#geralt lemons

[negans-lucille-tblr]

Until Sunrise | Geralt of Rivia Drabble

Summary: Geralt doesn’t plan on leaving until sunrise. 

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

Pairing: Geralt x Reader (Y/N)

Tags: smut, prostitution, bathing, Geralt’s thick thighs, mentions of blood, thigh riding, p in v, sex, unprotected sex, orgasms

WC: ± 1K

A/Ns: Not new to smut, but new to Geralt so go easy 🥴🤣 Hope you enjoy my obligatory bathing Geralt turned smut offering to be accepted into The Witcher fanfic world ❤️

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“Please, sir, allow me.”

Geralt scoffs to himself under his breath, but loud enough that she can hear it. He’s clearly amused by the very title she’s thrown his way. She knows she’s probably a little more coy than the other whores he’s used to, but that’s exactly how she likes to play it. 

“Do you know what I am?” he asks her, obviously still bemused as a smirk plays on his tempting mouth. 

“Of course,” she agrees, unable to stop the playful smirk from curling across her own full lips as she replies. “But you’re still going to pay me handsomely, are you not?” she adds, a playful glint in her eye as she wades through the water towards the witcher. 

She’s unable to take her eyes off of his broad, thick body, the way the blood soaks into his skin, the way the water ripples and laps against the tight muscles underneath, the slight curl in his pale blond hair as the steam of the bath dampens it. Y/N isn’t sure she’s ever seen a more perfect specimen before. If she thought she was pleased to have been selected by The Witcher when he entered the brothel earlier this evening, she’s even more pleased now she’s alone with him, naked and soaking in a warm bath together. 

Geralt’s eyes seem more golden in this lighting as she gets closer, and he brings his longs arms out to stretch them along the back of the bath, the muscles in his shoulders only bulging thicker, water evaporating from his skin before it has the chance to drip across the broad span of his biceps. 

Y/N reaches for a rag, wetting it in the hot water before bringing it to the witcher’s skin, dabbing at the dried blood staining it, careful to get every drop. A low hum vibrates through his throat and straight through Y/N’s core as he closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, relaxing into her touch with ease. 

“Is it true what they say about you?” Y/N dares to ask, rewetting the cloth to bring it further across his shoulders, her fingers wrapping around his thick arm, digging into the impressive muscle as her thighs instinctively rub together under the guise created by the water. 

“What do they say?” he asks, his voice low and rumbling in his chest as he speaks, only serving to make Y/N even more desperate to feel him; taste him. 

“That your impressive stamina doesn’t end with fighting,” she smirks, watching as he slowly opens his eyes to look at her. 

He scoffs, staring directly into her eyes for a moment or two, and Y/N begins to wonder if she’s said the wrong thing and overstepped her line. But then a smirk grows wider on his lips. 

“Well I don’t plan on leaving here until sunrise,” he informs her matter-of-factly, before reaching for her wrist and pulling her closer, catching her before she can slip deeper into the water. 

He pulls her into his lap, her legs straddling his thick thighs, having to spread pretty far apart just to accommodate him, but she groans all the same, feeling his hands push into her hair, his large arms trapping her tight against his body. She can feel how hard he already is between her legs, trapped between her pelvic bone and his own. She reaches under the water, her hand seeking him out, her fingers wrapping around his length as she moans louder, realising they don’t even touch thanks to the girth. 

“You just keep on impressing me,” she quips, but Geralt only growls in response, tugging on her hair harder, pulling a whimper from her lips as she bucks her hips against him, her aching pussy dragging back and forth along his hard, muscular thigh. 

Another primal grunt escapes The Witcher as he lifts Y/N with ease, and when he drops her, it’s onto his cock as it sinks deep inside her, stretching her open with a burning pain she welcomes. Y/N moans, throwing her head back, her hair soaking in the hot water, her breasts pushing into his face as the stubble that adorns his chin scratches against her delicate skin. Geralt places chaste kisses to her chest, his teeth scraping over her hardened nipples, his fingertips digging into the flesh on her back as he instantly begins to fuck up into her. 

Y/N takes the brutality; welcomes it even. She’s never felt a pleasure like it, she’s never been fucked so thoroughly in such a short space of time before. Her orgasm is already building deep in her core, climbing higher and higher as her fingernails bite deeper and deeper into the witcher’s chest. 

“C’mon,” he encourages, pulling her down to send himself what feels like impossibly deeper, his cock throbbing inside her as she finally comes undone around him, her pussy clenching rhythmically as her orgasm ripples through every fibre of her body in a constant wave of ecstasy. “That’s it,” he hums, Y/N’s head flopping forward as she slowly begins her descent from the high of her climax back to the very bath they’re in. 

“Who needs stamina when you fuck like that?” she jokes, breathlessly. 

Geralt doesn’t reply, he just stands, lifting her in his arms with such ease that it only makes Y/N feel even more powerless. He’s still inside her, throbbing and filling her like she was made just for him. He carries her over to the bed, throwing her down onto it, and Y/N can’t help but stare up at him, even more in awe now she can see him in his impressive entirety. 

“I’ve already told you, I’m not leaving until sunrise,” he growls, grabbing her ankles to pull her closer to the end of the bed. “And I plan to get my money’s worth.” 

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[showmethesneer]

LEMONS by Brye feels like a song Jaskier would perform at an open mic night just him and his acoustic guitar, maybe some jangly little bells on his shoe for emphasis or something, about Geralt in a modern au

[yolki-palki]

Making art of my own fic? Mmmmm more likely than you might think.

THE BEAST OF OAKHURST PASS

[snickety-lemons]

Darling, I am drowning without you?

Yesssss. Fitting because this is your prompt, lovely!

The next Geraskier ficccc. As usual full of both angst and softness, hurt and comfort.

Poor Ger is pining SO hard.

And the prompt was, a kiss in relief but who'sss relief shall remain a mystery hehe. This'll be based on the half of them in S1 E4 Of Banquets; Bastards; and Burials that is NOT during the banquet.

“Melitele preserve us… y’know, it’s really not gonna be ideal resting out here like this. I mean aside from the main fact that we might well become glaciers in our sleep; there’s the very lovely additional fact that we might also find ourselves waking up in the beast’s stomach!” The Wolf lightly chuckled, a soft smile once again growing on his face. Jaskier’s dramatics and rovings had truly begun to become so endearing to him… 

[roughentumble]

ooooh what if Jaskier gets bitten by a werewolf so he's got all these new instincts and this urge to join the pack but he really doesn't want to and they find a solution in Geralt domming him while calling him puppy bc it satisfies that urge to submit

!!!!! HELL YESSSSS!!!!

[bitemescftly]

* @goddamnmuses​  ♥’d this starter call

      The brunette chuckled softly as she walked into the room to see the man’s attention entirely too focused on whatever piece of paper he was holding and reading attentively as if it held all the answers to all the questions. Instead, the woman decided to guide his mind somewhere else. “I missed you.” Anna spoke, walking towards where he sat, not stopping until she was climbing into his lap to straddle the man’s legs and have them facing each other. “It was very rude to ignore me all day.” She teased, setting herself more comfortably - a way that caused her delicate core to press rather snugly against the man’s crotch and  along that their chests touching, leaving not an inch of space between them. “What was so important that you couldn’t spare a minute for me?” Anna asked, the tip of her nose nudging the side of the man’s throat in a teasingly seductive way before she began to press little kisses and bites over the column of his throat - mindful not to leave a mark. 

[viking-raider]

Soothing A Wolf

Summary: Geralt recalls the memories of a troubled time in his life, while visiting a place that always brought him peace.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning: PG - Fluff, Language, Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Soft!Geralt, Character Death, Projecting, Farm Life, Light Domestic Bliss, Anxiety

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I know I've already written this subject, with A Witcher's Soul, but I've become unhappy with it and decided to give it another try. I'm by far happier with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

I do remember bits of my life with her.

You had curled up for a late morning nap, after completing all of your morning chores. The sun filtering through the large window above your headboard. It was warm and pleasant, as you drew to the surface of the waking world. You tried fighting it, wishing for a few more moments of rest, before you had to rise and begin the task of the afternoon chores around your quiet, little farm. However, you were drawn out of your slumber, at the sound of someone's approach into your dooryard.

