a complete fool.

He went out the next afternoon when the rain had finally abated and found a gnarled yew tree. He climbed up and tested the boughs- swinging himself from a few of them and settling on the one with the best line of sight. He hung his pack on the branch above him and nocked his bow. He waited-

and waited-

well, fuck maybe he should've tried to track it during daylight hours.

At twilight it dragged itself out of the water- happily munching on a bullfrog. Jaskier loosed an arrow and the drowner squealed when it sank into its foot. It squalled as it tried to yank its foot off the ground- the beast didn't even wonder where it came from. He loosed a second towards the other foot but it sailed peacefully into the water. The third trapped the other foot and the drowner had enough mind to rip the fifth out of its chest.

He'd have to get closer then. 

Jaskier pulled Tomek from the branch above and hopped down: he tried casting igni but panicked and the sputtering flame just alerted the drowner to his presence- the drowners' fins flaring when it turned to claw at him. It lurched forward uselessly with its feet stuck, but it kept screeching and Jaskier wondered if his ears were bleeding. He threw his whole weight behind a clean aim towards its neck.

His swing went wide and when he rolled to the side to try and not trip he ended up just bashing its skull in with the blunt side. It crumpled to the ground but he frantically hacked away at the corpse until the head was completely severed.

He vomited onto the rocky shore. 

The body had stopped twitching: the gills dried out quickly and the revolting smell of rot and fish blood got stronger. Dawn was an hour or two away and Jaskier carefully crept back up the yew and pulled down his pack. He drank a little water and then a little temerian rye when his trembling wouldn't stop. He sat on the bank of the river and by the time daylight had started creeping over the body- he saw that the outside flesh was a mottled blue but the inside of the neck was grey. He stood back up and ambled back to the body, wrenching out his arrows, and kicking it over. It didn't look like a drowned person. It looked like a fish person with fine little scales and fins like a catfish. That-

that made it easier. It didn't really look like a person. if it was once a human then it hadn't been one for a very long time. 

The tongue, he remembered, was the traditional proof of the kill for a drowner. Something that annoyed Geralt because of how long they were. 

By this point, death had opened the jaw of the drowner's head for him and it was quick if very messy work to cut the tongue out. He panicked again. He hadn't thought ahead about what to do with the tongue. He paced the shore and panicked and panicked and panicked and until he was laughing hysterically. 

The great shuddering laughter did make him feel better in a way- it made the bit of flesh in his hand seem so fucking stupid and he did do it, he'd killed a verifiable monster. 

Gods he was so fucked- 

he'd done it though

-behind his heaving laughter he could feel the smallest reluctant flutter of hope in his chest. no he wasn't a witcher but maybe-

maybe he could go along with the hoax better than he thought he could. Most of their contracts were small like this, right? Maybe his grift wasn't as foolish as he'd thought it was.

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

He'd persuaded the ealdorman's wife to let him use her wash tub and fetch water from their well: he dragged them into the barn and stripped down. It was then he realized his smallclothes were sticky with drying slick. He felt revolted. He hadn't felt aroused but it must've happened when he was slaying the drowner. He'd been so caught up in the urgency and the terror, he hadn't noticed his body readying for what usually followed. Panic and arousal were tied together in his body. He'd known Geralt had ruined his twinges of lust but this was different. He was disgusting. A wretched example of an omega. A wretched example of a lover. He hated it. Hated his body. 

But it was all he had now. His silly dream of being a bard would never happen with his scarred face. Perhaps a wandering worker that occasionally busked, but no true bard could make it without a bit of wooing and he wasn’t feeling so vain as to pretend they were easy to ignore. No good alpha would take him with the bond mark or scarred womb, even if he claimed Geralt's death. He wasn't soft anywhere an omega should be. Not anymore. 

He stood above the bath a long time, avoiding looking at his blurry reflection. He tries casting igni again and his (traitorous) body didn’t hesitate to actually call the chaos this time so at least he was staring into a frothy  steaming bath instead. The minerals in the water filled his chest in a different way than the well water at home: which now that he thought about it, very rarely steamed with as much fervor either. He's told the air by the sea is salty in a good way, the only things he could compare it to are Kaer Morhen's springs and the Pontar, which sounds so strange and foreign he can hardly imagine it. Maybe he'll go to the coast, it's just as good a direction as any, become a sailor, just because he's playing Witcher now doesn't mean he can't try to wheedle a life aloft. 

The water was a bearable temperature by the time he finally calmed his thoughts enough to step in and it was like he cast axii on himself, the hot water sluicing all his thoughts away.  

He made up for the lack of payment by winning a few boxing matches: the smattering of scars on his torso and face were enough to convince the local tavern owner that he'll give a good show. The food in the basket left as payment by the ealdorman's wife dwindled quickly- he honestly hadn't planned on staying for the full week- but Zosia seemed to have a soft spot for him because a few more eggs and turnips and even a loaf of bread rolled in.

He paced the fields some- he killed a wolf prowling around and traded the pelt for a pair of boots and a handsome belt. The belt, regrettably and unavoidably, got traded for a fresh quiver of arrows and a proper sharpening for Tomek and his knife.

All told; a week earned him a purse of coppers (perhaps a lean two crowns when added up), Zosia ladling him a secret pot of milk as he leaves, and pointers to a few towns where he might find a little work.

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

He stumbled his way through the rest of the spring, mostly making coin helping with the tilling and taking on a contract for a warg which wasn't so different from killing a wolf besides the fact that the medallion that earns him the contract also earns him the missive to take his coin and leave before sundown. The same goes for flashing his medallion when he sells to the apothecarist- less bartering on the prices or the quality, but the same directive to leave the damned town the same day.

Town to town he goes and mingles and meets a handful of people who spot his medallion and ask after their friend Geralt . Jaskier briefly, in a moment of near insanity, wonders if there's a second witcher named Geralt of the Wolf School that just never returns to the Kaer for the Geralt they tell him of is gentle and carries a tome of poetry and permits brave children to ride Roach.

But the details remain the same- white hair, School of the Wolf, and a predilection for plums and brunettes- and Jaskier was forced to hold up the possibility that Geralt was a master manipulator of a caliber he didn't even know was possible to have charmed people in so many places into believing he was kind .

He supposed he too once thought Geralt was kind, for an afternoon, and perhaps they just never frustrated him enough for Geralt to lose his patience. The lone exception is an elf in the market who proclaims Jaskier and the other members of his guild "fine enough" but asks him to spit on Geralt the next time they meet as payback for "whatever striga crawled up his ass and died."

He agreed to do it for the both of them and feels vindicated when the elf elaborates that the witcher had been good-natured enough until their last meeting two years ago.

Jaskier traveled, he worked, he met folk foul and fair.

He survived and, for a time, that was enough.

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

Towards the end of the day, Nenneke was sealing her correspondence with wax, when Anka informed her that "an acquaintance has come by on an important matter." Anka added that it's a witcher but not the same one as last time, she thought, she's not sure. Anka's devotion to the goddess was admirable but her attention for anything but nurturing plants was rather lacking- Nenneke was surprised Anka noticed a visitor at the gate at all. Nenneke sank into her chair a bit, closing her eyes as she drew in a long breath, because she was getting a little done with Geralt breathing down her neck like she was his errand boy.

