#forceful abt it only in the sense of a guiding hand not a striking one

[petrichorium]

the capitano breadwinner thing pluvi….i just could not picture him being okay with you leaving for long periods of time lol. plus i sort of imagine him living somewhere extremely isolated ? like a days journey into town at least. if you were a writer or an artist he’d be totally fine with that but anything that requires you to leave his home is sort of out of the question i fear

Yeah exactly exactly. It’s a classic nobility setup where u could take on the household responsibilities as the lady and manage the staff but only if u rlly want to, I think he’d actually rather u be the quiet eccentric type who largely keeps alone so preferring to write or paint or garden is the ideal for him. Also you having hobbies (and he does think of them as hobbies even if u think of them as a job) gives him more opportunity to shower u with gifts……. he just doesn’t want you out and about. Wait until he returns to take you out to that new shop with the nice paintbrushes, don’t go on your own.

[whaticannotshowyou]

ohohohohoh!!!! geralt keeping a hard pace one day, making jaskier not have a chance to step off the trail and piss? means he pisses himself either on the road or as soon as they make camp, and geralt just kinda laughs and humiliates him abt it before pissing on his face maybe???? idk i recently gave myself a piss kink...

Yeah! Geralt holding an unrelenting pace as Jaskier more or less has to jog to even keep up with him and Roach. The day is hot and the sun keeps Jaskier chugging from his waterskin, his complaints falling on deaf ears as his feet hurt. It’s well past midday when his bladder starts making itself known, and so in rapid succession as he’s reminded of just how much water he has gulped down during their trek.

He ups his pace to walk besides the witcher, craning his neck to give him a smile as he asks for a quick break, just a minute! He is met with silence and starts anew, the bard finding that one of the best ways to get a response when the man refuses. He is halfway through his sentence when Geralt cuts him off.

“Hold it.” He leaves no room for argument, instead spurring Roach on as to make a point. Jaskier laughs nervously as he takes it in, stunned by his harsh words. No way, he thinks, no fucking way he is serious. But when Geralt refuses to acknowledge his complaints, the bard simply has to steel himself for a fee hours more. Surely he can make it!

He intentionally keeps his hands off the waterskin as they keep walking, Geralt letting up after a few minutes with the punishing pace but still not stopping. As another hour passes, Jaskier can feel himself grow antsy, his bladder now properly full and more than just a minor inconvenience. He actually has to piss now, can feel the lining of his breeches dig into his abdomen uncomfortably with each step. As he looks up from the road he can see the sky painted in beautiful pinks and oranges. It can’t be more than an hour til sunset, he realises with a content sigh. He can hold it.

As if the gods chose to pick on him specifically, Jaskier feels his bladder almost give out as the sun truly starts going down, pain striking through his body like spears as he is forced to hold it. Sweat beads at his brow with each step, his dignity long since forgotten as he keeps one hand cupped over his crotch just to keep it in. Geralt steers Roach with a harsh turn into the woods and disappears through the bushes, gets off her back to guide her as the darkness of the forest. Jaskier feels his blood run cold as he realises he can’t stop now. Had he just bitten the sour apple from the beginning and taken a leak by the side of the road he would have been fine, but no sprinting will help him catch up to the witcher if he can’t find him in the dark woods.

He steers into the bushes as well, breathing shallowly as he walks, hoping Geralt will have mercy upon him and find a resting spot quickly. It’s barely a minute later that Jaskier’s knees buckle under him and a sob escapes his lips, his hands clutching desperately at his breeches only to fumble clumsily, the fabric quickly growing saturated with fluid as he pisses himself. The humiliation only makes his senses more keen, the bard acutely aware of how the sound of hooves and boots stopped and he just knows Geralt is watching him, probably able to see the puddle growing underneath him and soaking all of his breeches where he sits.

He sobs once more just for the hell of it, Jaskier feeling much like a child where he is kneeling on the ground with tears just about to fall down his cheeks from the searing hot humiliation of it all. He refuses to lift his head as he hears footsteps close in on him, watches only as dark boots stops sky of touching his knees. He expects the cruel chuckle from the man, doesn’t flinch as it rings in his ears, but he is roused by the rustle of fabric right in front of him.

He looks up just in time to catch the first drops of the witcher’s piss on his forehead, a choked cry escaping him as it streams down his face and chest. Shame fills his entire being as the hot fluid keeps spattering his face, saturates his thin coat and chemise within seconds and leaks down his skin. Some of it catches in his hair, making it stick to his forehead.

Another sob leaves him before he even realises it and then it’s over, Geralt flicking the last drops towards him before tucking himself back in his trousers. He gives the bard a quick look over and them turns on his heels, walking back over to where Roach is still stood and takes her reigns. Without a word, Jaskier rises to his feet again, wiping his face with his sleeve and follows the man like a lost puppy through the woods even as piss creeps down his legs and into his boots.