Sighing, you sat up, taking a moment to fix your hair and smooth your skirts, before standing and going out to find who had decided to visit you. You froze on the porch, watching a huge, black Friesian horse come charging up the well-worn path to your cottage. A muscular, broad shouldered man clad in all black clothing in its saddle, his silvery-white hair tied back in a Rivian style flowing in the breeze created by his haste.

“Geralt!” You called out, as the Witcher dismounted from the horse, Roach. “What are you doing here?” You asked, as he stamped through the drying mud towards you, his pale face pinched and set in an expression more agitated than usual, with a tint of something more you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

The two of you had met nearly fifteen years prior, when you had heard of the White Wolf being in the area and enlisted his help to rid your property of a Graveir that had been threatening it. Not wishing for the alternative, which was moving off the property. You had little to pay him with, offering him the small amount of gold you had. Instead, Geralt had simply asked for a hot meal and permission to camp on your land for the night and use the water from your well, to bathe with after the bloody business of killing the monster.

Naturally, you agreed.

However, after he had killed the creature and washed up to join you for supper, a tension grew between you that popped before the meal ended. Leading to the pair of you being intimate. Ever since, when Geralt was in the area or was taking time off the Trail, he would come to spend time with you. But, you were surprised to see him now, knowing that he should be with Ciri, keeping her safe from Nilfgaard and the Wild Hunt that dogged their heels at every turn.

Instead, he mounted the porch steps towards you, catching you up into his arms.

She smelled like embers.

Geralt buried his face into your neck, taking a deep breath of your skin as he did, drawing in your scent. Your skin had a natural earthiness to it, accompanied by the fresh and calming, citrus-y snap of lemon balm and sweetness of licorice root. He wished many times on many occasions that he could bottle it and take it with him. Always finding comfort, calm and desire in your scent.

Like he had in almost no one else.

“What are you doing here, Geralt? I thought you were with Ciri.” You asked, breaking the silence as you embraced him, pressing yourself against his solid body, feeling the dampness of his clothing, from the sparse rains that had been occurring off and on all week.

“She's safe enough for now.” He mumbled into your neck, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. “But, I needed to see you.” He said, pulling away from you, his hands grasping your shoulders.

“Well, here I am, my wolf.” You cooed at him, resting your hands on his sides and staring up into his face. “I didn't know seeing me was such an urgent thing.” You teased, pushing up on your toes to kiss him, knowing there was something deeper bothering him, but knew better than to press the Witcher for information.

Especially in the matter of his thoughts and emotions. He would tell you in his own time.

“Are you staying or are you riding back off again?” You inquired, looking towards Roach, who was grazing in the damp grass of your dooryard.

“I want to stay the night.” He told you, squeezing your shoulders. “If that's all right with you?” He added, softly.

“Nonsense!” You chuckled, slapping him on the chest. “You know you don't have to ask, Geralt.” You assured him, clicking your tongue. “Are you hungry? I was just about to make lunch for myself. I can add a plate for you.” You said, moving away from him, to go back inside.

She used her magic to create elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.

“I could eat.” Geralt replied, following you inside the cozy home, that always brought him peace. “Especially if it comes with a slice of one of your home-made sweets.” He added, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you move towards the kitchen.

You looked at him over your shoulder, an impish sparkle in your eye. “I don't have any made.” You told him, coyly. “But, if you behave yourself, perhaps there'll be something after dinner.” You teased with a wink, before rounding the corner into the kitchen.

Going into the pantry, you grabbed a large, earthenware jug, carrying it out and set it on your counter, removing the cork. Taking a whiff of the contents that were inside, your nose was greeted by the sweet aroma of honey and blood-orange mead. You had brewed it yourself. You took down a cup and filled it, taking a wee nip for yourself, before taking it out to Geralt, who had made himself at home. He'd taken his shoes off, but stood before the fire, tossing a log into it.

“You don't need to do that, Geralt.” You frowned, holding the cup out to him. “I could have done it.”

“I know.” He answered, watching the strong flames catch the edges of the wood, before he took the cup from you, taking a deep gulp. “You really should sell your own spirits.” He commented, licking his lips and looking into golden liquid.

“Ha.” You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “I have enough to do around the farm, Witcher.” You quipped, going back into the kitchen.

Geralt chuckled at you, taking a seat before the fire, flexing his sore toes in the glowing warmth with a soft and tired sigh, while sipping his mead. He listened to you bump about in the kitchen. The opening and closing of the pantry, the thud of cabinet doors shutting, after you searched through their contents. He finished off his mead and set it on the table beside him, before standing and going to the threshold of the kitchen, knowing better than to go into your kitchen, while you were active in it.

You'd chased the Witcher out more than once, with either the rolling pin or a dish towel.

I would have done anything to make her smile.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, cocking his head around the corner to look at you, seeing you wielding a large knife to cut into a small wheel of cheese. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to sit your butt down.” You answered, turning to look back at him. “You rode, god knows how far, to here. So, you need to relax.” You told him, adamantly.

And yet, the day she left me, she was sick. She needed water, so I went to get her some.

“But, I want to help.” Geralt insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sighed softly, giving him a gentle smile. “All right, Geralt.” You conceded, nodding. “My other big brute needs to be fed. So, why don't you go out and do that for me, while I finish getting our lunch done.”

“I can do that.” He nodded, daring to step into the kitchen to kiss you on the cheek, chuckling as you popped him on the bum on his way out.

“That, man.” You giggled, smiling to yourself as you turned back to your task.

Geralt tugged his boots back on and went out, heading towards the small fenced off area to the right of your property, where the few farm animals you had lived. He found the bucket beside one of the fence posts and snagged it up by the rope handle, heading towards the grain storage that was around the other side, filling the bucket.

“Hey, Martigan.” He called out to the brown and white dairy cow, standing in the center of the pen, nibbling on a bale of hay with an expression of no care on his face, but twitched his ears to the sound of Geralt's voice. “And you.” Geralt huffed at the animal you had dubbed your other brute, a solid white goat with horns that nearly curved in on themselves, they were so long. “I see you, Goat-Bert.”

The Witcher called to the Goat, who stood clear on the other side of the pen, as he opened the latch to the gate. But that meant nothing, and Geralt knew it. He had dealt with this Goat-Devil before on your behalf. He had even considered taking one of his potions to increase his odds in dodging that swift, easy to anger, creature. Not even Little Bleater was a match for this fiend. So, keeping one golden eye on the Goat, Geralt moved towards the feeding trough and dumped the bucket of grain into it. It wasn't a split second later that Martigan let out a loud, agitated moo and Goat-Bert bleated with his evil intent, setting his head downward as he charged across the muddy pen towards Geralt's shins.

“Fuck!” Geralt barked under his breath, tossing the bucket over the fence and himself with it. “You damned Goat!” He cursed at him, fuming at Goat-Bert rammed his head into the trough, at full steam. But it was your howls of laughter from the porch that drew Geralt out of his choice words for the farm animal. “You find that funny?” He asked, picking up the bucket and moving towards you, as you grinned and giggled.

“I find it hilarious!” You wheezed, wiping tears from your face. “Watching a Witcher jump a fence to get away from a little goat!”

“Now, you know damn well, what mischief that demon can cause.” Geralt told you, but smirked at your amusement. “I don't need Lambert or Eskel busting my ribs, because I got a broken leg because of a wee goat.”

“Well, no harm done.” You said, catching your breath. “And lunch is ready and waiting for us on the table.” You told him, turning to go back inside.

Following you, Geralt was greeted by a laid out table, containing a round and fluffy loaf of bread with a blossom score on the top of its beautiful, caramel-brown crust. Beside the loaf, was a glass decanter of the mead you'd served him earlier, half a roasted and glazed ham hock, that glistened in the light of the fireplace, and a plate of the cheese slices you'd cut. There were other tidbits, to make lunch more pleasant and filling, as well.

“It looks delicious.” He commented, pulling a chair out and sat down.

You looked at him with soft surprise, cocking a brow as you sat beside him. “Ciri and Jaskier must really be leaning hard on your lessons.” You chuckled, picking up a knife and cut a slice out of the bread, laying it on Geralt's plate, before cutting another and putting it on your own. “Would you like a second piece?” You asked him, knife hovering above the loaf.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth, before reaching for the decanter, pouring you both a tankard. “I appreciate this.” He said, watching you cut thick slices of juicy ham from the hock and set them on the edge of his plate, allowing him to build his own sandwich.