"Make sure there's a bed available," she finally said, resisting the urge to just turn him away, "and tell him I'll attend to him when I'm done." 

Done ended up being close to supper, after the postulant's vows of evening silence had taken hold: so she arranged for Geralt to eat with her in the hall outside the infirmary ward. She was tucking into a bowl of pottage when the witcher arrived but it wasn't Geralt that hesitantly strode across the hall. 

It was his little omega who wasn't so little anymore. His frame had thickened out and he was bearing more than a few scars- but the mating mark on his neck was still clear to the world. Anka must have arranged for him to bathe as well because he smelled merely of soap and soft citrusy omega nervousness. She carefully took a long breath and couldn't detect the acrid smell of terror he had last time or Geralt for that matter. 

This was going to be interesting.

"Priestess Nenneke," he said softly, taking the seat across from her, his frame curled small as he humbly bowed his head to her,  "thank you for taking the time to see me."

"You weren't 'the witcher' I expected to see," she said, leaning back and gesturing for him to accept the bowl across from her, she huffed a little laugh, "I'd be a poor priestess of Melitele if I turned away a traveler." 

He gave a little snort and the two ate in silence for a while. If Nenneke were younger, she would've tried to pry more from him: but he wasn't her first battered omega to show up without his alpha and he certainly wouldn't be her last. She wordlessly pressed a second serving on him- he'd bulked up a bit but there was a leanness to his cheeks she didn't like in omegas. 

"Has Geralt come to see you?" he finally asked, eyes trained on pulling the crust off his bread.

"Since we last met?" He nodded, "Yes, once. About a month ago- after Belleteyn." She watched him carefully and, instead of a spike of worry, his smell remained carefully nervous.

"Did he take Essi?" he started to press the inside of his bread flat.

"He couldn't if he tried," Nenneke said plainly, his eyes darted to her face and searched her eyes, "her rearing is in the temple's hands now. Besides," she gave an arch smile, "he can't tell her from Embla," there's no mistaking the relief that floods out of him and she started to feel a real fondness for him when his shoulders go slack. 

"Is she happy here?" 

"Truthfully, I don't see her often," Nenneke gave a little hum, "but we take care of our girls. She's the temple's now and I wouldn't even let you take her."

There was a pause as he took that in, he must have settled on accepting it because he sighed and turned a more serious glance to Nenneke, "Thank you, for taking care of her and easing my mind," he chewed his lip a bit, "I suppose I should tell you I've been traveling and working a bit as a witcher. The Witcher Yulek."

"I don't suppose it's with his permission you are doing this," she said, Jaskier shook his head, "you're too old for Vesemir to try and make a real witcher out of you anyway."

Jaskier swallowed and Nenneke could smell a load of trouble.

"Why are you here, Yulek?" she asked him firmly, "you knew when you signed Essi into our care that she'd not be leaving until she was an adult. Geralt isn't stupid enough to break the peace just to get her away from me."

"Will you tell him I was here?" she could smell anxiety begin to bloom in his scent.

"Is that what you want?" she retorted sharply and wrinkled her nose from his scent bursting with emotions, "I suppose that answers that. My allegiance isn't to him and I'll forgive the insult you'd think it would be," she scrutinized him intensely and saw his hands tighten on his lap like a child getting a scolding- she felt herself soften a bit, for he wasn't yet much more than a child, "my duty is to the people seeking Melitele's help here, now what is it you came here for?"

"My body," he said quietly, "I don't recognize it. Something is happening to me. He was going to kill me: he was going too far. And then I noticed- the changes. You must see-"

He wordlessly took a knife from his belt and cut into the flesh inside his arm- over a spot where she noticed a curious handful of similar scars.

He must have done this before. 

She kept herself in her seat and the two sat in silence as the blood quickly clotted- before he could bleed out- far quicker than should have been possible. She cycled through thoughts- a curse, some sort of latent skill for chaos, the trials-

She still wet her apron and tended to it, wiping away the blood as she'd done so many times to so many omegas.

"It's not the food," he continued, "I've been on my own since before Birke- I don't-" he trailed off.

That ruled out going through the Choice like Leo.

"He used to drink something,"Jaskier said, "some kind of fertility treatment, could that have changed me?"

"That doesn't sound likely," she said frankly, "for a draught to do that, it would need to be very concentrated in his body, not yours." Nenneke looked him over again, new eyes examining the way his shoulders had filled out and the thickness of his hair and the scars scrawled across his face, "is there anything beyond what you have shown me?"

"I can cast a sign," he bit his lip, "sometimes."

"May I touch you?" she asked and Jaskier nodded. She patted along his body, the nodes where chaos was prone to collecting, and felt the latent hum she associated with the witcher adepts.

How strange-

"Did you meet Eskel?" she could recall, many years ago, Eskel studying at the temple with all the other Witcher adepts and massaging a lame kitten back to health, "he has more chaos in his hands then the stones of power."

Jaskier's body locking under her hands was answer enough, "we wintered together," he said through his teeth.

"If that is what is changing you," she said carefully, "I think you need to go back to Kaer Morhen to find out- that's beyond the scope of anyone here. They were secretive enough about that before the school fell."

"Was he always like that?" Jaskier gritted out, "was Geralt always like that?"

"I've never seen him take an omega before if that's what you're asking," Nenneke said. She watched Jaskier seem to collect himself, letting out a shuddering breath as he unlocked his jaw and kneaded his palms into his thighs.

"I've met people," he said, mouth full of piss and vinegar, like each word was pulled from his teeth, "who speak of a Geralt I've never met. Kind. Gentle. Funny, even. I can't imagine you being a friend to an arse like Geralt, was he like that once or are they liars?"

"People change," she said carefully, "he's had his shortcomings. But-"

"But?"

"The summer after Blaviken-" she said, "he changed. Blaviken was bad enough- but the summer after was especially cruel to him."

"It's like some kind of poison in his mind-"

Oh. The basilisk. 

She hadn't even thought of that.

She needed to think.

She invited the boy, Yulek, Jaskier, Julian- whatever name worked- to stay at the temple while she thought.

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

Jaskier ended up staying at the temple for a whole week: earning his keep milling medicinal ingredients through the day. Nenneke introduced him to the novice Sorcha, a former Temerian Blue Stripes, who gave him a dirty tutoring in bomb making, battle dressing, and making medicine.

He leaves Ellander with a haircut, a silver dagger, and the dread that he must eventually, actually, realistically, return to the Kaer.

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

A/N- Encouragement and kind words will always make me more excited to write stuff <3 and feel free to dash off a message to me! I haven’t really made any friends in the fandom yet :3c

Thanks for reading, friends!