“Of course.” You answered, brow creasing as you placed the ham and cheese on your bread, closing it with the second piece, using your knife to cut it in half. “I can't let you starve, now can I? Silly Witcher.” You chuckled, taking a bite.

Geralt hummed, putting together his own meal and allowing the table to fall into a comfortable silence as the two of you ate. Nothing, but the pop and crackle of the fire with the occasional moo or baa of the farm animals outside filled the space. Neither of you moved, once you had your fill, but you watched Geralt, smirking as you saw his lids struggle to stay open and his chin from falling against his chest. You stood, causing Geralt to start and look up at you with wide molten-gold orbs, but you just offered him a sweet smile, as you started to clear away the table, putting things in the pantry, sink or scrap barrel.

Once you were finished, you moved to your bedroom, fluffing your pillows, fixing and folding back the blankets, then pulled shut the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. Satisfied, you returned to Geralt, smirking as you found he had lost the battle with his sleepiness. His breathing was slow, coming out in gentle huffs, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, the muscles under the loose black material of his tunic were slack, making the various scars pull taut. Biting your lip, you moved around him and knelt, taking one of his booted feet in your hands, eyes still trained on his face. In case you startled him, knowing it could cause him to burst into defending himself, when startled awake.

But Geralt didn't stir, as you carefully pulled his muddy boots off, setting them in front of the fireplace. You stood, moving around him to open the knot of the string that held his silvery-white hair tied back out of his face.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his ear, resting your hands lightly on his shoulders. “Geralt.” You said, a little bit louder.

“Hm?” He hummed back, taking a deep breath and shaking his head, causing his loose hair to fall forward.

“Why don't you come lay down?” You suggested, patting his shoulders and kissing the back of his head. “You'll be so much more comfortable in bed.” You persuaded him, gently.

Geralt sighed, licking his lips and stretching his legs for a moment, before standing up and allowing you to guide him to your bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into a chair in the corner and dropped into the bed, looking up at you, as you stood before him.

“Lay with me.” He cooed, resting his hands on your hips.

“I have chores to do, Wolf.” You smirked at him, cupping his neck and caressing his stubbly jawline with your thumbs.

“They can wait until tomorrow.” Geralt said, pulling you between his legs. “I'll do them for you.” He smiled, making you sit in his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Before, I go.” He promised, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Very well.” You conceded, breaking the kiss and rubbing noses with him.

“Good.” He rasped, laying down and pulling you against his chest.

And when I came back... she was gone.

Geralt woke up sometime later, feeling refreshed. He hadn't slept well or very long in the weeks since he and Ciri left Kaer Morhen, with the Wild Hunt and Nilfgaard after them, worried that every moment his eyes were shut, was a moment they'd come and take Cirilla from him. He reached out for you, wanting to feel you against him, but you weren't in bed any longer.

I called for her.

He got out of bed, calling your name, as he searched the house for you. The fireplace was still roaring, telling him you hadn't been gone long. But where could you be, that you wouldn't hear him calling. He yanked the front door open and stormed into the yard, uncaring that he had no boots on, yelling your name even louder, as he turned in circles. His only answer was the breeze through the trees, Goat-Bert, Martigan and Roach.

Not a peep or appearance from you.

But she was gone.

Geralt felt his chest grow tight and his slow heart skip a beat, then another. The dooryard started to spin and blur, a rock-like lump formed in his throat. He flexed his hands and shook his head, trying to get a handle on himself. He wasn't supposed to act like this. He wasn't supposed to show his emotions, let alone allow them to take control over him.

“Geralt!” You frowned, coming out of the treeline, a basket resting on your hip as you found him standing barefoot in the muddy dooryard. “What's going on?” You asked, setting the basket down and hurrying over to him, as you watched tears drip from his sharp jaw. “What's happened? Are you hurt?” You asked, looking him over, searching for a wound you felt you had failed to notice before.

“Where is it? Show me!”

“I'm not--” He rasped, swallowing at the lump and shaking his head. “You were gone.” He said, pressing his lips together and pushing his jaw forward, trying to bring up his walls against the raw feelings he was being crushed under. “I woke up and you were gone. I called for you.” He said, failing miserably. “But you didn't answer. I thought--” He choked, looking away from you.

You blinked up at him, confused and afraid, never seeing this side of Geralt before. “You thought what?”

He chewed on his lip, his face hardening as he slowly started to gain control of himself again. “I thought you left me.” He admitted, deciding not to shut you out.

“Left you?” You echoed softly, blinking up at him with surprise. “No, Geralt. I'd never leave you. I didn't leave you.” You told him, taking his hand in both of yours. “I just woke up from our nap before you did, and you seemed so tired that I didn't have the heart to wake you. So, I went out to pick some blueberries.” You explained to him, half turning back to where you'd set your basket, full of plump, indigo orbs. “I plan on using them to bake you a pie.” You said quietly, looking back up at him.

Neither of you said anything for a long while, before Geralt looked down at you, a sad look in his eyes.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, bending his head to rest his forehead against yours.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You assured him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

Nodding, Geralt pressed his lips to your forehead and sighed, looking down at his muddy feet. “I'll rinse my feet off.” He said, moving away from you and towards the well.

Watching him go and drop the bucket into the well, you knew the Witcher didn't have the easiest of lives, that he had a lot of trauma in it. But, he would tell you what was bothering him, when he was ready. It seemed too raw, at the moment. So, you went back for your blueberries and carried them inside to the sink, so you could rinse them off, prepping them for the pie.

Deciding to be there for Geralt, when he was ready.

[sparkliest-bard-bracket]

✨Round 3: Match 12✨

Jaskier/Dandelion Propaganda:

you know the answer

He sings, he's overly dramatic and he's fruity af

literally a bard and 💅

Jaskier says he was made to make music, to put himself in others' shoes to write epic tales of what it feels to live and love. He is an extravagant diva with fabulous dress sense, a sunshine personality and plenty of wit. His love of the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, and his "lovely bottom" is enough to make Jaskier go down in history.

Everything about him, his songs, his voice, his jokes, his rings and necklaces, clothes, his mere presence!!!!!

he travels around and plays the lute and fucks everyone that looks at him and wears outrageous outfits

More propaganda!

Neil Cicierega/Lemon Demon Propaganda:

Neil basically invented the early 2000's internet while staying very underground. Also he fits multiple categories by being both a musician and a funny internet guy.

[samstree]

Jaskier hates sweet things, and Geralt loves them. It’s why they work well together.

“It’s why we work well together!” Jaskier exclaims, pushing his dessert plate towards Geralt. He’s only taken one spoonful of the cherry pie, made a face and declared it too sweet for his taste. “I hate sweets, and you love them—don’t try to deny me, dear. I’ve seen the way you look at the pastry stands when no one is watching.”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s cherry pie is long gone, and his mouth waters at the sight of Jaskier’s piece. “It’s yours. You paid for it.”

“Actually, my performance paid for both of our dinners.” Jaskier winks. “But as you can see, it’s become a burden for me, as I cannot stand anything with so much as a layer of frosting.”

Geralt is not, and that is more than enough. “I don’t need a second dessert, Jask,” he says. “Witchers can live on very little food.”

“But you’d be doing me a favor.” Jaskier bats his eyelashes. “Please? My gorgeous witcher, my brave champion, my most generous lover—”

“Fine,” Geralt interrupts, taking up his spoon. “Don’t finish the thought.”

Jaskier giggles, sitting back to watch Geralt eat. “It’s a saying even. They say a couple only works if one likes the food the other hates. This way, if it comes up on the dinner table, one can finish it for the other.”

It’s a cheeky saying, one that is definitely just been invented by Jaskier himself.

The pie is good though. The cherries add a hint of tartness to the cream frosting. Geralt chews slowly, letting the sweetness pop in his mouth. He closes his eyes with the last bite, and only opens them slowly afterward.

“Is it good?”

Jaskier watches Geralt with a quiet smile, his hand reaching forward on the table, his palm facing up. Geralt takes it and squeezes gently.

“It’s…sweet,” he answers, belly full and content.

It seems to satisfy Jaskier enough to press a tiny kiss on Geralt’s scarred knuckles.

“See?” Jaskier preens. “We work well together.”

☆ 

For some reason, Jaskier keeps buying sweets for himself.

The two lemon cakes are freshly baked, wrapped in paper and drizzled with honey, the warm aroma wafting through the busy marketplace. It reminds Geralt of a snowy day at Kaer Morhen, with the fireplace burning bright.

Jaskier holds them to his nose and takes a sniff, only to shove them into Geralt’s hands.

“Too sweet,” Jaskier says, pouting. “Finish them for me?”

Geralt sighs. “You can just not buy them.”

“Thought I wanted one, and now I don’t.” Jaskier shrugs. “Anyway, it’s good you’re here, so you can take care of them for me, dear. Meet me later?”

With that, Jaskier disappears into the crowd, leaving Geralt with the two cakes. They do look good, so he takes a bite, and then another.

He wouldn’t normally spend coin on luxuries such as fancy cakes, and whatever food he does purchase would be rationed carefully. Being on the road with a human calls for caution, as Jaskier is not nearly as sturdy as a witcher when it comes to on-and-off meals. Geralt always saves extra for him.

Which makes sweets the only indulgence he has. It’s okay. Jaskier hates sweet things so much he’d never eat them anyway.

The honey is sticky on Geralt’s fingers. He makes sure to lick the last of it clean.

☆   

Lettenhove bustles with the laughter of children. Every year they come back, there seem to be a dozen more of them. The extended family welcomes them with warm hugs, with Jaskier’s parents giving the tightest one.

Jaskier looks exhausted from traveling, but as soon as his nieces and nephews hug him on the leg, he seems to melt into a puddle all over again. The children drag him off to play games in the courtyard, and he can never say no to that.

Geralt can only shake his head and head straight to the kitchen. Jaskier skipped lunch to get here sooner, and the kids will soon run him ragged, so naturally, Geralt needs to fetch him something solid for later.

He encounters more cousins and uncles on the way, who all pat him on the back warmly. It’s still unreal to think the Pankratzes have just accepted Geralt as a member of the family. Even years later, it still takes a moment to wrap his head around the fact.

The smell of freshly baked biscuits comes from the kitchen, rich with caramel and butter.

“Oh, Geralt!” Mira, Jaskier’s older sister exclaims when she finds him in the doorway, her eyes as blue as Jaskier’s, full of a big smile. “How was your travel? Good weather, I hope?”

“Good,” Geralt nods. “The road was easy. Jaskier was missing you, so we didn’t rest today.”

“Well, we missed him too, and you, of course.” Mira always manages to soften Geralt, putting him at ease. “You both must be so hungry. All that witchering must be hard, you look much thinner, Geralt. I’m sure it’s the same with Julian. It’s good timing! The biscuits are just done. I made his favorite, made it extra sweet with caramel just for our Julian.”

Geralt blinks, confused. “For who?”

“Who else has the biggest sweet tooth in Lettenhove? Of course it’s my baby brother, your Jaskier.” Mira turns to put the biscuits into a plate, amused by fond memories. “He used to sneak into the kitchen at night just for the candied fruits we keep for the holidays. It’s embarrassing how long he kept it up, even right before we sent him off to university.”

In the distance, Geralt can hear Jaskier’s voice, playing with the children and laughing loudly.

Geralt takes the plate from Mira, and stares for a moment.

☆  

The biscuits, as it turns out, are decimated instantly by the children.

Only crumbs are left on the plate by the time Jaskier walks up behind the kids, his cheeks flushed and hair a mess.

“How’s the family treating you, dear?” Jaskier asks, equal parts amused and sympathetic. “Not overwhelmed by them? I have to apologize if you are. The Pankcratzes are an overwhelming people. It just can’t be helped, as you see.” He spread his arms dramatically, gesturing to the kids running around behind him, with biscuit crumbs on their chins. “But we do try to overwhelm you with love!”

“Yes,” Geralt muses quietly, a familiar mushy feeling spreading through his chest. “That you do, Jaskier.”

Geralt isn’t sure what expression he’s making, but it must be worrying enough. Jaskier steps closer with a serious face.

“What is it?” A frown creeps up on Jaskier’s brow. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Geralt holds the empty plate tightly, shaking his head. “Mira knew this would happen and saved a few biscuits in the kitchen. They are made extra sweet, with caramel.”

Something flickers in Jaskier’s eyes. It’s subtle, barely there, a flash of excitement that appears out of instinct but is suppressed quickly.

It’s something Geralt should have seen long ago.

Jaskier, he realizes, is a sweet tooth.

Has been this whole time.

“It sounds lovely.” Jaskier nudges Geralt on the elbow. “Do you want to go and try it? Go then! Mira must be dying to feed you after seeing you’ve gotten thin, and—oh, Geralt, what are you doing?”

Within a heartbeat, Geralt has taken Jaskier into his arm, kissing him passionately. It’s awkward with him still holding the plate, and Jaskier’s youngest niece, Issy, makes a disgusted noise, but Geralt can’t find it in his heart to care.

He kisses Jaskier until the bard has to pull away with a flustered smile, his hands holding onto Geralt’s shoulder for balance. Jaskier’s cheeks have gone wonderfully red, his eyes shining with love.

“What, um,” Jaskier clears his throat. “What was that for? Not that I’d ever complain.”

Geralt stares into those cornflower blue eyes he’s known for years, and finds a new way to fall in love all over again. “I got a little…” he answers, exhaling deeply, “overwhelmed.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “In a good way?”

“Very.” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s nose one last time before letting him go. “Do you want to come with me? Try Mira’s biscuits. Just this once. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“But I don’t—”

“Please?” Geralt looks at Jaskier pleadingly. He knows Jaskier won’t say no to that look. “For me?”

Jaskier beams, his grin spreading impossibly wide, looking stupidly happy.

“Alright,” Jaskier agrees chirpily, taking Geralt’s arm. “You know I’d do anything for you, but you are being unreasonably amiable today. What’s gotten into you?”

Geralt lets Jaskier wraps himself around his side as they return to the kitchen, the rich scent of caramel filling his lungs once again. It seeps into his core, indistinguishable from the ever-growing affection he feels for Jaskier.

“Just,” Geralt says finally, voice hushed like it’s a secret, “I find you sweet, is all. The sweetest.”

Luckily, Geralt loves sweet things.

[negans-lucille-tblr]

Geralt x Reader or Ciri?

I've had a fic idea (smut) that was originally Geralt x Ciri but I figured, it could work if I replaced Ciri with a reader, too. So which would you guys prefer to read? I'm new to this fandom, so I don't know how popular Geralt x Ciri is!

[artistsfuneral]

The Road to Kaer Morhen - p.2 (there's an ao3 link now!)

Ultimately Jaskier decided on buying a long coil of rope and use the leftover coin to invest in a little Good Luck charm – not that he necessarily believed in the gods, but he liked the tradition. Given the fact that he had no idea what would await him on the path it really seemed like the best choice, but in the end only time could tell how much that was the case. Purchasing the rope went without any complications. The vendor clearly eyed the puffy sleeves of his favorite red and teal doublet, but decided not to comment on it further than a raised eyebrow.

The second stall though was tended to by a young woman, who had been staring at Jaskier for quite some time now. Like most sisters of the temple of Melitele, she wore a carmine dress and white shawl to resemble the goddess. Their eyes met and the bard immediately broke into the wide smile of a professional charmer. “A wonderful morning, isn't it, sweet lass?” She giggled, holding up her hand to hide how her cheeks reddened from Jaskier's gaze. “You're not from around here, are you?” she asked, busying her brown eyes by looking anywhere but Jaskier's face, who had yet to figure out if she was indeed as shy as she acted or simply a performer like himself. “Oh you are correct indeed, I am a humble traveler on my way south,” Jaskier lied with a flourish bow. “I certainly would have remembered the name of such a bewitching young lady as yourself, had we met before.” A delighted little sound escaped her mouth and she smiled down at her fidgeting hands. “My name is Josi. I was named after a cat.”