Rough and tumble ragged drafts on tumblr here: Actual Fic Better Not Wake The Baby

This fic is based on OldandKinky’s Honey-verse and you can also find them here: Honey-verse on Ao3 and OldandKinky on Ao3

and if you like my writing, I’ve also got “Varieties of Exile” 

[silvipeppers]

hey-o, just gonna... slide in here and give u some love. saw the art u did of oldandkinky's fic and since I know they do Controversial Stuff (bc I read almost all of it bc they are an awesome writer, love 'em) idk if ur getting any hate from the pearl-clutching crowd. love ur art, have followed for quite some time. ur very talented. <333

Hi! thank you so much for the love <3 I didn't even know the art was making rounds amongst the antis until this ask (and i checked the notes and it says that some replies have been hidden which?? show me??? i wanna see)

i always find hilarious that people go "oh my god you read that person's fics, you must condone that in real life and might actually do those things" or whatever. and by hilarious i mean amazingly stupid and short-sighted. and it's always? people with handles like "soft-boy-uwu" ? go fuck yourself buddy, get a life.

this is a safe space. don't get me wrong; i have my triggers, but I am adult enough to recognize them, avoid them and assume responsibility when I decide to engage in something that ends up upsetting me. I can only recommend these bored idiots do the same and stop trying to tattletale on people "that... um... write icky stuff?"

[afterhoursfic]

Warning: Non con, dub con, manipulation

Also ive been thinking about something kinda based on @/oldandkinky s honey series.

An intially willing into quickly unwilling Jaskier brought up to Kaer Morhen where he learns hes there not just to be good company, but to be the pack bitch.

Everyone is quite happy to use him however they want, if its to bend him over the table before dinner, of course then everyone wants a round after that, or to pull him to the edge of the bed to fuck his ass or mouth stupid, whichever is closest, sometimes there two of them and they swap over a few rounds.

That is everyone of them uses him but Eskel. Granted he doesnt stop it either but its something so Jaskier is quite happy to spend as much time as possible hiding away with Eskel before he gets found. Of course it often results in him being forced to straddle Eskel whilst whoever found him, Lambert most of the time will fuck him stupid from behind. During that time Eskel is quite happy to do nothing, to read or write or whatever he was doing before quite happy to ignore Jaskier being brutally fucked on his lap.

But again its something and Jaskier latches onto that, swears he may even be developing a bit of a crush on the witcher, however sad that is.

Thats until one night when he manages to slip away from under Geralts lax arm during the night and tiptoe his way to Eskels room and get in under the covers. He thinks its sweet the little tired growl from Eskel and the way the witcher pulls him close even if for a brief moment he thinks he feels the brush if teeth on his neck, but he puts it to one side, Eskel hasnt done anything yet and he has no reason to start now.

Thats until he wakes up groggy and tired a few hours later, the hazy light of dawn peeking through the window, and being stretched open on three very thick fingers.

He groans and tries to turn around but theres a vice like grip on his hip and suddenly the fingers are gone. Biting kisses are laid on his neck until he feels something thick and wet press against his hole and he tries to struggle.

"You came into my bed and didnt expect me to have a go with that nice ass"

It is very much Eskel speaking and its like ice has been poured over him as he tenses up. It doesnt stop Eskel though just causes him to groan into his neck about how tight he is as he fucks into him.

"Was waitin' for my brothers to open you up enough to take me but you couldn't wait, could you? You really are just an eager little slut beggin' to be fucked"

Thats all the warning he gets before Eskel starts moving and seems wholly intent on fucking him through the mattress no matter how pained he sounds or how he tries to struggle away.

It seems to drag on forever befors Eskel fills him with hot, thick come that makes him wince, of course its not really over, Eskel is quite haopy to climb over him to make him lick his cock clean and then when he gets hard again chokes Jaskier on his cock until he's teary eyed, hoarse and gagging at the come spilled down his throat.

He then hauled over Eskels shoulder and carried down to the hall for breakfast where he put down rather ungracefull onto the table with Eskel proudly saying how they lost something last night which then means they've all got to teach a lesson to him not to leave them during the night, even if it is to get fucked by someone else

[dead-dove-diner]

First of all I just want to say I’m not usually into starting WIPs but Honey You’re Familiar is just TOO GOOD! I await every chapter very impatiently 😆

Now for the ask game how about #7? I’m always looking for fic recs lol

omg thank you!! That's so sweet and I'm glad you're enjoying it! I'm hoping to keep up posting a chapter every Thursday, and am currently finishing off chapter 10, so I've still got a handful of weeks to keep everything moving so hopefully i can get it all finished soon!

7- A ship someone else writes that you love.

ohh this is a hard one! I'm very simple with my ships and I think i've written for most of them but I adore the way @piceuscelus writes Geralt/Ciri, and @witchertrashparty, @oldandkinky, and @buttercupkinks always have some fantastic filth coming out!

Thank you so much for playing!

[oldandkinky]

Wrote a little something based on @spielzeugkaiser s heartwrenching Lovechild AU, because I like to hurt myself, apparently.

CW: A/B/O, vomiting, torture, sad Jaskier, non-linear narrative, unplanned pregnancy

Also on AO3

The first time Jaskier has to pull off the road to go vomit into some bushes, entirely unprovoked by too much to drink or food that has gone off, he brushes it aside. It's a fluke. These things happen.

He keeps telling himself that right up until the sixteenth time, after the mountain, when he wakes up and immediately has to roll to the side of the cheap inn bed he's in to vomit onto the floor instead of the mattress.

After, he lies there, staring at the wall, the sharp scent of his sick in his nose and tears welling up in his eyes. For weeks, Jaskier has tried to ignore the obvious even when it was staring him in the face, but now… Well.

He rolls onto his back and, after a moment's hesitation, reaches down. His hand slips under his shirt, rests on his belly, above the place where he now acknowledges his child is growing.

His, and Geralt's.

*

After the mountain, Jaskier is a mess. He keeps telling himself that, surely, Geralt didn't mean those things, that he was just- overwhelmed, angry, sad, whatever.

He tries to justify it to himself, the way he has so many times before when Geralt was nasty to him. The Witcher has a lot on his plate, he'd tell himself, he didn't mean it, it was nothing personal.

But this time… Well, this time Jaskier can't convince himself. The things Geralt said to him on that cliffside were too close to the insecurities Jaskier has been harbouring all throughout their acquaintance, too close to his own guilt about bringing Geralt to Cintra, about the djinn. That's the only reason why he turns away, why he collects his things and makes his way down the mountain alone.

It doesn't make his heart hurt any less.

*

For a few months, nothing much changes in Jaskier's life. He goes to Oxenfurt, he teaches, he performs. It's all he knows, the one thing that offers stability right now.

He's tired, all the time now, and as the nausea and morning sickness fades, his belly begins to grow. He finds himself sitting in his bed often, stroking the little bump and singing softly, voice cracking as he sings despite the tears.

Jaskier has been on his own in one way or another since he was fourteen, but he has never felt this utterly and completely alone.

*

"Do you have children? A few little wolflings somewhere on the continent?" 

They're curled up in their bedrolls, Geralt's arm slung over his waist. Sweat is still cooling on their skin, and Jaskier looks up at the clouds, dotted across the late afternoon sky like sheep.

Geralt grunts against his shoulder. His thumb is drawing circles onto Jaskier's ribs. "Can't have any," he rumbles. "Witchers are sterile."

Jaskier hums and twists to press a kiss to Geralt's forehead. "Pity," he muses, "we'd make some cute babies."