Each and every day Jaskier was reminded why he chose a life traveling the country over sitting in an estate all day and ruling over one. While he could very vividly picture Geralt's confused face in his mind, unexpected conversations like this brought him nothing but pure joy. Meeting new people, getting to know the most random facts through a conversation and being able to connect with them one way or another made the bard happy. “That is a wonderful name, Josi. I am Dandelion the Poet, I was named after a flower.” She giggled once more, “I like dandelions. They're yellow and puffy.”

“I like them too,” he agreed, imagining for a moment how he might look in a yellow doublet with puffed shoulders and a matching hat. It had been a while since he last tailored his own stage clothing but if he was spending an unforeseeable time in a fortress in the mountains it'd indubitably give him something to do during the awfully long summer days.

“Would you like to buy something?” Josi asked sweetly, pulling him away from his thoughts and back into the town, where he was standing at a market stall. “I'd love that,” Jaskier said, smiling when the young woman nodded her head in excitement. “Say, I've been eying that blue charm ever since I saw it, would you sell it to me?” Mimicking his smile she carefully held up a beautifully crafted sachet for the bard to inspect closer. Jaskier, who was drawn in by everything bright and colorful, gently took hold of the bag and openly marveled at it. It was a saturated, bright blue and had little golden flowers and a green vine stitched into it. The embroidery was of excellent quality and the little bag carried the soft smell of lavender and lemon grass. “You can pay less for it,” Josi offered, meeting Jaskier's eyes for a short moment as if to make sure he knew that she was being honest with him. Normally he'd accepted her goodwill in a heartbeat but Jaskier would have no use for coins if he was hiding away in the wilderness. “It is quite alright, dear, I can see that this was put together with a lot of care. It's only fair I pay you the full price.”

“You're very kind, Dandelion,” Josi spoke quietly, making Jaskier's stomach swoop.

“I try to be.”

After paying with the last of his coin, Jaskier bade Josi farewell with a gentle wave of his hand and the promise to think of her the next time he saw a colorful cat.

The way back to the inn wasn't extraordinarily long, but the streets had filled with the town's people and Jaskier had to carefully navigate his way through the crowd without bumping into anyone more than necessary. Meeting the eyes of the baker he winked at the man through his shop window, before opening the wide door to the inn and slipping inside. The air in the entrance was already warm and stuffy, promising an even warmer afternoon. Much like he did with everyone else, Jaskier greeted the innkeeper with a warm smile and a wave of his hand, before making his way up the stairs and to his room.

Upon entering the bard was met with a loud yawn and the view of his companion, sitting up in bed and arms stretched towards the ceiling. He chuckled, “Finally awake, sleepy head?”

please like and reblog if you voted

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[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 14

Geralt and Jaskier shuffled through the back door, arms loaded with bags of sodas. They headed straight for the kitchen and began unpacking.

It was D&D night, so Yennefer might not have thought twice about the large quantity of drinks they were hauling in. But there were two little details that set warning bells off in her head.

1. Geralt had already gone out two days earlier and bought drinks and snacks for their weekly game night. 2. Every single soda in the bags was Sprite. Both Geralt and Jaskier favored colas, and Eskel was the only one of the Witchers that preferred Sprite. What where they doing with all that Sprite?

Something asinine this way comes. Yennefer thought to herself as she eyed the men suspiciously from the kitchen doorway. Jaskier was openly smiling at her, eyes glowing merrily. Geralt was avoiding looking at her all together.

Dumbf**kery was definitely afoot.

"You want to play with us?" Jaskier asked excitedly, "We're going to do The Sprite Challenge!"

"The what--?" Before Yennefer could finish asking her question, Jaskier opened a bottle of soda and downed the whole thing in one go, pausing only to breathe and give the carbonation burn time to fade. Then he stood there expectantly.

Mentally trying to regain her footing, Yennefer glanced at Geralt. The Witcher was watching Jaskier excitedly.

The seconds ticked by.

Feeling as if she was supposed to give some sort of commentary, Yennefer said, "Er, congratulations? You drank an entire bottle of Sprite all--!"

The rest of what Yennefer said was drowned out by the almighty belch that erupted from Jaskier. It was long, loud, and carried the faint scent of lemon-lime. Geralt and Jaskier laughing ecstatically, gave each other a celebratory high-five.

What the h*ll, a girl had to have fun sometimes. Yennefer gave up trying to be the mature one, and joined her two idiots, cheering them on and recording the proceedings.

"Your turn, big guy!" Jaskier announced. Geralt nodded, twisted the top off a Sprite, and chugged it. The liquid swirled in a little tornado as it disapeared down Geralt's throat. There was a moment of silence, before Geralt made a noise like a Skellige fog horn.

Guffaws erupted, and the process was repeated, with time in between for stomachs and bladders to empty. While they waited for the next round, Jaskier and Geralt took turns trying to belch their names and various obscenities.

Geralt and Jaskier: * chug Sprite*

Jaskier: *bear with a bellyache*

Geralt: *Semi truck engine braking*

Jaskier: *sound like someone ripping a***

Geralt: *goose honk*

Jaskier: *sound like a toilet unclogging*

Yennefer decided to give it a try herself. Jaskier and Geralt cheered her on as she downed her soda. Seconds later, she opened her mouth and out came a string of garbled noises that sounded like the syllables of the blackest magic spell ever spoken.

"Holy f**k!" Jaskier laughed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Did you just curse someone?" Geralt chortled.

"Was it just me, or did you see snakes come out of her boots and a black cloud swirl around her?"

"Oh, f**k you both!" Yennefer grumbled.

"I'd rather *garbled burp* a nekker!" Jaskier retorted.

"That's not much of an insult, considering you'd f**k anything with a hole in it!"

Jaskier: *affronted gasp*

"Scr*bber!"

"B*llend!"

"M*ngebag!"

"A*semonger!"

Geralt decided to intervene before the tit-for-tat escalated. The Witcher chugged a Sprite, tossed the bottle aside, and assumed the belching position. The distraction worked, and Yennefer and Jaskier forgot about their bantering and waited with bated breath.

Geralt grimaced, and then *dying humpback whale noises*

The three of them immediately lost their sh*t. They howled maniacally, holding their sides and leaning on whatever surface was close by.

Laughing on a belly full of carbonated liquid turned out to be risky business.

Geralt and Jaskier both laughed so hard they spewed.

One minute Yennefer was laughing at the ridiculous noise Geralt had made, and the next, her laughter turned to exclamations of surprised disgust. Puke fountained onto the floor as Geralt and Jaskier chucked whiteys. It rolled and splattered, and Yennefer was just doing her best to get the h*ll out of the way.

The vomiting petered out, turning to dry heaves before stopping. Yennefer helped them to the living room, settling them on the couches, then went back to the kitchen to clean up the mess.

She was not one to use magic for mundane things that she could do herself, but this time, she made an exception. She was not going to clean up this mess by hand. She spelled the kitchen clean with a wave of her hand, then returned to the living room and her two dumba**es.

She knew their stomachs were probably feeling a bit queasy, so she cheerfully offered them something to help.

"Here, have some Sprite, it will settle your stomachs!"

*Symphony of groans*

[fangirleaconmigo]

I wrote my first full Geraskefer (Geralt x Yen x Jaskier poly) fic! It's a..."it's not really unrequited, Jaskier is just a dumdum" fic. It has a POV chapter for each character.

It is below AND on Ao3 (5k words)

I wrote it as part of a fandom event with @witcherficwriters for @demeter918

Jaskier

When Jaskier fell in love with Geralt, it hit him hard and fast--like an arrow straight to the heart. Yen was different. Falling for her had worked like a poison, like droplets in his wine, building up in his body unnoticed, year after year until he was weak and unsteady.

That was the truth of the matter. But it all sounded so cliche.

Bollocks. 

His metaphors needed work.

Jaskier leaned against a large oak tree and picked at his lute. Every few notes, he stopped to scratch lyrics on his parchment. 

He needed something that rhymed with venom.

Jaskier was in a forest, by himself, half drunk. His heart ached in the empty place where his friends used to be. Once upon a time, this had all been easier. Simpler. He had known his role and had played it well. 

In the first several decades of his relationship with Geralt, Jaskier was the one who picked up the pieces. The witcher and the witch were always at each other’s throats, always scratching each other’s eyes out. When the fights were over and the dust had settled, Jaskier was always there with a pint and a friendly ear.

Then, after Voleth Meir, things changed. It had felt so odd, drifting away from Geralt, and being there for Yennefer during that cold, brutal phase when Geralt wanted nothing to do with her. Jaskier was the only one left in Kaer Morhen who provided her with any warmth. He was the only one who she could turn to.

If you asked an average member of the public to describe the famous troubadour Jaskier, you would be hard pressed to find someone who would use the terms reliable or constant. And yet? That was what he had been for them--his witcher and his witch. Jaskier had always been their port in the storm. 

And while it had certainly troubled him over the years to see his friends hurting, he found comfort in helping. And, if he were honest, he may possibly have felt a tiny bit smug. A little, itty bit superior. While they fought, he patiently counseled. While they scratched and hissed, he embraced and listened.

The childish, fickle poet got to play the hero.

It had taken the sting out of the unrequited yearning. 

But then the worst thing possible happened. Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg made up. And not just temporarily. 

They grew. 

They matured. 

Parenting Ciri together eventually brought them closer than ever. And about six months ago, Geralt and Yen had purchased a lovely home by the sea. 

THE SEA.

Jaskier’s face screwed up like he’d sucked a lemon. He spat on the ground next to him. 

What rhymed with betrayal?

He had always understood that he was the friend, not the lover. It was true that both Geralt and Yen had kissed him at different points in their sordid histories. Each moment was burned into his memories for good. He was convinced that on his deathbed, the phantom caress of their lips would carry him back to the soil. 

But every kiss, every touch that strayed from the bounds of friendship, had always felt furtive. Stolen. They had never spoken of it, and Geralt and Yen had always returned to one another. 

Up until about six months ago, he thought he was fine with that. 

But this new home by the sea changed everything. It was physical, conclusive evidence that they would be settling down together. Making a life. A future. Without him.

After about a month, the dinner invitations began to arrive for him at Oxenfurt. He would sit at his desk in silence and stare at the curled up parchment, picturing sitting around the table with Yen and Geralt. His heart ached with yearning for them. But he would only get as far as imagining what it would feel like to see their clothing hanging together, to sit on the furniture they picked out as a couple, and to witness their contented smiles, before he grew sullen and resentful.

Dinner.

Dinner in the home he was not a part of. 

But he couldn’t say no. There was no rational reason to say no to generous invitations from cherished friends. So he decided to pretend he hadn’t received the invitations. He fled Oxenfurt for some conveniently timed walkabouts. They, however, knew he liked to hang around Posada, so an invitation had arrived for him there. So, Jaskier took off again. And again. And again. That was how he’d arrived where he was, on the outskirts of bum fuck nowhere, drunken and writing shitty ballads. 

He tried to play another stanza, but the notes slipped from underneath his fingers, and dropped like bricks, making a discordant sound. 

It was twilight. He looked at the empty wine flask at his knee. Shit. He may as well stop for the evening and stagger to an inn. Maybe the solution was to get more drunk. Yes Jaskier, he said to himself, that was a wise choice indeed.

“Master Jaskier!” A messenger boy popped out from the bushes.

Jaskier shrieked in surprise. The messenger boy was startled by his outburst, and shrieked in return. He was young, barely out of adolescence, wearing a hat pulled down to his prominent ears. 

Jaskier clasped his chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” He shouted, affronted. “You rogue! You snot nosed, uhhhh,” his brain was foggy, so his voice trailed off, not able to come up with any better insult than uhhhh.

“I apologize sir!” the messenger pleaded, “but I’ve been tracking you for ages. You’re a tough man to catch.”

Jaskier swore under his breath. He thought he’d lost the little bugger. What happened to standards? What happened to work ethic? The messengers were rapidly gaining both, and it troubled him. You could barely escape a legal summons anymore, nor messages from your dearest friends.

“I have another message from Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg and Sir Geralt of Rivia.” He held out a cream colored square of paper. It was a lush envelope this time, affixed with a black and white seal.

Geralt and Yen had designed their own seal to affix to the envelopes and parchments that they sent as a couple. 

It was so very...

Jaskier eyed his lute, instead of the messenger boy. He just needed a word that rhymed with cloying.

The boy waved the envelope impatiently in front of his nose. The slight scent of lilac and gooseberries wafted towards him. Scent was a funny thing. A funny and powerful thing. This particular scent brought very specific memories roaring back to life. It brought back Kaer Morhen, in the wreckage of Voleth Meir, when his arms cradled the petite frame of one raven haired sorceress as she quietly pretended not to cry.

Suddenly, Jaskier felt like a complete ass.

He swiped the envelope, and sent the boy away with free advice to never ever fall in love. He sat back hard against the rock and opened the envelope, reading it against the dying of the light.

Yennefer

It was raining.

Yennefer had not planned for rain.

She straightened the silverware again and smoothed out the napkin. Damnit. She was turning into Tissaia.

“Why is he avoiding us?” she demanded. “We’ve sent him ten invitations by now. He’s gotten at least one, there’s no way he hasn’t.”

Yennefer couldn’t bring herself to speak her real fear aloud. Does he not want us? No. Of course he wants Geralt. Is it me? Does he not want me? A warm hand covered her own. She raised her eyes. 

“He’ll be here,” Geralt assured her.

They sat together, on either side of a table for four. There was one more place setting immaculately staged in front of the empty chair. Geralt and Yen sat in silence, listening to the rain tap on the roof.

“It is so rude not of him not to answer. He should at least say yes or no.”

“He’s an ass,” hummed Geralt. “But he’ll be here.”

Yennefer nodded. He would be here. He would. He would come and she would show him the house that they bought and decorated with care and love, and she would feed him the food that she and Geralt had made with their own hands. She would tell him about the town, how lovely and vibrant it was and how well he would fit in. And when he had seen everything this particular life had to offer him, they would make him a proposition. They would extend him an invitation.

“And what if he does come?” Yennefer blurted out. “What if he does come, and when we make our offer, he thinks we’re some kind of degenerates? What if he laughs, what if he--”

Geralt snorted. “Jaskier?” He laughed. “He’s the worst degenerate I have ever met.”

Yennefer swatted his arm softly. “Well, we aren’t. Not really.”

Geralt leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. “You’re nervous. Don’t be nervous. And don’t read his thoughts when he gets here. He hates that. If the answer is no, then it’s no.”

Yennefer leaned into his kiss and sighed. The fireplace crackled. The wind ripped through the branches of the olive tree by the window, and it sent leaves flicking against the window. She turned and pressed her lips softly into his. Her eyes closed and she inhaled his warmth, his scent. 

Her dear witcher. Her Geralt. Finally they were getting the chance to rest together. To build a life. She let out a trembling breath as she pulled away and opened her eyes. She gazed at him fondly.

“This is all your fault, Geralt. I blame you entirely.” 

Geralt grimaced and gave her The Look.

“It is,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t brought that beastly little man into my life, if you hadn’t introduced us, if you hadn’t made him marginally more tolerable by your association with him, I would never have taken him more seriously than I ever should have.”

“Yen.” Geralt leaned towards her, looking patient and understanding. 

“He’s a bastard and I don’t even care,” she protested. “And what is more, I never should have.”

“Yen,” Geralt said again, like he was comforting a cranky child. 

It made her feel like a cranky child and her voice grew louder. “And I don’t! I don’t care! I haven’t. And what’s more, I don’t even care if he comes tonight. If he knocked right now, I don’t know if I’d even answer it, I’d leave him outside to drown, and catch cold, and it would serve him right--”

Her tirade was suddenly muffled by the sound of a bang on the door.

Yennefer and Geralt leapt to their feet, rattling the dishes. They stood, facing each other in the candlelight, the moment hanging in the air. Geralt smiled in that way that said I told you so. Yennefer grinned back at him.

The sorceress tore open the door.

There he was, ragged and sopping wet, dripping water onto her landing. The sight of his face after so long was overwhelming. 

“Hello?” he said, though he said it like a question. “You summoned a bard?” He laughed weakly.

“Well it’s about time. Come in,” Yen said. “You look like a wet alley cat, and you smell like it too.”

Jaskier stepped inside, water dripping onto the rug. He looked at her, and his eyes seemed to have gotten even more blue, if that were possible. They stared at one another for a tense moment. This was normally the moment in which he would either compliment or insult her lavishly. 