Geralt huffs, then bites the curve of his shoulder, and Jaskier stops thinking about children entirely.

*

The letter arrives a few weeks after Jaskier has stopped teaching. He spends most of his time in his flat now, writing or composing.

He's not hiding, he tells himself.

It's a summons, a letter from his mother. Word must have reached Lettenhove, rumours that the family disappointment has managed to get himself knocked up, just the way his parents feared all this time.

'Come home at once,' the letter says. Even in written form, his mother's instructions brook no argument.

*

Some nights, when all Jaskier has just enough coin to get enough to eat for Milek, when he remembers the look of despair on the boy's face as he watches yet another group of children at play, children that ignore him because he's a stranger and their parents told them not to play with his sort - meaning with a bastard -, when his own hunger drives him nearly mad…

Some nights, Jaskier hates Geralt. 

He wishes he could bring himself to hate him on most nights.

*

He has never known agony such as this. Giving birth was nothing, nothing, compared to this. His stomach roils at the scent of burning hair, of charred flesh, and he screams his throat raw as the mage grins at him.

He wishes he could think of Milek as his skin sizzles and pops, but all that runs through his head is this: Geralt, please, save me, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt-

It's not Geralt who saves him. Why would it be?

*

"You should have come earlier," Father says, disdain on his face and in his voice.

In Jaskier's arms, Milek fusses. Jaskier is so, so tired. "I know," he says quietly. Father's lip curls.

"We'll find a wet nurse as soon as possible, then you can-"

"No. No, I'm- I'm not doing that."

He walks away, Father's outraged scolding ringing behind him. Jaskier doesn't care. He just wants to sleep, wants to be alone.

That's a lie.

He wants… He wants Geralt. It hurts, the memory of the venom Geralt spit at his feet still so fresh, but Jaskier can't help it.

He wants Geralt. He wants to show him his son, this beautiful little boy they made together.

But he can't. He doesn't know where Geralt is, if he's even still alive. Cintra has fallen. The princess has vanished. Yennefer is presumed dead after Sodden.

There's only Jaskier, and Milek.

*

Yennefer is so much smaller than him, unusually small for an alpha, but right now she may as well have Witcher strength, Jaskier thinks. She's all that is holding him up, that is keeping him from collapsing, and he resents her for it, somewhat.

He guides her to his flat, a dingy little thing over a bakery. Living there had been excruciating in summer, the ovens heating the small space unbearably, but it's been getting colder and now it's a boon.

Roselyn, the baker's oldest daughter, opens the door for them when Jaskier calls for her. Her eyes widen almost comically when she sees his hands. Yennefer sends her running for hot water and bandages with a few curt words, and Jaskier whimpers as she lets him sink onto a chair.

"I'll need your help," he mutters. Now that he's back home, that the terror is wearing off, that he can smell Milek, his chest is starting to ache.

Yennefer scoffs. "Of course you do, just wait for-"

She's interrupted by a whimper, and Jaskier curses when the let-down comes, milk seeping into his shirt. Ah well, it's ruined anyway, with blood and panic sweat, what's a bit of milk added to the mix?

Yennefer stills. Her eyes are wide.

He gets to his feet, ignoring how his legs wobble. Milek begins to fuss, and Jaskier drops heavily onto the bed. "I'm here, sweetheart," he murmurs, then looks up at Yennefer. "Could you…?"

She swallows visibly. Behind her, Roselyn enters, carrying a bucket of steaming water. Yennefer seems to shake herself. Then she gets to work.

*

The first time Geralt kisses him, Jaskier kind of wants to punch him.

Geralt kisses him, in the doorway of their little inn room, and then he turns away and leaves for a contract.

It's so typical.

*

He's a day out of Lettenhove when the cramps start. Jaskier had rented a spot on a caravan, which means it's slow going. There's a woman riding in the back with him, her and her three children. She has been giving him and his big belly sceptical looks the whole journey, and when she catches him wincing through one of the cramps, she calls the caravan to a halt.

"Bloody foolish thing to do," she scolds him as she helps him off the cart. "You oughta be at home with your mate, not traipsing around the countryside-"

Jaskier doesn't know what his face is doing, but it must give everything away, because she falls silent, her expression softening.

"Don't worry, lad," she murmurs as she guides him into the shade by the side of the road. "We don't need no alpha to bring this babe into the world, do we?"

Jaskier grimaces, and nods, and pants through the next cramp. She's right. He doesn't need an alpha.

He doesn't need Geralt. 

He doesn't.

*

When Milek calls him papa for the first time, Jaskier cries.

*

"How is that possible, Jaskier?"

Yennefer is in a chair beside the bed, watching him with a look of shock on her face. She's not a healer, she told him earlier, but her magic was just enough to take off the worst of his injuries. Now, his hands are cleaned and salved and bandaged,  and he's holding Milek close as he nurses.

"I don't know," he murmurs. He has thought about this so often, has tried to figure out how it could have happened. No answer has presented itself.

"Witchers are sterile," Yennefer says, but he can hear the doubt in her voice.

"I don't know," he repeats. "I swear it's the truth. It… It would be easier if it wasn't."

*

Yennefer doesn't accept his offer. Jaskier is at once relieved and crushed by it.

Relieved, because Milek is his. He carried him, nourished him, brought him into the world.

Relieved, because Milek is all he has left of Geralt.

But the terrible weight of it all is pressing in from all sides, and he doesn't know how he is going to survive.

*

Jaskier has changed. He knows part of it is age catching up to him. There are lines around his eyes, his mouth now, his skin grown softer.

But the loose skin of his belly isn't down to age. 

Milek is watching him curiously as Jaskier pokes at himself after his bath, his little curly head tilted to the side.

"Papa?"

"Hm?"

"Was I really in there?"

"Yes, honey."

Milek looks up at him, eyes so wide and full of wonder. "Can you put another baby in there? We could throw stones."

There's a terrible ache behind Jaskier's breast, and later, when his beautiful little boy asks, "Where's daddy, papa?", it burns as hot as it ever did.

Time should have cured him of this yearning, but it hasn't. He doubts it ever will.

*

When Milek is seven, Jaskier looks up in the tavern he's playing in one day and his heart nearly stops. Across the room, there's an unmistakable head of white hair.

He meets yellow eyes, and it's like his stomach drops out beneath him. All he wants to do is run.

Somehow, through sheer force of will, he finishes his song. His hands are a good excuse to stop playing, the scars making it hard to play for as long as he used to, and he collects his meager coin and hopes that he can duck out of the backdoor before Geralt catches up to him.

A hand on his arm, oh so familiar, stops him dead in his tracks.

"I apologise," Geralt says quietly, in that tone Jaskier recognises as the one he usually uses for children and horses and spooked survivors. "I don't mean to intrude, but… I couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, we know each other?"

This is a cruel joke. It must be, except Geralt isn't the type. Maybe it's a doppler, that would make sense-

"If I'm mistaken, I'm sorry, it's just that I lost my memory and-"

Jaskier turns on his heel, gapes up at him. It's unmistakably Geralt, he realises. There's a new scar, cutting through his left eyebrow and over his cheek, but Jaskier would know his scent anywhere.