But he didn’t. He smiled tentatively and he seemed, well, Yennefer wasn’t sure how he seemed. Apprehensive? Nervous? She began to reach out with her mind out of habit. Geralt preferred for her to read his mind rather than to be forced to speak his, so she’d gotten into the habit.

But she felt Geralt’s urgent hand on the small of her back and she yanked her mind back like she had touched a hot stove. 

Jaskier opened his arms, and with a voice that sounded cheerful and forced, said “Well. Don’t just stand there, rejoice! The famous bard Jaskier graces your humble home.”

“Yes, and you look ridiculous.” Yennefer touched the sad soaking feather drooping from his hat. “I think it’s dead, bard.” She tugged on the top of his boots. “And what the fuck are you doing wearing these in this downpour? Are they rainwater collection devices?”

Jaskier yanked her into an embrace. It was cold and wet and jarring. It also made her heart leap with joy and her eyes prickle with tears. Geralt wrapped his arms around the two of them, and didn’t let them go until he heard Jaskier’s teeth begin to chatter.

Geralt

Sometimes, when Geralt found himself in awkward social situations, he pretended that he was on a hunt. He would gather data with his senses instead of worrying about what he would say next.

This was one of those moments. Instead of letting the uncertain tension in the room seep into him, he looked around and gathered data. 

Geralt sat in his own dining room, at a teak table he had made with his own hands. The table settings had been done by a servant girl called Fiona who came over for a few hours on odd days. She had folded the napkins into birds. They were lined up like little soldiers, ready to absorb the detritus of dinner.

Yen sat to his right. She had on one of those soft gowns that she often wore around the house.  It was a crushed velvet green that made her look like she glowed from within. Whenever she wore it, he had to be careful how he touched her if he wanted to get anything productive done that day. The fabric was warm and flimsy and it drove him insane the way it slid under his fingers. It was a vulnerable, gossamer barrier between his desire and her bare body that felt like it could be removed with just one tug. Whenever she wore it, it was all he could do to keep the wolf in check and his hands to himself.

“I can’t believe you like these old things,” she would sniff. 

But she knew. She loved to provoke him, then trap him between her thighs. He loved that too.

He inhaled, and she smelled as she always did. The scent of lilac and gooseberries had grown to become the scent of home, calming him on contact. Beneath that scent was her beauty potions. She had spent twice as long on her face and hair that morning, though he’d known better than to call attention to it. It was her armor. Her arsenal. It was all in preparation for this; this battle with her fear of being rejected.

That was another thing he wasn’t allowed to speak, but he knew it to be true. Geralt always assumed rejection was imminent, so he was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t receive it. But Yen had more pride than he did. In some ways, she was more vulnerable, though if he said that aloud he’d lose his nuts. He understood though. He looked at her softly, as she faced off with his oldest, dearest friend, her fingers clenching her knees under the table.

Geralt had been trying to avoid really looking at Jaskier, but now he did. He had to gather data, after all.

His gaze settled on Jaskier, and he tried to empty his mind.

The bard had been soaked to the bone, so Yen had offered him a fresh change of dry clothes. It was perfectly logical. But now Jaskier sat directly across from Geralt, wearing the witcher’s clothes. 

The fireplace was directly behind the bard, which was a problem. Geralt’s tunic hung half off one of his shoulders, so the loose fabric was made transparent by the back lighting. The shape of Jaskier’s strong shoulders and the thick pelt he called chest hair was entirely too visible for the witcher’s comfort. The light from behind made his half wet hair look like a bedraggled halo, which, unfortunately, Geralt also found very charming. But most distracting of all was the scent. Jaskier had dried himself, but the subtle scent of fresh rain clung to his skin, mixing with the scent of Geralt. 

It provoked a territorial instinct in the witcher that he was trying to tamp down on. This was a delicate situation, and he didn’t need to add flame to the fire. But it was no use. When he looked at Jaskier in his clothes, a voice within him growled.

Mine. Fucking Mine.

Back in the day, Geralt had never gotten enough of Jaskier to sate him. They’d kissed and groped in the cover of darkness, but things had been so chaotic then. 

Everything then had been about Ciri. About survival. They were on the run from every power hungry bastard on the continent. There had been nothing left for what he wanted. When the dust cleared, he and Yen had made their way back to each other first. They were both focused on Ciri, after all. They had built their bridges. But he hadn’t meant to leave Jaskier behind.

Geralt looked at his friend now, and all he could think about was all the things he had never gotten to do. He’d kissed him. But had he kissed him properly? Tenderly? Like he meant it? Had he even paid attention? And what about all the places on Jaskier’s body that he had yet to touch or see in the beauty of daylight? 

“Don’t you think, Geralt?” Yen asked, voice sounding tense.

Geralt startled. “What, dear?” 

Shit. What had he missed? 

Yen smiled, tight lipped. “Don’t you think this is a lovely area, Geralt? A great place to live? Doesn’t it have a thriving artistic community with plenty of bards and craftsmen and artists around?”

Geralt smiled too. “Yes. Yes. Definitely.” He wanted Jaskier to want to live here, and it seemed like just the thing to say. “Lots of bards.”

But Jaskier looked pained. “Other bards, you say?”

“No.” Geralt blurted out. “No. None. No other bards anywhere.”

Yennefer sighed. There was an awkward pause and he could see the gears turning. She was changing tactics. “How about a tour of the house?”

Again, Jaskier smiled but looked pained. Geralt felt like they were torturing the man, but he wasn’t sure how. He understood Yen’s impulse towards mind reading sometimes. “Yes,” Geralt answered. “A tour.”

“No! No thank you!” Jaskier said, a little too loudly. “I can see it from here!”

Yen and Geralt had already pushed away their plates and begun to stand. They plopped back down again. 

Jaskier coughed and fiddled with his napkin. The little bird had long since unfolded into a shapeless mass, yet his napkin was still clean. Geralt looked at his plate. He and Yen had eaten their entire meals, but Jaskier hadn’t taken a bite.

“What’s the matter?” Geralt leaned forward and instinctively put his hand on the table, reaching towards his friend. Jaskier glanced at it and his face fell.

“I saw the room. When I was changing.”

“Your room?” asked Yen, her voice tight. “You don’t like it.”

Jaskier looked down at his napkin again, as he pinched and twisted it. “I do, it’s lovely. I saw that you put a lithograph up for each of my favorite bawdy houses in each of my favorite cities.” He smiled, and his eyes looked like they were growing wet. “And you put dried buttercups and music sheets.” He finally looked up at them. “It is so thoughtful and kind. You are the best friends anyone could hope to have.”

Yen leaned forward now too. She held Jaskier’s hand until his fingers stopped fluttering. Their eyes met. “Then what is wrong?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt and then back at Yen. “I wish the two of you weren’t so fucking kind. Because that means I must be honest with you.”

“Honest?” Geralt asked. “About what?”

Jaskier slipped his hand free of Yen and sat back in his chair. She returned her hands to her lap, so Geralt reached under the table and laced his fingers together with hers. They were clammy and nervous.

Jaskier looked at the ceiling. “I’m a selfish cunt.” He looked back at them, more confident now. “Alright?”

“Yes,” Yen agreed. “We know that.”

Jaskier continued as though she hadn’t said anything. “I am not worthy of your friendship. Because,” He drew in a slow breath, then released it, “I want more.”

“More?” asked Geralt.

Jaskier swallowed. “Geralt, I have all of these feelings. I tried to deny them. I tried to change them. I don’t want to feel this way.” He was speaking so fast now, Geralt was having trouble keeping up. “But I do. So I am not going to be able to come and stay here just yet, in this beautiful room, not until I can calm this beast in my heart, and can accept the love of your friendship without wanting more. It’s why I avoided your invitations. Instead of answering honestly, I avoided you, and now I must decline your hospitality for the foreseeable future. Because,” he tapped the table a few times, “I am a selfish cunt.”

There was a moment of silence between them, though the fire crackled away noisily.

Yen cleared her throat. “You want more? From who? Which one of us are you talking about? Me, or Geralt?”

Jaskier’s shoulders drooped. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

There was a longer moment of silence. It was a delicate, brittle silence, as they all sat, trying to grasp for their next words. Geralt finally broke the silence.

“Why don’t we take that tour of the house.” He slipped his hands around Yen’s waist. “Let’s show him the bedroom.”