He wants to cry. He wants to slap Geralt, to yell at him, wants to fall into his arms and never let him go again. He wants to take him to the shitty little inn room where Milek is waiting, wants to finally, finally, introduce his son to his daddy-

Geralt looks at him without a trace of recognition, and Jaskier swallows thickly.

"No," he says, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. "I'm sorry. I don't know you."

He turns away, and Geralt lets him go.

*

He doesn't know who took him. For someone who has tried to stay out of all of the bullshit happening on the continent for the last couple of years, Jaskier has amassed an astonishing amount of enemies.

He's not scared. Not really. Not for himself, anyway.

No, he's scared for Milek. He's only thirteen, all alone with no clue where Jaskier went.

He curls up on the filthy ground of the cell they tossed him into and tries to hold back his tears. They argued, just before Jaskier was grabbed. He doesn't even remember what about, just that he was so, so angry and so was Milek, and they yelled at each other, and what if that was the last things they said to each other?

What if he never sees his son again?

*

When he hears about the female Witcher that has started taking contract, when he hears about her ashen hair and green eyes, he's torn between relief and anger. It's a familiar feeling after all these years.

Cirilla must be sixteen now, almost a woman. Older than her mother was on that fateful night. The last time Jaskier saw Cirilla, she was barely out of swaddling clothes. It feels strange to think of the girl as a woman.

She's a Witcher now, or as close to one as she can be. That means that Geralt did find her, that he raised her, trained her. It's a weight off Jaskier's chest. Resisting one's destiny is never a good idea.

But it brings flashes of the old anger back. Why could Geralt raise her, and not his own son?

"You kept him a secret," Yen reminds him gently one night, and Jaskier deflates, all at once.

He did.

It was the right thing to do.

*

"Time for bed, baby," he urges when Milek rubs his eyes again. Predictably, the boy shakes his head.

"'M not tired!"

He never is, like all children. Jaskier bribes him with a story.

"Your daddy saved me," he murmurs, stroking the boy's soft hair as Milek cuddles into his side. "He made a deal with a witch, one that could have hurt him terribly, just to save me."

Milek hums and takes his thumb out of his mouth, just long enough to ask, "Because he's a hero, right, papa?"

Jaskier smiles, and ignores the burning in his eyes. "Yeah, baby. Because your daddy is a hero."

[restless-witch]

Questions for 15 Friends

re-posting bc my sideblog has different mutuals/friends <3

thank u for the tag <3 <3 <3 @swanfloatieknight

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?:

I am mf named like a god damn habsburg- my first name is my paternal grandmother’s (as a fuck you) hyphenated with an invocation of the 'blessed virgin' then a femme form of my maternal grandfather’s name then an invocation of a cannonized imperial ancestor like jfc-- to be clear, I have more names on my birth certificate, those are just the ones picked from people

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:

a week ago I thought too hard about “Dinner in America”

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?:

nope

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?:

I did some medieval sword fighting but stopped when gyms closed in 2020- I got out of doing a sport in high school by joining Math Team

DO YOU USE SARCASM?:

I do but I try to be mindful of it

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?:

Haircuts- are you picking a currently popular one or do you know yourself better than that?

WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOUR?:

a dark red-brown, my sister’s are a true brown and my brother’s are a yellow-brown which is facinating to me

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?:

ANY TALENTS?:

I make a lot of distinctions between skills and talents: I’ve got a lot of natural talent for all fiber arts, jumping fences, and baking yeasted things

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?:

Midwest babyyyyy

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?:

Knitting, writing, going on walks, memorizing song lyrics, maybe video games

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?:

Miss Pumpernickel

HOW TALL ARE YOU?:

5'4" (162cm?) on a good day- what is funny is I have good posture and a longish torso so on more than one occasion I have met someone sitting down and they thought I was a much taller person. I frequently wear flatform shoes and I guess I have the movements of a taller person because I hear, quite often, that people forget I am a small human being.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?:

I am a scholarly person now but I did not like school for a long time because I was very unsupported a lot of the time. In college, I liked my drawing courses, poetry workshops, and my Medieval/Renaissance & Japanese literature courses. If I had all the money in the world, I would pursue a PhD in analyzing how “Paradise Lost” has subsumed or replaced actual biblical text as the modern Protestant understanding of Genesis.

DREAM JOB?:

I do not dream of labor.

What my last job used to be was my dream job but that’s a dying profession, I think. Maybe something to do with living history or historical costume fabrication.

tagging friends (and folx I'd like to be friends with <3 ): @oldandkinky, @dancingwiththefae, @rebrandedbard, @lopeslg, @deadwolfdonoteat, @literarypotatoes, @respectwomenjuice, @fandomwarehouse, @bugssiesbeans, @ohwhoopsok, @elythegardeningbard, @flowercrown-bard, and @jackironsides

(it's all good if you don't wanna play too <3 )

[restless-witch]

Not really sure if anyone is interested but I forgot to share- I did make a playlist for "Better Not Wake the Baby"- or maybe more truthfully I made a playlist for @oldandkinky's Honey-verse like two years ago and it got me all riled up to write "Better Not Wake the Baby"

so a playlist for the first half of the Honey saga and also my fic....? :) it's still named Honey because it's about what oldandkinky has written

Not sure if folx make content warnings for playlists but guess what!!! I'm gunna include some because we're not all cool with the same stuff :)

Better Not Wake The Baby - mild violence/gore

Banjo Odyssey - explicit incest and rape

The Chimbley Sweep - implied underage sex

In Hell I'll Be In Good Company - violence and specifically domestic violence

The Rake's Song- infant death, death in childbirth, filicide/murdering children

When The War Came- war iconography and starvation

Personal Jesus- obv Christian iconography

Var det du eller var det jag - no warnings :) just a Swedish folk song

[restless-witch]

Better Not Wake The Baby - Part 2.... ish - The Spring...ish

Fic Summary: Jaskier isn't helpless. He'd been a shepherd before. He'd killed a wolf before. He'll slaughter again if that's the price of freedom.

Rated M: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, really gross attitudes towards omegas, abusive relationships, references to fucking

This fic was current up and to part 17 of Honey - Sometimes the Tunnel Only Leads to Darkness and after Better Not Wake The Baby- Winter. You'll enjoy this fic more if you’ve read them <3

Witcher 3 + Netflix / This part is rated M / Incomplete

Make your moan of your lot in life Split your mind half crazy Gouge your eyes with a butter knife But it better not wake the baby

-The Decemberists -  What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World

hey y’all, I’m what the kids call trash going through a dry spell of writing... it’s slow going on both my fics but I wanted to share a bit of the next chapter of Better Not Wake The Baby. The way I’ve been structuring it in my mind has been on the four seasons plus another winter- as I’ve plotted it out now, Winter (last posted- 3.6k) is pretty much complete. Spring has swollen up to 5.6K already and I expect it to probably double. Summer should be short- I’ve only got 300 words written and I really don’t expect much to happen. The second Winter is 5.6k and will also probably double.

Below is a little bit of spring that I can share without spoiling anything or a major cliffhanger and below THAT are just little bits of the other seasons for you to chew on :)

Thanks @oldandkinky for letting me play with Honey-verse!!! It’s such an enticing place to explore

Spring

Lambert leaves, then Eskel and the last storms, and Vesemir starts calling Geralt down to sow the gardens with manure. During the day, Vesemir sends Jaskier out to forage for the herbs and mushrooms he can identify; at night, Jaskier tucks himself between Geralt's legs with a book. He learns to suppress the shudders as Geralt's hands start to play with his cunt and widens his sprawl as he ruts against Geralt's cock. Jaskier clutters his mind with the sources of alchemy ingredients and sweetens his scent with memories of blackberries and fields of rye and the freedom of ambling a flock across Lettenhove. Geralt softens even more as arid misery gives way to the tedium of tallow and rosemary.

After what's certainly the last frost, radishes already unfurling from the hard ground, Vesemir and the goats are the only ones to see them off.

Vesemir gifted Geralt with all the little conveniences of a mated couple; a larger bedroll and kettle to share when they made camp, an ornamental medallion Jaskier might wear if he behaved back from the days Witchers did have sweethearts on the path, a new ledger to record their travels.

Geralt has packed up Roach and Vesemir has loaded Jaskier down with a novice witcher's kit; a gambeson and leather cuirass to keep him safe from bandits, a brick of honey and nuts and figs to supplement their field rations, a copy of their novitiate's songbook to help him remember the sprawling roads and names of beasts and plants.

The descent from Kaer Morhen is worlds easier than before: they bypass The Killer entirely, taking the smoother paths long since opened up by early spring slides and storms.

The two pick a path through the Blue Mountains through Kaedwan down into Aedirn.

During the day, on the Path, Jaskier croons his way into a modicum of freedom. The days come in starts and stops: unlike the grueling endless days of the last fall. The day Geralt taught him to sew up his thigh is a breath, the day Geralt presents him with a crown of aphrodisiac flowers stretches on endlessly, and the regular fruitless tupping beside the road becomes a dull hum threading the weeks together.

Since Jaskier proposed "courting", they've struck a number of bargains; though Jaskier isn't sure Geralt would think of them that way. Geralt stops taking the fertility treatments, holding off when Jaskier gently asks about the strain of heavy pregnancy or a newborn taking the path to the keep. Jaskier begins learning songs from tavern bards and the novitiate's songbook and practices singing for the hour after they lunch.

He sings to the boundless skies- swallows his envy of the thrushes and spits out his own song of gliding through the spring.

Summer

He can't control the groan that escapes him when a foot nudges into his back: he looks up into a pair of golden eyes and knows he is absolutely completely fucked because if there was one thing the Witchers of Kaer Morhen could agree on- it's that the Cats are fucked in the head and not above blood sport. he doesn't feel fear, more like a bit of humor, because he'd hardly expected to make it this far and he's waiting for his death like a punchline.

Fall

"It used to be a treat for the novices to be taken down the mountain," Vesemir says lightly, "and with your temperament, I imagine you'll want to pick between millet and oats." 

Jaskier snorts. He does- he can't stand oats.

They make it to the hamlet in the late afternoon and it's almost evening before they find a house with spare supplies to barter: a merchant is due to make his last trip of the season soon, but the locals are reluctant to turn over their cushioning after the augur predicted an early freeze. Jaskier goes into the last house alone at twilight and drives a hard bargain. Vesemir fails to hide a fond glance when Jaskier slips the fat purse of crowns back into his breeches and wordlessly starts filling Wielki's packs with salt, hops, yarrow, slippery elm, saltpetre, and other provisions. He went back to the homestead and came out with two sacks of millet.

Winter

"What's my real name Geralt?" the pace of stabbing quickened, the grooves on the table between his fingers deepening as Jaskier's voice became a jab as well, "You saw it on the papers I signed when Nenneke took Essi in her care. What's my name?" Geralt didn't answer. Jaskier rammed the dagger where his palm had been only seconds before, fast enough Aiden nearly dove for a bandage, "Call me whatever the fuck you like then- it doesn't make a difference to you."

.

A/N- kind words and messages are always appreciated <3 thank you for reading

Rough and tumble ragged drafts on tumblr here: Actual Fic Better Not Wake The Baby

This fic is based on OldandKinky’s Honey-verse and you can also find them here: Honey-verse on Ao3 and OldandKinky on Ao3

and if you like my writing, I’ve also got “Varieties of Exile”

[oldandkinky]

Love me some of that con/non con and/or overstim! Is sex pollen too basic? It feels basic even tho I love it and never get tired of it. Or maybe Jaskier is wintering at kaer morhen and he and the witchers either accidentally get into an aphrodisiac or deliberately deciding to play around with one? Even if you decide this isn't sparking joy for your muse, just know that I love you and you're wonderful and I'll be loving whatever prompts you do end up writing bc I've loved everything I've read of yours

I LOVE sex pollen type fics!

Contains accidental aphrodisiac overdose, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent, gangbang, implied monsterfucking.

*********

"Oops."

Jaskier watches the silvery powder billowing into a strangely fragrant cloud around him. He'd just been looking, honestly, he hadn't even touched anything. He'd looked around, squinting at a book on the shelf, and then his elbow bumped into the little pot and shoved it off the work table. Who leaves something so close to the edge anyway?

The powder settles on his clothes and hair, and his nose tickles. He sneezes, sucking in air and, in the process, the powder, and he really hopes he didn't just accidentally poison himself.

He's just brushing the powder off of his sleeve as carefully as he can without breathing in even more when Geralt almost skids around the corner and through the door of the lab Jaskier is currently in. They blink at each other for a second, and then Geralt asks, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You said 'Oops'."

Jaskier scowls at him, brushing the last bits of powder away from his thigh. "I knocked over this pot but it's fine, I didn't get any in my mouth or anything."

Geralt stares at him and says nothing.

"It is fine, right?"

"Uh."

"Geralt."

***********

Jaskier feels like he's going to die. The reason for that is twofold. One, he's sitting in the kitchen, getting the talking to of a lifetime from Vesemir of all people, who has this way of looking so incredibly disappointed without his facial features really changing all that much, and two, his cock is so hard he's afraid it's going to burst.

"That powder is one of the most potent aphrodisiacs we have in our arsenal," Vesemir explains, and Jaskier shifts in his seat. He's starting to feel very, very warm, and his heart is starting to beat faster. Maybe if he can just- "Jaskier!"

"Huh?"

The old Witcher looks at him with what Jaskier is pretty sure is pity. His eyes flicker down, and when Jaskier follows his gaze, he sees that he has his hand in his breeches. "It's starting," Vesemir says quietly, and beside Jaskier, Geralt makes a soft noise.

"What can we do?"

"There is an antidote but we don't have it on hand. Making it would take too long. He'll have to ride it out." Vesemir looks at the bard again. "Doing it alone might kill you."

Jaskier shifts again. He can't… He can't think, if he's honest, can't focus on what Vesemir is saying. All he can concentrate on is the way his smalls brush against his cock, the soft drag back and forth as he shifts his hips from side to side. If he could just-

"Jaskier, listen to me." Geralt is before him, his hand cupping his chin so Jaskier has to look at him. The Witcher looks concerned. "Do you want us to help you?"