Jaskier squeaked a protest. “Geralt, you weren’t listening, please don’t do this to me--”

But Yennefer was up in a flash, tugging him by the hand. 

Jaskier

Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled along because he didn’t want to fight with Yen. But when he stepped into the bedroom, his heart sank, exactly as he was expecting it to.

It was a lovely room. It reflected the elegance and taste of Yen, but it was unfussy in a way that felt like Geralt. The bed was large enough to accommodate a small army. They must have had it made special so they could be as acrobatic as Yen wanted to be.

Jaskier swallowed down the lump in his throat. They could both be so kind, and yet so cruel. He’d said he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to see where they carried on without him.

“Jaskier.” 

Yen was still holding his hand. He focused on her, and immediately regretted it. He felt vulnerable. His eyes were prickling, his throat constricting. And despite his emotional turmoil, he still felt that old attraction to her.

How could he not?

Look at her.

Those incomparable, violet, doe eyes. The softness of her hands. The shameless grace of her low swooping neckline which, from his higher perspective, revealed most of her lovely breasts. They’d been in his mouth once, on his lips.

He cleared his throat and corrected his wandering gaze. “Yes?”

She stepped close. Too close. He became aware of his quickening pulse. He glanced nervously at Geralt. Geralt sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands. He didn’t seem concerned that the love of his life was a bit too close to his best friend.

Yen cradled his face, forcing him to look at her once more.

“Yes?” he repeated doubtfully, his voice cracking like an adolescent.

Yen pushed up onto her toes and gently tugged him down, just as she pressed her lips to his. They were pliant and petal soft, and before he could think, he moaned and clasped her slight waist, clenching her tight.

Yen, lovely Yen, pressed into his lips with her tongue. There was no mistaking this kiss for anything friendly.

Panic came roaring back, and Jaskier dropped her waist and stumbled backwards, covering his mouth. He was too ashamed to look at Geralt. “Geralt,” he croaked. “No. I mean. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

His back hit the wall. Yen was looking at him like she did sometimes. Like she thought he was a fool, but she was resigned to it. She shook her head as though regretting all of her life choices. “Geralt?” she asked.

Geralt stood up from the bed, almost lazily. He stretched, giving Jaskier a moment to admire him too. He wore a tunic much like the one Jaskier had on. When he stretched, he revealed a sliver of belly. He’d been eating better, and he looked thicker than Jaskier remembered. He looked absolutely divine.

While Jaskier was busy admiring him, the witcher took three long steps towards him. The witcher was so large and broad, but he moved so gracefully that it made Jaskier’s head spin. 

Jaskier tensed. He wasn’t sure why. What would Geralt do to him? He lifted his arms in defeat.

But Geralt was not angry. He did not push him, or anything else Jaskier feared. Instead, the witcher looped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and spun him.

Jaskier felt the room spin and his body drop. Geralt was dipping him. 

He managed to relax and let himself be thrown backwards into Geralt’s arms. Then Geralt leaned down and their foreheads touched, their lips were so close together. 

Jaskier smiled tentatively and touched Geralt’s cheek.

Then, Geralt kissed him, fiery and passionate. It was just like some romance novel. Jaskier let himself go. He sunk into Geralt’s arms and pressed into his kiss. Some part of Jaskier’s mind was vaguely aware that Yen was watching them. 

When Geralt returned him to his feet, Jaskier was dizzy. He was giggling like a schoolgirl, and he was dizzy.

“Do you understand now, bard?” teased Geralt.

Jaskier touched his own lips and looked from Geralt to Yen. “Oh.”

It was all he could say. He was a poet, damnit. A poet.

Oh.

Yen giggled too. She did that so rarely. It was a fucking gorgeous sound. A girlish, carefree sound that she so rarely made. “Moron,” she said, as she threw herself into his arms. 

Jaskier nodded, in a daze, stroking the small of her back and pressing a kiss to her hair. “I think I get it,” he said, his voice rough.

“There are three pillows on the bed, Jaskier,” said Geralt. He pointed at the bed. And yes, it was true. “There are three hooks by the door,” Geralt continued, “for robes and things--” his voice trailed off.

“We made you a room,” said Yen, voice muffled by being pressed into Jaskier’s chest, “just so you could have your own space if you want it. But we want you to live in this one, with us.”

Geralt draped his arms around them, encircling both of them. “You only need to use your room when you want privacy or need a break.” He kissed the top of Yen’s head. Then he kissed Jaskier’s temple.

Jaskier was never speechless. He always had something to say. But he could not quite believe that life would give him this blessing. After everything they had been through. After the pain, and torture, after the imprisonment, the loss.

He was really going to get to have this.

“Well,” Yen asked. “What do you say, bard? Cat got your tongue?”

Jaskier let his head drop onto Geralt’s impossibly round, impossibly solid shoulder.  ‘I accept,” he said. “I accept.”

-----

Jaskier had, of course, had sex with multiple people at once. When he could afford to, or he was on someone else’s dime, he paid for multiple people to attend to him at the brothels. There were also those nights when he had several fans who wanted him after a performance, and weren’t averse to sharing. He loved the attention, that was no secret.

But this.

This was something new.

He had never made love to two people at once, not people that he would lay down his life for. And while he was aware that some people had more than two individuals in their relationships, he supposed it hadn’t occurred to him that Yen and Geralt might be like that, and for him of all people.

He was nervous at first. But when he saw that touching Geralt made Yen smile, and that touching Yen made Geralt’s eyes darken with lust, he relaxed. 

When Geralt and Yen asked him what he wanted, he was in such shock that he fell back into old habits. He grasped Yen’s thighs and ate her out like she was his last meal, though he had never done that with Geralt fucking him from behind. It was unspeakably sexy. It also made him feel important that two people like Geralt and Yen wanted him like that.

They learned how to move together, they touched one another, kissed one another, and rolled around together on the bed big enough for an army.

When they lay in the afterglow, Jaskier asked if he’d died and gone to heaven. It was truly difficult to fathom that he could have both. Choosing anything was the bane of his existence and it seemed too good to be true that it would not be required of him.

Geralt assured him that when Yen began to use his legs to warm her feet, he would change his tune.

“That’s the main reason you’re here, bard,” Geralt had said. “I was tired of being the foot warmer.”

That night, Jaskier fell asleep with a contented sigh on his lips. 

He was with Yen. He was with Geralt. He was home. Home at the house on the sea.

[snickety-lemons]

Give your trust to me, and look into my heart

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: lots of feelings, hand holding, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Realizations, Fluff and Angst

Language: English

Words: 2,636 Chapters: 1/1, completed.

And the AO3 version of my very first Witcher fic, as originally written in this post https://snickety-lemons.tumblr.com/post/692605861495013376/can-i-request-intertwining-fingers-for-geraskier ! I can't... even describe how much I love this, really, it's just a gift that keeps on giving. Just, the handholding... The handholding.

[roughentumble]

reviving the Geraskier sbau to say Geralt would absolutely have Jaskier sit on a sybian while he's busy with something else

!!!!!!! SO true

ankles tied to thighs so he cant stand up, just kneel in place, no matter how much he scrapes and whines.

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

“9 people you want to know better” tag game

Thank you for the tag @vhagar-balerion-meraxes

Three Ships: Bones x Booth, Fitzsimmons, Yennefer x Geralt

First Ship: Scorose (Scorpius Malfoy x Rose Weasley)

Last Song: Rechtes Vorbild - Pizzera & Jaus

Last Movie: IDK

Currently Watching: House of the Dragon, Criminal Minds, 911 LA, TLK

Currently Reading: The Hacienda, Good Omens, Mord am Semmering

Currently Eating: I haven't eaten yet, gonna grab porridge for lunch (it's hot out there and I am not able to eat anything solid right now because my wisdom tooth is acting up)

Currently Craving: Cookie Dough ice cream, french fries, Schnitzel or deep fried chicken, Fizzy Peach/Lemon Organics Red Bull and a herb lemonade that's very popular in my country. (I am really hungry right now...)

No pressure tag:

@schniiipsel @flowerandblood @venmondiese @targaryenrealnessdarling @anjelicawrites

@barbieaemond @ewanmitchellcrumbs

@nyrasproblm @randomdragonfires