Jaskier is so, so warm, and he needs to… He needs…

"Alright, Jask, you're alright."

Everything goes dark.

*************

When lucidity returns to Jaskier, he's in a bed, sitting on a gloriously thick cock, covered in sweat and what he's fairly sure is more than one load of come.

"Wha-"

"Oh good, he's back with us." Lambert moves into view, stark naked, his dark hair pretty much standing on end, and stroking himself lazily, and Jaskier feels like his eyes might bug out of his head.

"What the fuck is going on?" He cranes his neck to see who he's sitting on and finds himself face to face with Geralt, who looks both extremely well-fucked and vaguely ashamed. "Geralt, why is your dick in my arse?"

"You dosed yourself up with Witcher aphrodisiac," Eskel says from his other side, and Jaskier turns to find him in a chair, also completely naked. He's not hard but even so he's… well, quite intimidating, if Jaskier has to be honest. "This is the first time you've been lucid in roughly six hours."

"What?!"

Lambert plops himself into the chair on the other side of the bed. "Yup. You, little songbird, just spent the better part of the day bouncing on our cocks so you wouldn't die."

Jaskier feels very, very faint. He slumps backwards, almost falling over, but Geralt is there to catch him. Of course this changes the angle of the man's dick inside Jaskier, and he can't bite back the moan that falls from his lips.

Geralt wraps strong arms around his chest, holding him close. "You alright?"

"I… honestly don't know." He shivers when Geralt's breath brushes over his neck. "I can't… I don't remember anything."

Lambert chuckles, hand still wrapped around his cock. "Well, let's just say we were all surprised by how flexible you are."

A variety of images flashes through Jaskier's mind at that, things he can't be certain whether they're memories or fantasies. In any case, he shivers, and tightens around Geralt, and the Witcher draws in a soft breath.

"H-how long is it going to last? The effects, I mean." There's heat crawling under his skin again, his heart beating a little faster.

"Going by how twitchy you are, I'd say we're about halfway there," Lambert muses, and Jaskier frowns at him.

"What do you mean, twitchy?" Lambert points at his crotch, and when Jaskier looks down he becomes aware of two things in rapid succession: one, he's hard again, and two, he's started riding Geralt without even being aware of it. Noticing that sets all his nerve endings aflame, and he throws back his head and moans.

It's blurry after that, but it's not the same total blackout as before. It's like he's watching through a veil. He knows what is happening but his body moves entirely on its own. It's a very odd experience.

Jaskier is no stranger to… athletic sex, to a variety of positions, to having numerous partners. None of his dalliances so far could have prepared him for what happens in that room.

He's never empty for long. One of the Witchers is always fucking him, slow and gentle or hard and fast, whatever he asks for. After he rides Geralt to an orgasm that has the man's grip on him tightening almost painfully, Lambert pulls him off of Geralt and pushes him onto hands and knees. Jaskier is loose and slick, and Lambert sinks into him to the root with a groan. He fucks him with short, hard thrusts that have Jaskier's eyes rolling back, that have him coming within moments, but the need doesn't dim much.

He comes twice more like this before Lambert pumps him full, and again it's only a matter of moments before Eskel takes the other's place. Jaskier had been right in assuming that Eskel's cock would be intimidating. The stretch of it is almost too much, but Jaskier is so wet, so open, that it's surprisingly easy. Eskel's pace is slow and deep and makes Jaskier's toes curl.

By the time Geralt rolls him onto his back and kisses him softly as he moves between his thighs, Jaskier is wrung dry. Geralt watches him as he fucks him, just as slowly, just as deeply as Eskel, and there's something in his eyes that makes Jaskier's back arch and his stomach flutter.

They're all exhausted, and Lambert flops down between Jaskier's legs at some point, swallowing his cock down. That's when Vesemir comes in to check on them, and Jaskier finds himself whining, reaching for the man. Vesemir's face softens, and a short while later Jaskier finds himself face down, pressed into the mattress under the old man's bulk. Vesemir is not as gifted as his pups but he knows how to make Jaskier lose his mind with pleasure, and he has Jaskier screaming through two orgasms before he even puts his cock into the bard.

Finally, it's over, Jaskier a shivering oversensitive mess between the Witchers, cradled against Geralt's side. He's on the verge of sleep when Geralt presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Jaskier smiles, and sleeps, and dreams.

**************

When he wakes up again, everything hurts.

Jaskier moans, this time not in pleasure, and immediately there are big hands cupping his face, stroking over his arms, down his thighs.

"Hey," comes Geralt's voice, low and gentle, and Jaskier forces his eyes open. His Witcher is the one cupping his cheeks, and behind him is Lambert, one hand on the bard's thigh. Jaskier whimpers.

"How do you feel, Jaskier?" Eskel, behind him, petting down his arm, and Jaskier hums.

"Ow," is all he can say, and Lambert cackles. Eskel squeezes his arm gently, and Geralt smiles softly.

"No wonder," Lambert muses once he's calmed down again. "You got a dose large enough to deal with a fully grown gryphon. It's a miracle your heart didn't give out."

Jaskier blinks, and Geralt looks to the side in a way that is very suspicious. "Say, Lambert," Jaskier asks, "what exactly do Witchers need this aphrodisiac for anyway?"

Lambert seems to have noticed his lapse in discretion, his cheeks colouring slightly. "Um."

The bard narrows his eyes. "Geralt?" No answer, but his Witcher's fingers twitch where they're still cupping his cheeks. "Eskel?"

The scarred Witcher winces behind him, and Jaskier opens his mouth to nag them further but he doesn't need to. Vesemir moves into view, arms crossed behind his back and a look of long suffering on his face. "We need it to deal with creatures under specific circumstances. Some creatures produce seed that is a valuable component for spells. We use the powder to enable us to harvest it."

Jaskier gapes at the old Witcher, and then he brushes off Geralt's hands even though every muscle in his body protests the movement vehemently. "You… You use it to get fucked by monsters?!"

Vesemir shrugs. "If you want to put it so crudely, yes."

Jaskier's gaze jumps from Witcher to Witcher, until it comes to rest on Geralt. The white haired man looks deeply embarrassed, and Jaskier takes a deep breath. "My dear Witchers, I thank you most humbly for what was almost certainly the best orgy of my life, but I'll have to ask you to leave now." He narrows his eyes when a muscle in Geralt's jaw ticks. "I think Geralt and I have some things we need to talk about."

Lambert and Eskel each give him a last friendly squeeze before they leave, gathering up their clothes before they shuffle out, and Vesemir gives him a nod that Jaskier can't really interpret. When the door closes behind him, Jaskier looks back at Geralt.

"Were you going to tell me?"

Geralt finally looks at him again, his eyes guarded. "Probably not."

"Why not?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," Geralt says wryly. "We can't exactly advertise that we drop our breeches to get bred full by the beasts we're supposed to be slaying." He has settled on his back beside Jaskier, watching him. Waiting for his reaction.

Jaskier mirrors his position, wincing as he turns his head to look at the Witcher. "Did you think I would… what? Tell people? Judge you?" Geralt shrugs one shoulder, and Jaskier's lips thin. "So you don't trust me."

Now Geralt's eyes widen, and he rolls onto his side, one hand coming up to cup Jaskier's cheek again. "It's not that, Jaskier, I promise. It's just… We were always told to keep it a secret, and I never thought it would be relevant."

"Hm." Jaskier reaches up and slides his hand over Geralt's. "I'm sorry," he says at length, "for putting you all in this position."

"Jaskier, don't. We did what we had to, yes, but…" He leans closer, brushes the tip of his nose over Jaskier's. "It was no hardship."

He chuckles softly. "How romantic," he murmurs, and Geralt huffs a laugh before he leans in to press his lips to Jaskier's. They kiss, slowly and unhurried, and Jaskier sighs into Geralt's mouth. "I love you," he murmurs, and Geralt winds an arm around him and pulls him close.

"And I love you." Their foreheads rest against each other, and Geralt squeezes him softly. "Seeing you with them… Gods, you should have seen yourself. You were so beautiful."

"My dear Witcher, do you… want a repeat of this?" Geralt growls softly, and Jaskier shivers.

"Maybe without the life-threatening aphrodisiac," Geralt rumbles.

Jaskier laughs, and burrows deeper into his embrace.

They doze a while longer, even Geralt's impressive stamina having reached its limits, and Jaskier feels so deeply loved that even he struggles to put it into words. When he wakes the next time, he still aches thoroughly but it's a pleasant ache, one of a body well-used.

It's not until he sits up to stretch that he notices a peculiar dampness between his cheeks, and he's scared for a moment thinking it must be blood. But when he reaches back, the fluid on his fingers is clear and slick. It looks almost like…

"Geralt?"

The Witcher snores loudly as he jerks awake, looking up at Jaskier blurrily. "Whsrong?"

"One of the side-effects of the aphrodisiac doesn't happen to be self-lubrication, does it?"

All of a sudden Geralt is wide awake, sitting up and drawing the bard close. He nuzzles Jaskier's hair with a happy hum.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jaskier says faintly, and then Geralt pulls him back into bed.

Never a dull day, the bard thinks as Geralt pulls his thighs over his broad shoulders. Never a dull day.

[oldandkinky]

I started co-writing a teenage runaway Jaskier/detective Geralt thing in the DD Discord on Sep 19. I started copying out all the relevant bits a while ago.

I have reached Oct 8.

I still need to turn the spitballing from the beginning into something proper.

It's already over 50k words.

Help.

[oldandkinky]

Coming at you with a fic rec. Have you read The Lesser Evil on ao3? It’s a geraskier pirate au and it’s absolutely one of my favourites!!!

Not yet but I'll give it a look! I'm absolutely weak for pirate AUs.

The fic in question, if anybody's interested:

[oldandkinky]

is "when is a monster not a monster?" by cryptidkickflip that story u were talking about?

Yes! That's the one!

Prospective victim Jaskier to murder husbands. So good!

[oldandkinky]

WHEN YOU SEE THIS, SHARE 3 RANDOM LINES FROM 3 WIPS

"We'll expect it because you're our omega and we know and want what's best for you."

"People who are fine don't rape their mates."

Geralt is smirking at him, still stroking himself slowly. "Whatever the reason, guess it's my gain."

[oldandkinky]

If it inspires: Geralt discovers that in their off season (him in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier not there) his omega bard Jaskier supports himself as a monsterfucking surrogate. Later- Geralt takes a contract on a creature, only to find it already dead but there's a gaggle of hungry monster offspring and their sad cries force the always empathetic Jaskier to spontaneously have his milk drop down/lactate! Maybe Jaskier needs additional stimulation/help to trigger the response? IDK, cheers to you O&K

I just can't do short answers...

Contains A/B/O, implied monsterfucking (nothing on screen), discussions of pregnancy and birth related topics, male lactation, lactation kink, kid fic, vaginal sex, knotting

***********

When Geralt makes his way to Yspaden in the spring, there's a letter waiting for him. It's from Jaskier, the faintest traces of the omega's sweet scent still sticking to the paper, and Geralt tucks it into his armour and hurries back to Roach. He doesn't know what Jaskier could be writing about and he wants privacy in case it's something bad.

As he walks, he can't stop his thoughts from spiralling. Surely this is it, the moment he has been dreading for years. Surely this letter is Jaskier telling him that he has found an alpha, at long last, someone who will give him all the nice and pretty things Jaskier could want, who can offer him comfort and a nice bed and proper food every night. 

An alpha so unlike Geralt, who more often than not barely has two orens to rub together, who sleeps under the stars and lives off stale bread and mealy apples.

A good alpha.

His heart is beating faster than usual as he slips into Roach's stall at the stable he left her at while he got supplies, and he carefully pulls the letter out from under his chest plate. Even after this short amount of time, his own scent has begun to mingle with Jaskier's, and it makes him ache, somewhere behind his breastbone.

With a deep breath, he breaks the wax seal and unfolds the letter.

There is no talk of an alpha, no gentle let down. On the contrary, Jaskier apologises profusely for not being able to make it to their regular meeting spot in time, and he asks Geralt to please come find him in Rinde at his earliest convenience.

It's a perfectly harmless letter. Jaskier is human, maybe he took ill over the winter and isn't back to full strength yet. Or he has an engagement with some noble he can't leave. It is odd that Jaskier gives no reason for his inability to meet with Geralt, but as his words sound enthusiastic enough, the Witcher decides to ignore the sliver of doubt twisting in his guts.

He brings the letter to his face, inhaling deeply, and his heart skips. Jaskier's smell is very peculiar, like honey. Wildflower honey, dandelions maybe, not as sweet as it could be. Spicy. But now there's another note to it, something soft and… Geralt frowns, pushing the paper against his nose. Is that milk? Odd, to say the least.

No matter. He will meet Jaskier in Rinde, and they will travel together, and everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

*********

He finds Jaskier in a boarding house for omegas in Rinde. He's been there for a while, the landlady tells him, which is not very professional of her. Then she tells him to wait in the sitting room.

"No alphas in the house, nothing personal."

She goes to let Jaskier know, and a few minutes later the bard walks through the door. He's smiling brightly, his scent sweet and happy, and he pretty much throws himself into Geralt's arms.

"You came! Oh, I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, something came up and I couldn't make it on time."

"It's not a problem," Geralt murmurs, doing his best not to press his nose into the crook of Jaskier's neck. "Did you have a good winter?"

Jaskier flushes, a note of embarrassment creeping into his scent. His scent, which is still strangely soft and milky. "I did, actually!" He lets go of Geralt and takes a step back, and then he winces slightly as he shifts his weight. "Although it was all perfectly boring. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Suspicion blooms in Geralt's gut, and he narrows his eyes. "What aren't you telling me, Jaskier?" It comes out harsher than he intended, and Jaskier's eyes widen a little. 

"Nothing! It is as I said, perfectly boring and ordinary." He shrugs. There's a faint flush to his cheeks, and the tips of his ears are red.

Geralt frowns.

Read the rest on AO3: