#geralt sleeps with two pillows

[artistsfuneral]

Geralt woke with a low grumble, hand mindlessly reaching out to the other side of the bed. His grumble grew louder when he found it empty and he pressed his face into the sleep warm pillow in a sad attempt to go back to sleep. Waiting up without having Jaskier right next to him sucked.

Having spent the last four days systematically combing through abandoned underground tunnels with barely a break, Geralt thought he'd at least deserved to wake up next to his husband. But apparently luck wasn't on his side. How disappointing.

He let out a groan and slowly peeled himself out of bed, fighting off the blanket with his feet before sitting up and loudly inhaling through his nose. The older he got, the slower and louder he was when waking up in his own home. If his younger brother could see him now, he'd surely be made fun of for it. Fuck that prick. It was too early and Geralt was still too tired to even think about Lambert's opinions. He should call him later.

Having followed the soft noises to the kitchen, Geralt leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the sight. Jaskier was standing in front of the stove with their two daughters. He was humming a familiar tune, that Geralt could not name. Little Ciri was perched on his hips, still in her onesie, and happily babbling as she watched her sister flip over a pancake. Roach was already dressed for the day, excitingly telling Jaskier about her upcoming school trip and repeating some of Ciri's babbled words encouragingly.

[dsudis]

Who wants some sleepy domestic Emhyr/Geralt?

Got a kind of bewildering ask yesterday that I won't bother answering directly as it didn't seem particularly relevant to me, but it did remind me how much I enjoyed writing Witcher fic, and that I still have some bits of Emhyr/Geralt(/Eskel) fic I was working on that I've never shared, and I am in a sharing mood today!

This is from what would have been Urbe Aureā #5, in which Emhyr begins his courtship of Eskel by offering him any witcher's favorite thing: a job in Toussaint. Geralt, naturally, goes along with him, and then they come home to the palace in Nilfgaard, mostly unscathed...

Geralt knew just what to do this time, returning to Nilfgaard in the middle of the night. He parted from Eskel with a mumbled agreement to meet again in the morning, shed his weapons and everything else he could without scandalizing any servants he met, and went directly to Emhyr's rooms. 

He reached up to run a hand over the stubble that was all the hair left on the lower part of his head now. It was two days' growth, because that was how long it had taken him, Eskel, and occasionally Lambert, to deal with every other little problem someone had brought to their attention after the wraiths were dealt with.  

He hadn't been dawdling this time--not like the days he'd spent in Tretogor chasing down stray bandits and necrophages. He just... couldn't go off and leave the place knowing there was a problem with giant centipedes popping out of somebody's vineyard, and a nasty ghost haunting somebody else's well--and then he'd had to make a few patrols to check for signs of any vampires who'd started making nuisances of themselves since he left. Those always turned up again when there had been a lot of them in one place, like seeds germinated by a forest fire. 

But now, at last, he was done and back again. He and Eskel had availed themselves of the baths B.-B. had had waiting for them after they got back from sorting out those fleders, and then they'd agreed with barely a word to head back through the portal. They'd left Lambert asleep under his workbench, knowing well that he'd be happier to bitch about them leaving without a goodbye than to actually suffer through any parting scene. 

And, after all, he knew exactly where to find them if he wanted them. 

Geralt let himself into Emhyr's rooms and hesitated, listening out for a moment, but Emhyr didn't rush out to meet him as he had that time before. Maybe he'd slept a little easier, knowing Geralt had left on Emhyr's own errand, and with backup to boot. Maybe he just didn't expect Geralt to have returned after only a few days. 

Either way, there was no point lingering in the sitting room. Geralt let himself into the bedchamber, and his heart did something painful and fond at the sight of Emhyr sleeping. He tried to ignore it, willed it away, even as he was walking over. He was at the side of the bed when he remembered: he loved Emhyr, and he knew that, and Eskel knew that, and Emhyr probably knew that, and as yet that hadn't brought about any more than the usual amount of destruction.  

He could just... feel it. He could look at Emhyr sleeping, with his head on one pillow and another tucked under his arm like he'd lost the knack of sleeping without another body to lean against, and feel like he belonged there. In Emhyr's bed, in his arms, in his life, because that was a role he could fill, a job he could do. He could be the Emperor's Witcher and like it.  

Emhyr didn't move--didn't give himself away, if the lurker in his bedchamber had been anyone less astute--but Geralt knew the moment he woke.  

"Not an assassin," Geralt said softly. "Just--" 

Emhyr pushed himself up to sit, a wash of delight turning his craggy features almost young, in the little light that reached Geralt's eyes. Mindful that Emhyr could see even less than he could in this dark, he stepped forward, holding his hands out, saving Emhyr the trouble of disentangling himself from the bedcovers.  

"My dear witcher," Emhyr murmured, catching his hands and tugging him closer still, then catching his mouth in a kiss. "Where is your partner?" 

Geralt laughed a little against Emhyr's mouth. "Not so quickly won over as that, dear majesty. But he did come back with me, safe and sound. He's in his own room, probably already asleep." 

"Excellent," Emhyr said, and he genuinely did sound pleased. And he'd asked about Eskel first thing, when he might have ignored the whole matter of him until morning, and that, too, made Geralt's heart squeeze.  

"And yourself?" Emhyr went on, his hands releasing Geralt's and sliding up his arms. "You smell clean enough, but you know I am not as keen as one of you. Any injuries? Any trouble?" 

"Not as such," Geralt said, climbing onto the edge of the bed so Emhyr could reach more of him, and taking Emhyr's hand to guide it up to the base of his skull. "Lost some hair." 

"A pity," Emhyr murmured, running warm fingers over the shorn part of Geralt's scalp before he settled his hand on the nape of Geralt's neck and tugged him into a deeper kiss.  

Geralt leaned into Emhyr's firm grip, his whole body easing, muscles relaxing that had been faintly tensed for days on end. That human-strong hold on him and Emhyr's mint-clean mouth coaxing his open meant that he was home safe, done with the job, and it was finally time to let his guard down. He let himself sway into Emhyr, trusting his weight to the solid warmth of Emhyr's body. 

Emhyr let out a little grunt, though his body betrayed no great evidence of straining under the pressure. He closed his other arm around Geralt and eased them both down, not bothering to sort out the covers or get Geralt naked--as though all that mattered was both of them here, at their ease. As though he needed nothing more than that. 

Geralt sighed, nuzzling at Emhyr's chest, and went out like a blown candle. 

[winters-mistress]

Cuddle pile

It's cold. It's so fucking cold that Ciri thinks she may honestly ask the gods to take her to the next world, because nothing can be as cold as this. She's got two pairs of leggings on, two pairs of socks, one of Geralt's tunics, her pair of gloves that Eskel had found for her, and she's buried underneath several blankets. Yet, she's so cold. She's so fucking cold.

The door opens, she can hear the squeak of the hinges. Footsteps come towards her, she can tell by the gait that it's Geralt, he's trying to be quiet, but he knows she's awake.

"Ciri?" she peaks out of her cocoon of blankets, one eye blinking up at him. His lip twitches, and he reaches towards her. "Cone here, it's too cold for you to be here alone. Especially with the fire refusing to catch."

She realises that the fireplace and the torches are dead. How many times has somebody came in and tried to warm her, only for the wind to blow it out?

Her thoughts distract her enough that Geralts breath upon her cheeks startle her, but she doesn't jump when his arks finally pick her up, blanket cocoon and all.

She makes a questioning noise, but never says no to Geralt giving her a hug. She's carried like a baby out of her room, out of the wing, down two flights of stairs, down another corridor, a third set of stairs, before they end up at the kitchens.

She makes a confused noise. It can't be breakfast time yet, the keep is pitch black to her puny human eyes.

"Why're we here?" she asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

"It's too cold, even for us. Gotta rest." Geralt says. Ciri blinks at him.

All in all, the witchers are good when it comes to her sleeping. When her nights are plagued with the horrors of her past and future, and she wakes up screaming with wet cheeks, the witchers let her sleep in whenever her rest finally turns peaceful and dark. They allow her afternoon naps after training and chores are done, and send her to bed when she stumbles into the dining hall with dark circles under her eyes. Early nights and late starts aren't punished, and as long as training and chores are completed at some point in the day, the witchers don't particularly care when it happens. Hell, shes been wrapped up like a baby by Lambert of all people when they had determined she needed a sleep.

Which is why it shouldn't be surprising when he turns the last corner and finds five Witchers laying a couple feet away from the cracking fireplace underneath the stew pot. They've got blankets and pillows and furs, and look rather comfortable. Laying all over each other, looking rather like a puppy pile. Even Aiden joins in with the snuggling.

"Pups." Vesemir rumbles when he sees them both. Geralt puts her on the floor, kneeling down next to her.

"Come here, girl, get comfortable. Gonna be making camp here for a couple'a days." Coën clarifies when he sees her confused face. Ciri blinks, but nods. These things make sense, and she's seen all the men here hug, but admittedly, this is the first cuddle pile she's been privy to.

She turns upon her side, feeling Geralt curl behind her, trapping her in with his arms, wrapping her in another blanket. She hums, wrapping her hand over his, before Eskel pulls them both close, and she smiles, closing her eyes, feeling the warmth seep into her.

And tonight, she will sleep sweetly indeed.

[samstree]

words can wait (until some other day)

Jaskier does not panic when he falls in love. It happens a bit further down the road. (geraskier, 3k, cw: panic attack ☆ AO3)

Jaskier does not panic when he falls in love.

The summer sun blurs his vision when he finds Geralt in a patch of meadow, familiar swords on his back, metal armors reflecting the bright light. He’s whispering to an anxious Roach in that particularly gentle tone, petting her mane patiently. He doesn’t even register Jaskier’s presence for a moment.

And then, there’s the smile. A soft smile tugs at Geralt’s lips when the mare finally calms. It’s reserved and quiet, but Jaskier knows all the world’s joy is contained in that small, warm smile. Roach nuzzles Geralt’s chest, and it grows. Crow’s feet form around soft golden eyes, and Jaskier falls in love right there.

Perhaps he should panic, he thinks, just a little. This is Geralt, his best friend, his companion, the reason for all his songs and the beat of his heart. But only sureness pools in Jaskier’s stomach like warm tea on a rainy day. There is no tightness in his chest, no constricting of breaths.

His love for Geralt brings no harm, only safety.

He is decidedly and unsurprisingly not panicking. It’s Geralt, after all.

So Jaskier calls out for his name and runs right into his arms. Geralt is perplexed by the sudden hug, but he catches Jaskier steadily as always. The smile doesn’t fade when Jaskier pulls away, half amused, half exasperated.

“Jaskier?” The sun is blinding, but all Jaskier can see is the gold in Geralt’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier can only shake his head, his own smile mirrored back, spreading so wide on his cheeks it nearly hurts.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Just… let me hug you. Just a moment longer.”

Geralt allows Jaskier to burrow deep into his embrace again, indulging what looks like a nameless bout of clinginess. They stay there for a while, swaying back and forth, despite the summer heat, despite Jaskier’s foolish heart.

☆

Jaskier does not panic when he realizes his love cannot be returned.

The fall rolls around with a crisp blue sky and a forest of golden leaves. The ground becomes colder, digging into Jaskier’s back when he struggles to fall asleep. Between his dreams, Jaskier counts the crackling of the campfire and the quiet shuffles of Geralt’s movements. A chill creeps into the bedroll, and Jaskier holds his lute closer, shivering and drifting in and out of consciousness.

Somewhere during the night, when the moon is high and the forest is quiet, warmth envelopes Jaskier from behind. He lets out a long sigh, and the shivering stops. He gravitates towards the warmth, angling his body to fit into the source.

He wakes up in Geralt’s arms, head pillowed on his shoulder and their faces a hand’s breadth apart. Both of their cloaks are wrapped around him, tucked under his body carefully. They are not nearly big enough to cover the two of them, so half of Geralt’s body is painfully exposed in the autumn chill, but Jaskier is warm and toasty even to the toes.

He’s breathless from all the love in his chest.

“Hmm?” Geralt mumbles, blinking open his eyes. In the dim morning light, his features are soft and open, all the hardened exterior disappearing when it’s just the two of them, holding each other close on a chilly morning. When he finds Jaskier staring at him, an eyebrow raises in question. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier whispers, not wanting to break the moment. “I’m just… very warm.”

Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand under the cloaks in his, only to touch Jaskier’s warm fingers with his cold ones.

“Good,” Geralt says, voice rumbling from sleep. “Humans don’t deal with cold that well.”

Jaskier pauses, looking up at Geralt’s slack face and slow-blinking eyes. It’s rare for a witcher to drift off casually once he’s woken in the morning, but Geralt does nonetheless, in a rare state of lazy contentment. Jaskier stays wide awake.

He loves Geralt, and he knows Geralt cares for him. In his way, Geralt cares so deeply, often to his own detriment. Despite what they say, despite all appearances, Geralt has a deeper capacity for love than anyone Jaskier has known.

Geralt can love deeply, that much he is sure.

It’s just that Jaskier isn’t special. He resides in a small corner of Geralt’s heart, cared for amongst countless humans weaving through a witcher’s long life.

Jaskier settles against Geralt’s shoulder, content. At peace, somehow.

Loving Geralt is enough, even if it’s unrequited, even if he’s alone in his love.

☆

Jaskier also does not panic when he decides to tell Geralt about his love.

It is the winter’s first snow, a soft, fluttering thing that drifts across the grey sky, falling and melting on Roach’s mane silently. The year on the path has officially ended, but Jaskier lingers.

Urged forward by his treacherous heart, Jaskier follows Geralt all the way into Kaedwen. The final fork road stands before them, the last moment before their separation.

Jaskier rambles on, complaining about his frozen fingers in the lecture halls of the university he can only half-heartedly call home—the real one is this. The road, monsters and ballads. Home is Geralt, since he was eighteen.

“I don’t care if Kaer Morhen is an ice castle up in the mountains, Oxenfurt has to be colder! I am not leaving my winter doublets with you again. Help me, Geralt! Check again!”

He wrinkles his nose, digging through Geralt’s pack to find another one of his fur-lined doublets. Their things get mixed up during the year. Jaskier may have sneakily slipped most of them in so he can linger a bit longer without thinking about the giant hole that is going to take up his chest in Geralt’s absence.

“You know you can just not mix them with my things.”

“Hush, dear. Be smart later. We must find the gloves! My fingers cannot be exposed to the cruel winds of winter! It’s the dampness, I tell you—Oh.”

Jaskier touches something soft and squishy at the bottom of Geralt’s pack. He pulls out not gloves, but a small, hand-sewn horse plush.

It’s not the most delicately made, most of the seams lopsided and the dark brown fabric of the horse’s body fixed up with patches old and new. The two buttons are different sizes, but they look rustically charming with a big smile on its face.

“Jask, it’s—um. It’s a…” Geralt, amazingly, is starting to fluster. “It’s nothing. It’s a… horse.”

Jaskier feels like he’s stumbled onto something very intimate.

“So it is.” He looks up, not sure what to do with his hands, so he keeps holding the soft toy carefully. “She looks like Roach.”

“It’s from that girl. Around ten years ago.” Geralt looks away, as if embarrassed by having a cuddly toy in his possession. “Got her out of the manticore nest.”

“I remember. It was a close call. Her parents were worried sick.”

Geralt reaches out as if to touch the little horse, only to pull away last minute. “I checked on her a year later, passed by the village. She had made this.”

“She did?” Jaskier smiles fondly. “I remember she wouldn’t stop crying, so you introduced her to Roach.”

“And you did the voices.”

“It worked wonderfully. She made a friend that day, and went home to make you a friend.” Jaskier waves the horse’s front leg cheekily.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of Geralt’s lips. “Roach is easy to love.”

Jaskier looks down at the small horse plush, the most precious lopsided toy in the world. It’s like he’s holding Geralt’s heart between his hands. Handle with care, he reminds himself. A witcher’s heart breaks easily.

So he puts the horse gently in Geralt’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. Geralt rubs its ears on instinct, a subtle motion that seems to soothe himself.

“She really is,” Jaskier whispers reverently, not sure who he’s talking about.

There Geralt is, holding a small gift from a decade ago, a tangible proof that he was once appreciated, remembered, loved. It’s a good sight. Geralt deserves to know when he is loved.

Jaskier’s breath catches when he meets Geralt’s gaze for a moment too long, nearly struck dumb by the split-second decision he just made.

Geralt deserves to know.

Too few love him. If one does, one should declare it loudly.

His chest is warm with calmness, a quiet acceptance of his unrequited love. It will be okay. Even though Jaskier will not be loved in the same way, it will be worth it.

They finish finding Jaskier’s things and bid goodbye, the plush toy sitting in Geralt’s pack safely. When Jaskier walks away, he looks back with every other step, heart full of tenderness. He cannot say it yet. It will be the most important thing he does in this life. A poet should be granted enough time before proclaiming his love. He should be allowed the dramatics, at least.

“Wait,” Geralt calls out.

“Hmm?”

Jaskier turns around, thoughts lost in planning the day already. Flowers. He should pick flowers—Geralt loves them, even though he never shows it. Also those candied fruits he likes. Good food is always a nice opening for serious words—

“Jaskier, just… wait for a moment.” The flustering is back when Geralt catches up with a few long strides. “You don’t need to go.”

Jaskier frowns. “But I do? It’s well into winter already. I can’t make it to Oxenfurt once the snow sets in—”

“Don’t go to Oxenfurt,” Geralt interrupts. “Come to Kaer Morhen. With me.”

Snow melts on Jaskier’s lashes, blurring his vision.

“Really?” His heart hammers, the thrumming beats revealing too much. “You’d want me there?”

Geralt only takes his hand, thumb rubbing gentle circles on Jaskier’s wrist, an anchor to calm all the butterflies in his stomach.

“Must you ask?” he says softly. “You know the answer.”

When Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand in return, the familiar warmth enveloping him, he realizes that he does. He learned the answers to all things Geralt a long time ago.

☆

The mountains are slow to accept spring’s arrival, sitting far above the rest of the world, but it waltzes in gracefully anyway. Snow seeps into the ground, bringing back the first sprouts of life. Kaer Morhen stands too close to the sky. Colors return to the crumbling keep, stirring their quiet life with restlessness.

It’s the last day before they set out for another year’s journey. Jaskier relishes his last moments in the keep, sitting cross-legged on Geralt’s bed with the lute in his lap, strumming an absent tune. It’s also become his bed since the dark days near solstice. My room is warmer, Geralt insisted at the time, with more sunlight. It’s only practical.

Jaskier isn’t sure how he’ll cope once they leave the keep, without Geralt’s presence grounding him at night. It’s trouble for the future him, he reckons. For now, Geralt is padding across the room quietly to join him, lying down on the pillow next to Jaskier’s thigh.

His fingers stop for a moment to brush the loose strands away from Geralt’s face. His witcher grumbles sleepily, eyes closed, snuggling against Jaskier while slowly drifting off into a nap.

The lute is soon left on the ground. Jaskier curls up under the cover and falls asleep too.

When they wake up, it is to the setting sun hanging above the horizon, casting long shadows through the window. Geralt stirs, only to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck, the tangles of his hair tickling Jaskier’s skin. They fall into a mess of giggles, and Jaskier pretends to push him away.

The orange-gold sunlight lines Geralt’s silver locks beautifully, golden eyes meeting blue in quiet contentment. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jaskier answers.

This is the moment.

All dramatics are forgotten, all poetry set aside. It’s just him, giving away his heart at the right time, asking nothing for himself.

“Geralt, dear, I—” Jaskier breathes steadily. “I love you.”

It’ll be alright. It’s only Geralt, who deserves the world and more. Jaskier is only a simple bard with his lute and silly songs, hoping all of himself is enough. Geralt knowing he is loved is worth ten times the heartache of Jaskier not being loved in return.

“Oh.”

“Don’t say anything.” Jaskier’s voice is still relaxed with sleep, so he leans in close, the exchange barely above an intimate whisper. “I know you don’t feel the same, but I do. Love you, that is. I love you, and you deserve to know. You are loved, without condition or a price, for as long as I live.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt nearly sounds pained. He shouldn’t be, not when he’s loved.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier says. “You don’t owe me anything. I understand. All I ask is a place by your side so I may walk with you, as we have done before. I never want you to feel guilty for not returning my feelings.”

“But I do.”

Jaskier blinks, only now realizing his vision is getting blurry. Geralt watches him, eyes full of joy and sincerity.

“You—what?”

Suddenly, Jaskier’s throat is very tight, his breath shuddering. The panic that has been kept at bay makes a strange appearance from deep inside his lungs.

“I love you too,” Geralt says, holding Jaskier’s shoulder, keeping him close. “I thought you knew. I thought you could tell. Jaskier, I—”

The thundering of his heart is all Jaskier can hear. The room is too small and the air too thin. With all the time he’s spent preparing himself for the eventual rejection, he’s never dared to imagine the other possibility.

Geralt loves him.

Oh.

Jaskier’s chest seizes as anxiety takes hold, his words stumbling over each other and his vision tunneling.

“Forgive me—” Head spinning, Jaskier just wants to get out of this room, away from Geralt’s worried expression and the warmth of his hands. “I wasn’t expecting… I just need a moment. It’s all very sudden, I…”

“Hey, Jask, slow down. You are hyperventilating.” Geralt, as if he needs to get more lovely just to torment Jaskier’s delicate heart, notices his panic and reacts immediately. “Just try to breathe. It’s alright. Just breathe. I’m right here…”

Geralt tries to pull Jaskier into an embrace, an old trick to calm him, but it’s all too much. Jaskier needs to get out of the room.

He mumbles another apology, limbs tangling with the sheets as he scrambles out of bed. Geralt calls for him through a fog of confusion and worry, but Jaskier is gone from the room, half stumbling and half running.

☆

Jaskier is most assuredly panicking right now.

He wanders aimlessly in the keep, trying and failing to catch his breath, only instincts guiding him to a place of comfort. He pushes open the door into the small but well-kept winter garden in the corner of the backyard, the pressure on his breastbone finally letting up in the crisp mountain air. He breathes in the mixture of plants and dirt and leans against the cold wall, sliding down with all his energy sapped.

Geralt loves him back.

Jaskier turns over those words in his head slowly, easing into the idea.

It’s a good thing. As the panic eases from his mind, his senses return slowly. It hits him just how ridiculous he looks, running away from the man he loves, simply because he was loved in return.

There’s dirt on his bare feet, and Jaskier hugs his knees close. He takes in a deep breath, and then another. Slowly, painstakingly, the panic subsides. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but clarity returns eventually, and he rests his head against the wall with relief.

“Jaskier.”

The door creaks open, and there Geralt is, holding a large blanket and looking awkwardly unsure.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier answers, voice still tight.

Geralt all but softens. He sits down next to Jaskier but doesn’t touch, only holding out the blanket. “May I?”

Receiving a nod, Geralt wraps the blanket around Jaskier’s thin shirt, careful not to invade his space. Jaskier almost feels like a dam breaking when he throws himself into Geralt’s arms, burrowing under his chin. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Shh. Don’t be.” Geralt rocks him back and forth, a hand running down Jaskier’s arm. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“I panicked,” Jaskier sniffs.

Geralt chuckles quietly. “I could tell. But why? I thought the conversation was going somewhere… well, somewhere good?”

Jaskier lifts his head but lets Geralt hold him close, soothing his nerves patiently.

“It was going somewhere incredibly good,” he admits. “Too good, perhaps. I wasn’t ready for it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, observing him.

Jaskier hides away from Geralt’s knowing gaze. “You must think it was stupid. To be fair, I was. Who would have a full-on panic attack because the love of their life actually loves them back?” He lets out a self-deprecating huff. “I had accepted it, that I was alone in my longing, and that nothing would change after my confession. But now… things will change, and it was suddenly too real.”

“It wasn’t the confession that gave you panic. It was knowing that I loved you.” Something in Geralt’s expression crumbles, guilt and shame creeping up on his brow. “All these years, I thought you knew. I’m not good with words, so I tried to show you, instead.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier blinks, thinking back on every detail of their companionship in a new light—the quiet protectiveness, the trust, the care. The answer pieces together like puzzles falling into place, a clear picture forming in his mind.

Geralt, always putting Jaskier before himself.

Geralt, smiling and laughing because of Jaskier, and making Jaskier smile and laugh in return.

Geralt, inviting Jaskier to his home.

The only conclusion—

“You love me. You have loved me all this time.”

Geralt smiles. “And you love me.”

Jaskier’s heart picks up its pace for an entirely different reason this time. “That’s… wonderful.” He’s smiling so hard it makes him giddy. “Whatever shall we do now?”

“Now? Anything, I suppose. Everything, or nothing at all.” Geralt turns to kiss Jaskier on the temple, making his cheeks heat up rather embarrassingly. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Jaskier echoes. “For now, we don’t need words yet.”

Another year begins tomorrow, the seasons passing by as they walk the path.

But for now, they stay in the little corner of a keep that stands too close to the sky. For now, they don’t need words yet.

[solcorvidae]

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons (part 2 of ?)

Jaskier was put in a ton of winter sports as a kid. He knows how to ski and ice skate very well. He can snowboard but prefers skiing.

Geralt, on the other hand, never learned to skate. He and Eskel have not been able to find skates that fit their boot size since they were teenagers.

Geralt likes yard work more than other household chores. He likes maintaining the garden and arranging a nice living space to hangout in and Jaskier is very appreciative.

Jaskier is usually super busy in the winter months. He attends get togethers, dinners, parties, etc. Geralt does the opposite. He and his family head home for some time to relax and catch up with one another after being on the road. They don’t often do big activities or social events, mostly staying in the house with each other for the duration of their stay.

Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert shared a room until Geralt started to get into his teen years. Their childhood room had a bunk bed for the two oldest boys and a single bed for Lambert. Lambert eventually took over Vesemir’s office and it was converted to his new room. Now, they each have normal bed frames that sit on the floor.

Geralt wears a dark brown, felt, pinch front cowboy hat. He is very attuned to the etiquette and superstitious beliefs around wearing one.

Eskel and Jaskier are the same height (6’0)

Geralt is 6’3 but often people assume he’s shorter. He slouches when he sits and tries to take up as little metaphorical space in the room as he can. When he stands up, his posture is straight as a board and this adds to the surprise many people feel when they see how tall he really is.

Eskel is the opposite. He has a large but warm and inviting presence when he enters a room. He makes himself known and takes up a lot of space with his big personality. People often assume he must be taller than he really is and are often surprised when they stand next to him and see eye to eye.

Lambert is 5’11 and bitter about it.

Eskel has textured, somewhat oily skin but shockingly left his acne struggles in his teen years.

Geralt was blessed with little to no acne most of his life—including as a teenager.

Lambert hasn’t quite grown out of it and still gets the occasional (relatively mild) blemish. They usually appear when his disposable razor starts to get dull and begins to irritate the skin--Geralt tries to get him to invest in a safety razor, to no avail.

All three boys share a bathroom at Vesemir's house and Vesemir has his own tiny ensuite bathroom. He doesn't care if they trash their own space as long as it doesn't start growing mysterious molds…

Everyone having different hair colours (especially Geralt) meant that it was difficult to blame each other for hair left in the bottom of the tub/sink. But oh did Lambert try.

They are banned from using Vesemir's bathroom unless they absolutely have to. The shower however, is non negotiable. It is off limits altogether.

The only exception to this rule is when any of the boys are sick. When one of them is ill, Vesemir sets them up on the floor with blankets and a pillow so they don't have to keep running to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It also helps that he can keep an eye on them and monitor if they start getting worse or need to go to urgent care—Eskel was particularly bad for lying about not being sick for a long time.

As a child Geralt would wake up every night in the middle of the night from the dead of sleep and be afraid to fall back asleep on his own. He always climbed to the top bunk where Eskel slept and he felt safe. If Eskel wasn't there or he didn't want to wake him, Geralt would walk to Vesemir's room to fall asleep in his dads bed where he felt just as safe. It took him a long time to grow out of this habit.

Even though his boys are all grown up, Vesemir would never turn them away from any sort of "childish" comfort, especially when they're going through a particularly hard time. If they ever needed a hug or wanted to fall asleep in his room, all they had to do was ask.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Lamden ficlet! POV: you're both horny but your kid niece is asleep a few doors down.

Slight smut under the cut.

They honestly hadn't planned on sex tonight. They were both exhausted from the harsh training Vesemir had put them through specifically (Lambert was sure it was some sort of punishment on the both of them for Lambert bringing Aiden back again, even if the old man refused to say it out loud) and then Yennefer had portaled in with Ciri out of nowhere, claiming that the little girl was missing Geralt something fierce and had been a little Hell beast as a consequence. The plan had been to sneak one of the bottles of wine the witch had bought with her other 'essentials' back up to Lambert's room, get a pleasant buzz - however slight - maybe throw in a couple of rounds of Gwent and then sleep. The plan had been forgotten though as passing the bottle back and forth turned into kissing, spurred on by nothing but the warmth and comfort of the almost cosy bedroom and each other. Lazy kisses became gradual undressing, which evolved into Aiden straddling Lambert's hips as the Wolf fucked into him shallowly.

"Ssssh. Quiet, remember." Lambert whispered as he once again reached up to slap a hand over Aiden's mouth before the moan could fully escape, "Ciri's just down the hall." He craned his head around the other as if expecting his niece to have materialised in the doorway like some cockblocking ghoul at the mention of her name. He couldn't give two shits if his brothers or Vesemir heard them (neither he nor Aiden were usually shy about being vocal in their enjoyment); Ciri on the other hand...Geralt and Yenn would murder them both if she dropped even the slightest hint she'd heard or seen anything. Not that they'd have to - it would probably be the one thing on this Continent capable of making Lambert drop dead from mortification.

The other man gave him a sigh and an eyeroll which were either due to annoyance or the continued lazy roll of Lambert's hips underneath him - hard to tell at this point - before licking Lambert's palm in retaliation.

Lambert smothered a laugh at his lover's childish tactic before relenting and removing the offending body part.

"Next time just gag me before we start if you're going to be panicking the whole time." Aiden whispered, smirking as he undulated his hips in a way that had Lambert biting back a moan of his own, "Relax Lam. It's -ah- it's the middle of the night. She -fuck- she'll be dead to the world. But if you'd rather we stop-" He sighed theatrically under his breath as he made to lift himself fully off Lambert before the other grabbed his hips and pulled him back down forcefully, causing Aiden's back to arch and his mouth to fall open in a silent gasp. He repeated the motion, watching as Aiden resorted to biting down on his own arm, some slight noises still escaping as he was encouraged to ride the other fast and hard.

Lambert turned his face into the pillow with a muted grunt as his orgasm washed over him, fingers digging into the meat of Aiden's hips. Aiden screwed his eyes tightly shut as he came seconds later as if he were in pain, torn between the pleasure and the effort Lambert knew it was taking the other to keep his noises in check when he was a screamer by nature. He fell forward onto Lambert's chest, catching himself on loose arms before they could butt heads, both of them breathing heavily into each others mouths.

"Alright?" Lambert asked, checking over Aiden's arm where he'd broken the skin with his sharp teeth.

"I'm fine. Just remind me to track down Yennefer in the morning."

That drew a frown from the Wolf, "What for?"

"To ask her about sound proofing your God's damned room."

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 8

Chapter 7

"Thank you," you say to Geralt, taking his hand in yours from the tub.

Geralt nods and stands up, fixing to remove his clothing so he could join you. Knowing what he was up to, you move up forward so he could get in behind you.

You lean into him, your back meeting his chest.

"I need to talk to Ciri," you say, "Let her know how sorry I am." "She's resting right now," Geralt says, "you can tell her in the morning. Besides, she probably already knows how sorry you are."

You sigh a bit, and turn to face the man, "if you don't mind, Geralt, I'd like to forget about all this at the moment."

Nodding, Geralt leans back against the tub, relaxing as he lets you get on his lap. You start feeling up and down his body, eventually one hand weaving through his hair and another reaching for his groin.

The witcher grunted as you started to work him. In return, Geralt took one hand and snuck it between your legs, rubbing circles where you would feel the most pleasure.

This continued until he eventually came, with you not following too far behind. You lean into Geralt's chest, relaxing from that little session.

He helps you out of the tub and to dry off, before he carries you to the bed.

Once Geralt was laying on his back, you rest your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around your, pressing a kiss to your head.

"You've been so good to me, Geralt," you mutter as you're about to fall asleep, "I love you."

Geralt's eyes widen a bit as this was the first time you ever told him that. It was this moment, he realized how much he's come to love you too; it was different from the kind of love he felt for Yennefer, it wasn't artificially constructed from a demonic magical monster, it was real and organic.

He was about to say it back, but noticed you were already deep in sleep. He sighed a bit, resting his head back on the pillow. He would have plenty of time to express his feelings in the morning.

----------meanwhile------------------

While you and Geralt were carrying on with your splish-splash sexy fun times, some people in the keep were off doing their own thing.

After putting Ciri to bed, Eskel, Coen, and Lambert went to the village down below to have their own fun at the taverns and/or brothels.

Vesemir had stayed to look into something.

After putting Aemma to bed, the elder witcher had retreated to the library for some extra studying.

There was something he needed to look into concerning the possible origins of your daughter's paternal side of the family, but unfortunately, no such books were available in Kaer Morhen. Even if the library was still intact from the sacking that took place decades ago, the School of the Wolf was never interested in educating its students in history, especially history outside the Continent.

Nevertheless, after that episode of yours earlier today, Vesemir had felt this was something that needed to be looked into.

Luckily Tris was able to help in that department by borrowing several promises texts from the library in Aretuza.

Vesemir currently had two texts before him, one that described the complete history of Westeros, and another on a history on the origins of dragons. The last one, Vesemir found to be an odd choice, but accepted it nonetheless.

He opened the fist book, quickly scanning through the first couple chapters until he got to the descriptions of the current ruling house of this particular realm. Pictures of people with silver blonde hair and violet eyes were scattered over the pages amongst the writing.

Silver hair and violet eyes...just like Aemma's, Vesemir thinks.

The old man didn't quite want to believe it, but if his suspicions were correct, there was a possibility your daughter may possess royal blood within her veins, and not just that, it was blood of a house whose origins could be traced to a place and time that was long gone. Remnants of a bygone era that was once ruled by dragons and dragon riders, as evident in the emblem of the three headed dragon. 

Vesemir then skipped to the last bit of the book to the present to learn more of the current ruling monarch of the Seven Kingdoms.

----------flashback: the Red Keep----------------

"(y/n)?" you hear Rhaenyra speak to you. You were educating her on the kingdoms across the Continent, and this was the moment you felt your stomach turn again.

You manage to shake it off once your heard the princess get your attention, "Oh, forgive me, princess," you tell her, "I uh, I was feeling nauseated, but I'm alright now. Where were we?"

"I believe we were discussing Redania," Rhaenyra answers.

"Oh right, Redania," you say, pointing to the map, "The eagle in a sea of red and gold. The current ruling monarch of that kingdom is Vizimir, but if a match was to be made, you would probably be betrothed to his brother, Prince Radovid." "Does he have a court mage?" the princess asks. "Ah, Phillipa Eilhart," you say, "from what I've heard, she specializes in polymorphism magic." Rhaenyra gave you a confused look, "she can shift her appearance," you explain, "like animals."

"Fascinating," the princess says, looking at the map again, "what about Cintra? Any prospects there?" "You really want to consider Cintra as a prospect?" you snort, "or would you see this as an opportunity to meet the Lioness herself?"

"...perhaps," Rhaenyra admits, averting her gaze, "She sounds like a woman to admire. She's fought in battles and wears armor like a man would. Much like the wives of my forebear Aegon the Conqueror."

"Well, Queen Calanthe I don't imagine would be looking for any matches right now," you admit, "it took years for her to marry off her own daughter and many more to say yes to her current husband from Skellige. Besides she doesn't have any sons. The Princess Pavetta died in a tragic accident years ago. The Queen is survived by her granddaughter, Princess Cirilla."

"Cirilla," Rhaenyra repeats, "A beautiful name."

"Yes, I suppose it-" you feel your stomach turn again. "Are you alright?" Rhaenyra asks with concern.

"Yeah," you say, standing, bending over a bit, "Excuse me, princess."

You rush over to the open window and hurl the contents of your stomach once more.

"Are you unwell, (y/n)?" Rhaenyra rushes over to pull your hair back as you hurl again, "If I recall, this is what got you in trouble yesterday."

You recall back to yesterday when you got sick. Then you think back to how long this sickness has been going on. It's been on and off for the last several weeks...now that you think about this had been going on for nearly two months, since the day Daemon left and Rhaenyra was named new heir to the Iron Throne.

"Perhaps I am not," you admit, wiping your mouth. Rhaenyra goes to pour some tea so as to help you rinse your mouth, "I don't feel well, now that I think about it." "You should go back to your quarters then to get some rest," the princess suggests. "I'll be fine," you assure. "No," Rhaenyra insists, "I won't have my personal bard fall over on me when she clearly needs rest. I'm ordering you to return to your quarters and do so. You're dismissed, (y/n)."

You see the serious look on Rhaenyra's face, "As you wish princess," you nod.

You go back to your room and put your lute on the table and lay on the bed. You look to the side and see the cloth you had placed out in case your monthly moon's blood was to start. You had been expecting it to start any day now, but you were still waiting.

Now that you think about it even more, it was like this last month; you had been waiting, but your moon's blood never came.

You haven't bled for nearly two months and you've been getting sick on and off for nearly that same length of time.

You sit up, your eyes widen as you consider the possibility. You instinctively place a hand to your stomach, it suddenly feeling fuller then it had been before. It was the same area Caraxes had placed his snout the day Daemon left, the day you broke away from him.

No, you shake your head in denial, this wasn't possible. You'd been drinking the moon tea the servants brought every other night or so during your little dalliance.

Well, maybe you weren't always diligent as you may have had a few cups of wine before those times and may have forgotten as a result....

Either that, or Daemon's seed is just as stubborn as he is.

You go to your wardrobe, where you find the sack of gold coins you keep hidden, and pull out a few. You were going to need to find a maester or a physician to confirm what you were suspecting...and you were going to need them to be discrete. Hence the reason why you take out a few more extra gold coins. 

-----------end of flashback-------------------------------------

The following morning, you stir a bit and stretch, keeping your eyes closed.

You feel Geralt wrap an arm around you, pulling you into him. You could also feel something else going on between his legs. You grind against him, teasing him further when you reach back to grab him and work his already hardening length.

Geralt grunted in response, you unable to suppress a giggle. He then coaxes you to lay on your belly. He kisses your shoulder as he slowly teases your entrance. You groan out impatiently, pressing your ass against him, hoping he'll get the picture and take you.

He sneaks a hand between your legs, rubbing circles like he did last night. You were a moaning mess by the time he pulled his fingers away and slowly slid into you, ravaging you from behind.

It was slow and lazy, just the perfect way to start the day, you think to yourself.

You were about to finish, when Geralt suddenly stops. "Geralt!" you whine, but he shushes you.

A few moments later, a knock was heard at the door.

"Oi, Geralt," you hear Lambert's voice, "some fucking nonce with a lute just arrived at the keep, he says he knows you. (y/n) too."

You groan a little, knowing who it was, "of course," you mutter, "leave it to my brother to spoil some morning fun."

Geralt kissed your shoulder again, "can you keep him occupied for a little while longer?" the man asks.

"We've been keeping him busy for the last hour or so," Lambert exasperates, "he's starting to get even on Eskel's nerves right now. Don't expect any of us to keep at it just the two of you can spend the morning getting your fucking leg over!"

You feel your face blush from that statement. You groan, hiding your face in the pillow. "Well be there shortly," Geralt says, getting up from the bed.

You weren't done yet, though. You sit up, sticking your hand between your legs. "What are you doing?" Geralt asks, chuckling a bit as he gets his trousers on. "I'm not about to let my idiot of a brother with poor timing stop me from getting what I want," you say with determination, working yourself, "I had every intention to get off, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

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

While you and Geralt were getting ready, Jaskier had been busy figuratively chewing off the witchers' ears off with random things.

There had never been a more collective sigh of relief from the wolves when you walked in fully clothed.

You were still a little miffed that your brother had ruined your morning fun, but were still happy nonetheless to see him.

"Hey," you rush over to give Jaskier a big hug. "(y/n), it's so good to see you again," Jaskier says, looking down, "and no baby in the belly this time. I assume my niece or nephew managed to come out alright."

"Your niece is doing just fine, sweet brother." "You have a daughter, congratulations," Jaskier smiles in joy, "where is the little tyke? I'm sure she's dying to meet her Uncle Jaskier." "Well she's only a few months old, so maybe not," you admit, "But I'll go get her."

You run past Geralt, whom you noticed was hiding a little around the corner. You had some idea as to why. He and the Bard hadn't exactly spoken since that time on the mountain, when Geralt basically told your brother to fuck off.

"You know you won't be able to hide from you forever," you point out. "I'm not hiding," Geralt scoffs. "Really? Looks like hiding to me," you smirk, "come on, Geralt, I've never taken you for the cowardly type, you've been more one to face your problems head on."

"Hmm," Geralt groans a little. "Just talk to him," you insist, "I'm sure he'll be forgiving. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get Aemma up so she can meet her uncle."

You walk down to where Aemma's crib was located.

To your surprise, you see Ciri by the crib with a strange look on her face. She seemed to be staring at your daughter, but her eyes looked blank, like she was really staring off into space.

"Ciri?" You get her attention back to reality.

"Oh, uh, good morning," she says, shaking her head and getting back on her feet. "Is everything, alright, sweetie?" you ask her as you go to get Aemma from her crib. "Yeah, I'm fine," she assures, "I uh, I just...never mind. I had some trouble sleeping last night."

"Was it a bad dream?" you ask her. "I...don't know," she admits.

Ciri didn't say anything to you, but she was still thinking back to last night when she had that vision. She saw a giant, slender red dragon flying in the sky, and she was pretty sure she saw a man in armor with a dragonesque helmet astride the dragon.

The young girl didn't know what this meant, but looking at Aemma in your arms, she had a feeling the two of you were somehow involved.

Ciri placed her hand on Aemma's back, which took you by surprise, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you," she whispers to your daughter.

You frowned in confusion by this girl's small declaration but shrug it off as you and her take Aemma to the main hall of the keep.

Chapter 9

Masterlist

[poledancingdinos]

A Very Merry Unbirthday

Pairing: Captain Syverson X OFC

Word Count: 1179

Warnings: Fluff

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25

A/N: Another one from the forgotten WIP file

Masterlist

At oh-five-hundred on the dot, Sy’s eyes cracked open to find sunny rays beginning to light up the bedroom. It was Saturday and he had no obligation to be up so damn early but it seemed that his body had yet to register that he was now a civilian. Instead of staying in bed a while longer like he normally would have, he slowly slipped out from between the sheets and gathered some fresh clothes before exiting the room.

He showered and shaved then went downstairs to get the plastic shopping bags out from the under seat storage at the back of his truck. He’d hidden the contents there, knowing that if he were caught with them in the house, his girlfriend would have his hide.

You wouldn’t think that wrapping paper and ribbon would be the worst kind of contraband he could sneak into his home but it was something she felt very strongly about.

After retrieving the scissors from the kitchen and letting Aika out in the yard, Sy sat in the den and began meticulously wrapping the small box. He marked and folded each side of the paper, ensuring the edges were crisp and neat before placing the box in the center and taping everything in place.

Finally, he pulled out the card he’d had printed specifically for the occasion. He’d been agonizing all week over what he wanted to say and what words to use. He wasn’t very good at sharing his thoughts or emotions, being more of a “show don’t tell” type of guy, but the woman sound asleep upstairs deserved that he at least make an attempt.

By the time he’d finished it was only a little past six. He still had at least two more hours to kill so he made a pot of coffee and kept himself busy by cleaning the kitchen, living room and dining room before setting the table and heading out the door.

It was a quick drive to his chosen restaurant where he placed an order to go. The enticing smells perfuming the place made his stomach rumble, reminding that he’d forgone breakfast in order to eat with his girlfriend once she woke up. Luckily, the restaurant was mostly empty still and the hostess quickly returned with two full bags of food.

Now came the hard part: waking his girlfriend without getting too many pillows thrown at his head.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and his sleeping beauty stirred. He knelt by the bed, pecking her nose and cheeks.

“Mornin’ Sugar.”

She hummed but didn’t open her eyes as she sought his lips for a deep, slow kiss.

“Hey handsome.”

“Happy—”

Her eyes darted open and she gave him a stern frown. “If you know what's good for you, you will not finish that sentence.”

Sy chuckled, giving her another peck between her tightly knit eyebrows.

“Come on…,” he coaxed. “Birthday girls get coffee and food from the good breakfast place.”

He’d hoped the promise of her favorite food would pull her from the bed and he’d been right. She pouted comically as she stood, wearing only underwear and one of his old shirts. Sy watched shamelessly as she walked to the dresser to retrieve a pair of soft fleece shorts, pulling them up her legs.

He followed her down to the dinning room where their breakfast awaited. Though she continued to pout out of principal, the little satisfied sounds she made as she ate let Sy know that she was very much enjoying her surprise breakfast.

When they both finished their meals, Sy cleared the plates and replaced hers with the card he’d prepared.

“Sy…” she warned.

He pulled her chair closer to his and placed his arm around her shoulders.

“I just want to celebrate my woman and know she's as happy as she makes me.”

“Happy would be no special attention,” she argued, leaning into his side.

“What are ya gonna do when it’s our kids wakin’ ya up first thing in the mornin’ by jumpin’ up and down on the bed and screamin’ that it’s their birthday?”

“Our kids?” she repeated, pursing her lips as she pretended not to smile. Sy only shrugged, like it was no big deal that he’d just assumed with so much certainty the two of them would have kids one day .

She focused her attention on opening the card, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered at the thought of her and Sy trying for a baby.

“A very merry unbirthday to you. Yes, you,” she read aloud. She turned the front of the card towards Sy, pointing at the image from the movie Alice in Wonderland. “Okay, I have to admit that’s pretty funny.” She opened the card, reading the inscription.

After a few seconds, she looked up at Sy. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe this’ll help.” He placed a box on the table which his girlfriend hadn’t even noticed was on his lap.

“Sy…”

“Open it.”

Her eyes flickered between Sy and the box as she reached out and gently peeled back the clear tape until she revealed the black velvet box. She slipped the cardboard sleeve off and slowly lifted the cover.

“Sy…” She didn’t know what else to say. Well, “yes” might be an appropriate response but he hadn't actually asked a question yet.

“I know ya hate birthdays but this is the first time I’m not overseas on the day of… I hope you’ll forgive me, I just wanted to make it special this one time to celebrate the amazin’ woman I’m hopin’ will be my wife.”

If you say one word, I will promise you a lifetime of very merry unbirthdays, the card read.

“So,” Sy continued, taking the ring from the box and getting down on one knee. “Sugar, you are the light of my life. I love you and all your quirks, even if it means I don't get to spoil you on this one day of the year. I am incredibly grateful to wake up by your side every day and I never want that to change. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she quickly answered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. “Of course I will, yes!”

Sy couldn't hold back his smile at her answer, nor did he want to. He ran his thumb tenderly over her knuckles as he took hold of her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. When it fit almost to perfection, he made a mental note to thank his future brother-in-law for the insider tip.

She let herself be pulled onto Sy’s lap, cupping his face as she locked her lips with his.

“Thank you for waitin’, Sugar. I know I put you through Hell these last few years. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

She shook her head, her nose brushing against his as she remained wrapped in his embrace. “I don’t need you to make up for anything. Having you here now is all I need.”

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.12

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC: 1109

Warnings: smut

The next morning, she approached Sy's room door, a mug of coffee in her hand. Easing it open, she peered through the gloom until she saw him still sprawled in bed on his back, his sheets to his hips with an arm over his eyes. Given how low his sheets were, she pretty much guessed he liked to sleep in the nude.

“Sy?” She asked and he hummed at her, but didn't otherwise respond. “I brought you coffee.” He just hummed again and she went to the bed, setting the mug down on the bedside table and sitting down sideways, the mattress dipping under her weight. “I made pancakes and there's still a bunch left, but the way Walter was digging into them, I'd hurry up if you wanted any.”

“M'good.” He mumbled and rubbing at his face and beard as his arm dropped from his eyes, blinking heavily with sigh.

“You'd think a former Army Captain would be a morning person.”

“I was a mornin' person when I was in the Army because I didn't have a choice.” He said, “Now I got one.”

“Fair enough.” She said with a soft chuckle.

“Mikey already up?” Sy asked, “I usually gotta pull him out bed by his ankle or else the boy will sleep all day.”

“I got him up by ripping the blankets off him.” She said and he snorted, his eyes closed.

“That'll do it.” He said and she leaned over, laying her head on his chest.

“You're handsome.” She said and he chuckled.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, really handsome. Like, goddamn so handsome.” She said and he chuckled again, his hand laying on her hair. “I like your nose.”

“My nose?”

“You have a very nice nose.” She said, “It's strong, but in a good way, not in the way that people usually use the term to describe someone and they're trying to be polite.”

“Well, I'm glad you like my nose.” He said with a smile, “I like your...everythin'.”

“You're only saying that because I'm your Mate.”

“Babe, if I didn't, you wouldn't be my Mate.” Sy said, “It ain't just my wolf whose attention you grabbed. I hadta take notice too. You bein' my Mate was just the cherry on top. Like I told you, it's always gonna be you." Shifting up slightly, she kissed him, feeling his hand cradle the back of her head. “You taste like pancakes.” He pulled her back when she tried to pull away, taking her lips in a kiss of his own and her hand laid on his chest, nails moving through the layer of hair covering his skin. The feeling of fur made her shiver and she slid her hand down to his stomach, his breath catching as he broke the kiss. “Close the door.” He let her get up and she went over to the door, closing it and heading back to the bed, his eyes on her as she pulled her shirt over her head and pushed her shorts down her legs, stepping out of them.

Sitting on the bed again, her hand slid under the sheet, her fingers wrapping around him and starting to stroke slowly. He quickly grew hard, filling her palm and he shuddered, his head falling back against the pillows.

“You're so big.” She whispered, moving up to press her lips to his neck and he swallowed heavily, his hips twitching up into her hand.

“Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me.”

“I can guess.” She said and nipped at his skin with her teeth, squeezing him gently and driving a gasp from his lips.

“Need you.” He said, “Fuck I need you.” He pulled her up into a kiss, wrapping his hands around her waist and turning them over so he was above her. “I need my Mate.”

“Yes Sy.” She sighed as his fingers delved between her legs, two pushing inside her and starting to pump lazily as his thumb worked at her clit.

“So warm, baby, so soft.” He whispered, his lips moving over her neck, “Gettin' so wet for me.” Her body responded to him so easily, so quickly, just like it did with the others, far quicker than any man she's been with before she met them. She didn't know if it was because they were all sinfully good looking, or if it was because they were her Mates, but right now, as Sy aligned himself, she didn't care.

“Fuck!” She gasped as he started pushing into her and he paused.

“M'I hurtin' ya?”

“No!” She said, “It feels good, it feels so good.” He resumed easing into her, a groan shaking his chest as she took him. His soft grunts against her neck as he moved made her cling to him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck, Steph.” He growled and she heard fabric tear but paid it no mind. Gathering her in his arms, he rolled them so she was above him and she sat up on his hips, moving against him as he rocked up into her. His nails were sharp claws as she entwined their fingers, pushing against him as she rode him. She didn't even hear the door, didn't even know someone had come into the room until gentle fingers turned her jaw, soft lips taking hers in a kiss.

“He taking care of you, love?” Walter asked and she nodded.

“Join in or fuck off.” Sy growled and there was a pause before Walter gave a snort, pulling off his clothes and kneeling on the bed behind her, Sy making room for him.

“Lean back.” He whispered in her ear and she leaned back against his chest. Her eyes closed as she felt his fingers between her legs, circling her clit as Sy continued to move inside her.

“Almost—almost—” She came with a cry, pushing down flush against him as she pulsed around him.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, taking his hands from hers to hold her hips, pumping up into her a few more times before he released with a snarl. “Shit.” He said breathing heavily, his hands running up and down her thighs. “You never heard of knockin'?”

“I did.” Walter said with a snort, “A few times.”

“She's fuckin' perfect, Walt.” He said, relaxing against the bed and her hands smoothed over his sides.

“I hope you can go again, love.” Walter said against her ear, his hands sliding over her stomach. “Because now it's my turn.”

“You guys are going to kill me.” She said, “Death by orgasm.” They both just gave low chuckles, the promise in the sounds making her lower stomach clench.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 3

Jaskier had been out picking up a set of guitar stings, when he'd gotten Yennefer's text.

Yennefer: Hey, t*sser, we're out of snacks. Can you pick some up? *short list of snacks*

Jaskier: Whatever, sk*nk. I'll stop and get some when I'm done.

Yennefer: thanks, and f**k you

Jaskier: f**k you, too

He stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and was just finishig up grabbing the last thing on the list when he glanced up, and something in the toy aisle caught his eye. Oh, those were so f***ing cool!

He bought two because he knew Geralt would want one.

Geralt did, indeed want one. He'd been non-plused at first, when Jaskier had said excitedly, "Check out this dinosaur mask!" after bursting into his room.

He'd been expecting one of those nightmare fuel character masks that had been popular in the 80's when Samhain rolled round. Those awful plastic masks with the eye holes you could barely see out of, the mouth slit you would always cut your tongue on, and no breathing holes.

He was about to say "No thanks, I'll pass.", when Jaskier pulled out the coolest mask he'd ever seen. It was not the flat plastic masks from the 80's. Geralt stared in awe as the jaws opened and closed as Jaskier talked to him. It looked so real! When had kid's toys gotten so d*mn detailed?

"Yes, I got you one too!" Jaskier said in answer to the hopeful look in Geralt's eyes. "All they had were velociraptor masks, so I got one of each color! You want the gray one, or the red one?"

Geralt took the red one, and moments later, he was quietly teaching Jaskier how to move like a velociraptor. Jaskier was impressed with Geralt's acting ability. He wondered if the Witcher had ever considered being a monster motion capture actor.

When they were finished perfecting their moves, they stalked out the door and, in character, went off to f**k with Yennefer.

Yennefer was sleeping when she slowly became aware that she was being watched. She jolted awake to see two monstrous figures leaning over her. One of them, the gray one, opened it's mouth slightly in the parody of a grin. The red one started roaring, mouth gaping open.

Yennefer: *screaming*

Veloceraptors: *dinosaur noises*

"You jacka**es!" Yennefer shouted, realizing it was just Geralt and Jaskier.

Geralt was too busy laughing at the way Jaskier had 'grinned' to dodge the pillow Yennefer hurled at him. He wondered if Jaskier had known what he was doing, or if it had been entirely by accident.

They ran off down the hallway, making dinosaur noises, and hid in Geralt's room for a while. They came out a little while later, still wearing the masks, and proceeded to run around the house, hissing and making noises at each other.

They kept ambushing Yennefer, jumping out at her from around a corner or doorway, or stalking her around the house.

She was glad when they went off to the kitchen for snacks. It would keep them out of her f***ing hair for a few minutes.

She shook her head as they came running out, each with a bag of jerky in their mouths. Yennefer questioned some of her life choices as she watched Jaskier and Geralt shake the bags in their mouths, hissing and growling.

She signed silently as they crouched on the ground and started eating their jerky, awkwardly shoving their hands through the masks' mouths to reach their own mouths.

She left them to it and went to complain to Wee Roach and Pegasus.

Yennefer mostly ignored them as they followed her around the house afterwards, pretending to be her guard dinosuars. She made the mistake of playing along, giving them commands and pretending to send them on little missions.

She threw the squeaky ball they used to distract Geralt when he was angry (or ignoring their 'Pspsps'), and laughed as Jaskier ran after if, then brought it back to her.

The second time she threw it, Jaskier ran back with it, jumping and tackling her. Jaskier had made a few velociraptor noises, then 'bit' her boob.

Yennefer had gasped in indignation, and then the wrestling match had started. It ended with Yennefer getting him in a leg choke and Jaskier breaking character and screaming for Geralt to help him.

Geralt had been laughing too hard to do a d*mn thing. Every time Jaskier screamed, the dinosaur mouth gaped open, and very time Jaskier babbled for Geralt to do something, the dinosaur mouth flapped frantically. It was sending him.

Jaskier: Geralt, Geralt, help, I'm going to pass out!

Jaskier: Yen, please...I'm...ooh, I'm begining to feel...light-headed.

Geralt: Yennefer, enough. He's f***ing turning red.

Jaskier: *slow blink* B*tch...can ye le' go...

Geralt: Yen, let him go already.

Yennefer: Fine. *lets go* Well, w*nker, at least we know you don't have a choking kink!

Geralt had prudently dragged Jaskier away before he said something that would result in his unaliving. They decided to play by themselves so Yennefer wouldn't end up yelling at them or turning them into something.

The delivery man who came to deliver Geralt's package had been startled when the door had opened and he was greeted by two men in dinosaur masks. Yennefer thought she was going to end up calling the company and apologizing, but she was surprised (and slighly annoyed) when the driver complimented them on their masks, and played along.

The next thing Yennefer knew, Geralt, Jaskier, and the driver were all out in the front yard, posing and taking pictures. The driver had had no trouble convincing both of them to chase his truck down the driveway as he left so he could video it and post it on his tiktok.

And of course, the neighbors had been outside to witness Yennefer chasing them back inside with a broom.

Dinner had been eaten with masks on, at the Dipsh*t Table. Yennefer had banished Geralt and Jaskier from the Grown Ups Table after they refused to take the masks off. They sat at the little table, giggling and trying to stay in character as they took turns snapping photos of each other eating.

Yennefer later heard snorts and giggles from behind the closed bathroom door, and just kept walking. Best just to mind her own business. Whatever they were doing, they were probably wearing their masks while doing it.

Yennefer ended up going to her room to read. She couldn't really concentrate with Geralt and Jaskier's phones going off every few seconds, and their muffled gigging as they showed each other the text messages from Geralt's brothers and social media comments for whatever idiotic thing they had been doing in the bathroom and posted pictures and videos of.

Yennefer finally gave up and went to sleep, hoping that tomorrow would be more normal. She knew it wouldn't. Her boys were idiots, but she could hope!

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

@ladynearthelake DKWOT6 is the next in the Don't know where's out there series, where Yennefer is Jaskier's date to Essi and Shani's week-long destination wedding, the wedding planner turns out to be a succubus, and bodies start popping up. And when they're not dealing with a murder mystery, there's lots of pining.

A snippet:

“What happened to the other bed?” He sounds slightly strangled. Yennefer looks around the room pointedly. “There isn’t one.” Jaskier splutters. “But I called and changed my reservation after Sam and I broke up! We were supposed to get one of the bungalows with twin beds.” He looks around helplessly, like he expects a second bed to materialize. “Okay, it’s fine. Totally fine. The couch is perfectly comfortable.” Gods, people are so precious about sharing beds in this century. He wouldn’t have survived in the thirteenth century. “You’re too tall to sleep on the couch. This bed is plenty big for two.” “I don’t know. I’ve been told I cling like a barnacle.” Yennefer rolls her eyes. “A few hundred years ago, if you stayed at an inn, you were probably going to wake up with a stranger’s armpit in your face.” Jaskier sniffs himself in what he surely thinks is a surreptitious fashion. She probably shouldn’t feel as fond as she does right now. “I won’t besmirch what’s left of your virtue, Jaskier, and Geralt isn’t going to duel you for my honor.” “But will he duel you for my honor?” Yennefer throws a pillow at him. “Just get ready for bed. I refuse to listen to you bitch about your sore back for the rest of the week and if I’m going to smile and make nice, I need to be well-rested.” He doesn’t look convinced, but he affects a bow. “Awfully eager to get me into bed, aren’t we, Yennefer?” There’s a squeak in his voice. She lets out a single, dry bark of laughter. “Lice and bedbugs also used to be commonplace in inns. You’re far from the most unpleasant thing I’ve shared a bed with.”

WIP Ask Games

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 25

Random choice for today was Geraskifer and the AU the generator picked for me was... canon. This obviously isn't really canon, but it's not TOO far off. Do I want to tell you all the time I spent poking around in various Witcher wikis and fandom sites trying to figure out their winter holiday traditions? I do not. Let's just say it was probably more than a 600-word ficlet really warranted. So just have some sneaky clever Jaskier and a Ciri who's enjoying her second childhood to the fullest.

Dec 25 - Geraskifer - Canon - Stocking

Ciri’s shriek jerked Geralt out of a sound sleep. He snatched up his sword even as he leapt out of the bed. “Ciri!”

Yenn pulled a silver dagger from under her pillow as she stood, heedless of her nakedness. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched in determination.

The door burst open. Geralt’s shoulder ached as he recognized Ciri and halted his instinctive attack.

“Come on!” she demanded, and she didn’t look frightened or even worried. She looked... Excited and happy.

Geralt lowered his sword with a heavy sigh of relief. “Fuck. Don’t--”

“Come on!” Ciri repeated, practically dancing on her toes. “It’s Midwinter! We have to open our stockings!”

Geralt twisted to look at Yenn. He hadn’t thought about the Midwinter celebration at all. He certainly hadn’t gotten gifts to hide in anyone’s stockings.

Yenn’s violet eyes were wide as they met his, and she gave him the tiniest of head shakes. She hadn’t gotten anything either.

“Come on!” Ciri urged. “Father Winter came!”

“All right, give us a minute, we’ll be there,” Yenn said. When Ciri had danced back out of the room, they both sagged. 

“I forgot about Midwinter,” Geralt murmured as he picked up his shirt.

“Me too,” Yenn admitted as she pulled on her dress. “What are we going to do?”

“She’s nineteen,” Geralt grumbled. “You’d think she was six, with all the yelling.”

They finished dressing and went out to the little cottage’s common room and stopped, staring in amazement.

There was a roaring fire on the hearth. The copper kettle was hanging on its hook, bubbling gently and smelling of wine and spices. Laid carefully beside the hearth were three bulging stockings. No Yule tree had appeared, but there was an evergreen wreath on the table, bright with berries and apples.

“What--” Geralt wondered, but was cut off when Ciri shoved his stocking at him.

“I told you, Father Winter came!” She grinned and kissed his cheek. “Happy Midwinter.”

“Happy Midwinter,” Geralt repeated, still half-stunned, and looked down at his stocking. It appeared to be filled with fruit and candy and nuts. He emptied it onto the table, item by item.

“Did Ciri do all this?” Yenn whispered as she emptied her own stocking, next to him.

“She must have,” Geralt said. “The house is warded, no one should be able to--”

The door opened with a flurry of snow, revealing Jaskier, his lute and his pack both covered by a thick, fur-lined cloak. “I made it!” he exclaimed. “I thought this storm was going to make me miss Midwinter.”

“Jaskier!” Ciri yelped, and dove forward, pulling the bard into the warmth before hugging him tightly. “You’re back!”

“I am,” Jaskier agreed. “I rode right through the night in the hopes of getting here in time for Midwinter.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. Jaskier didn’t look like he’d been riding through a storm for hours upon end. He barely looked chilled, and the flakes of snow in his hair were already melting.

Ciri released him to bounce over to the fire for a mug of wine to warm him. Jaskier swirled off his cloak with a flourish and came to greet Geralt with a kiss. “Geralt.” He eyed Yenn. “Witch.”

“Insufferable bard,” Yenn returned, though she leaned in to give Jaskier a kiss of her own, then lowered her voice. “Is all this your doing?”

“Of course it is,” he said. “You two are rubbish at anything that isn’t serious. I wasn’t going to trust you with Ciri’s first Midwinter with us. Radovid sends his greetings, by the way, and a large parcel for our feast.”

[winters-mistress]

It all starts so quick, that's perhaps why Geralt is so frustrated with himself that he didn't notice it earlier. He's a witcher, for fuck's sake, he can hear a butterfly's wing from miles away, so why didn't he notice this?

He, Jaskier, Yennefer and Ciri had left the safety of Kaer Morhen after the girl was recovered from her fever and fainting, post Voleth Meir attack. Perhaps he thought she was okay, that she was healed? He hadn't even considered the fragility of a human child when graced with the almighty power that his daughter possessed. In truth, his denial makes the hole in his chest only deeper as he looks at her. He should have noticed sooner, they'd been riding on not-Roach together for days, he should have noticed the warmth of her skin and the haze of her eyes long before she'd fainted into the same arms that used to keep her so tightly bared in when they would ride, eager to keep his daughter safe from that who would harm her.

How hadn't he realised that there were so many dangers that didn't include Mages, Kings, Nilfguaard and the Wild Hunt?

Because his daughter, who was so strong and brave, was laying limply at his side, covered by cloaks and blankets and whatever Yennefer could conjure, her skin deathly pale apart from the two large blotches of red upon her cheeks. She looks so small, a folded blanket underneath her head to make a pillow, buried underneath a mountain of rags in an effort to break the fever that was simultaneously impressive and deeply concerning.

He didn't know what to do. Nilfgaardian soldiers that wishes to take his child? Simple, kill them. Mages? Yennefer can handle them. Kings? Jaskier can charm them as well as any courtesan, but this? Geralt had never felt more helpless than he did now, watching her lay there, large drips of sweat trickling down the sides of her neck. He listens to the wheeze of her breath, comforted by the confirmation that she's still here, still okay. That she's still with him, after all they went through.

The air is cold, because of course it is. It's January, they're in the North, inches of snow burry the four of them in, circled in a camp that Yennefer had cleared when they'd realised that the girl was unwell. Geralt can see the breath in front of his face, leaning back against the tree that mirrors his spine, glancing at his girl once again, before passing a glance at Yennefer and Jask.

The bard is sleeping loudly, snores echoing in the small orb of protection that Yennefer casts every morning. Are they invisible? Do any passers by see themselves, or just an echo of the woods.

Geralt had Axii'd the bard into sleep. He was exhausted, but worried enough to fight it with his worry of the girl he had grown fond of in their brief time in the witcher keep. The white haired witcher is a warrior, born and bread, and has the capability of staying awake for days at a time. The bard, as human as he was, was not, and all it took was a quick cast until the bard snored happily.

Yennefer is a different equation all together. The first few days, post betrayal, Geralt hadn't let ciri out of his sight, too worried that she would be taken away again. It's been almost three weeks, and Geralt still cannot find peace in sleep with Yennefer so close to his child. And now, with Cirilla being as vulnerable as she is, the last thing on Geralt's mind is to take rest. He had never felt a purpose like this, to protect his child with everything within him. The only time he had let her slip to being second in his heart, Yennefer had taken her away and was only stopped causing the girl's death by the girl herself. He would never make that mistake again. Asleep, Yennefer may be. Yes, she may have had a hand in defeating the demon and freeing his girl. But never again will he let his guard down when the sorcerers is so close.

He has too many thoughts of the girl being dragged from his arms, the scent of lilac and gooseberries high in his nose.

No. Geralt decides, clenching his fist, the other hand laying protectively on Cirilla's stomach, feeling it rise and fall. He will never let her be take from him again.

The girl's breathing changes suddenly, shuddering and stuttering like it does when she's trapped within the depths of her own mind, of the horrors she'd endured since the slaughter of her homeland. Her head moves to the side, sounds falling from her throat even in unconsciousness.

Geralt's full attention snaps to her, he shifts foreward to be on his knees next to her, the backs of his fingers sliding down her cheeks, accompanying the tears that fall.

Too hot. Still far too hot.

Her heat can rival his own, and it feels like a fist in his gut.

"Cirilla." his voice is gruff from lack of use, deep and raspy, while her own is choked and throaty, speaking of thirst and congestion. "Cirilla, I am here. Do not be afraid, little one."

Slowly, the girls jerking limbs cease movement, and she settles in her makeshift bed of rags and moss and bark. So much less than what she deserves.

Her breathing changes again, and she looks towards him, eyes still closed.

"Cub?" He asks, licking his lips. "Pup?"

Her breathing is shaky, her heartbeat slightly quicker. And much to his relief, she opens her eyes.

"Ciri," Geralt breathes. Thank Melitele. She's here, she's safe, she's with him still. A hand slides to her cheek, the other laying on her ribs.

Ciri says nothing for a moment, looking around at the dark woodlands, before she looks at him again.

"Gr'alt" she whispers. He smiles, relief flooding through him.

He knows, he should get Yennefer, wake her so she can whisper spells to heal the child, wake Jask so he can sleep without worry or magical influence, but he cannot bring himself to remove himself from her just yet.

"Ciri," he smiles. "Sweet girl, we've been worried."

Ciri says nothing, only shifts to sit up. He helps, a hand supporting her back, the other supporting the weight of her front.

She slumps against him, exhausted from sickness. Her head falls to her neck, and he presses a kiss to her sweaty hair.

"Gr'alt" she whispers again, tilting her face to meet her own.

"I'm here, sweet girl. I'm here." Geralt says, pressing his waterskin to her lips so she may drink the cold water.

Ciri does so with eagerness, although her sips are small, no doubt due to a sore throat.

She slumps against him again when she's done, a hand finding his.

It's a strange impulse he has, to kiss her fingers, but he does it anyway, because it must bring her some sort of comfort, right? People like that sort of thing.

"It's alright, pup. We'll get you feeling better soon" he says, pressing his hand to her brow once again. Too hot and clammy, but he can fix that with willowbark and lavender.

Ciri opens her mouth to speak, but her eyes flutter shut before she can.

"It's okay, Ciri. Just sleep, you must rest." He says, laying her back down in her nest.

Before he can turn to get her another wet rag for her brow, the witcher feels her hand at his wrist. Small, with the start of callouses from the blade training.

He looks at her, earnest.

"Papa." she whispers. "'nk you" she mumbled, before falling into sleep once again, her grip on his wrist going slack.

Now, Geralt's chest feels like it's going to explode for a different reason.

[lambden]

for the spotify wrapped meme: no 69 for Geraskier or any ship of your choice? listen i just had to go there

unfortunately (luckily??) for you, darling anon, my sixty-ninth song of the year is an anthem for returning to a relationship that has hurt you and falling back in love with them >:3

M, 2.6K words, infidelity (yenralt lol) and some mentions of alcoholism (jaskier lol)

Jaskier, despite his best efforts, is only human. The chattering of his teeth is not something easy to hide, especially not when his travelling companion and only company for months is laying only a few feet away. Jaskier could perhaps mistake his repose for sleep if not for the nearly constant hitching of his breath. The witcher inhales, long and deep, into lungs magically crafted to breathe better and slower than humans. Jaskier shivers, curling and uncurling his toes and rubbing his bony calves together for warmth. The witcher’s breath catches in his system, throat and lungs and chest and body still. Jaskier exhales, a small puff of white air against the clear, dark night. The witcher exhales, two seconds too late— deep, and false, and unless Jaskier is reading the signs wrong, definitely annoyed.

The cold would be easier to stand if he could just fall asleep; surely in the night his unconscious body would find some miraculous and impossible way to retain heat that his conscious self lacks the muscle memory for.

If he falls asleep, the witcher that he met will leave him. Jaskier grinds his chattering teeth together, and closes his eyes tightly, and buckles himself in for a long night of shivering.

Across the campsite, the witcher inhales. Before Jaskier catches his exhale, the edge of his thin blanket behind him rises up into the air, cruelly exposing his already cold back to the night air. Jaskier gasps, then gasps louder as a furnace presses against him. The witcher had moved towards him in stony silence, and he does not speak now either. His legs press into the back of Jaskier’s, thick knees finding the hollows and thick, warm thighs offering support for his frozen ones. His arm wraps around Jaskier’s chest, finding purchase on the breast pocket of his thin jacket and holding on as if he’s likely to blow away. His other arm winds under Jaskier’s neck like a heated pillow for him to rest his head on, and the blanket falls over them both.

“Thank you,” Jaskier shudders, the two syllables disintegrating into many in his cold mouth. He continues anyway. “Thank you, Geralt.”

The witcher makes a grunt like an animal. An animal would not have thought to share its warmth. Jaskier snuggles back into the witcher, and Geralt’s grip around him only tightens. He begins to thaw.

-

“We would save coin if we shared a bed,” says the witcher. His hair is dishevelled from the hunt, hanging loose and dirty around his pale face. He’ll need to bathe for at least half an hour to scrub off all the guts that thankfully only belong to monsters, and then he’ll probably dawdle for another hour in the bath because he enjoys it more than most things.

Jaskier has a twinge in his back that threatens to cause serious damage if not dealt with in the next day, and the last thing he wants is to spend the night bathing and then fucking his witcher. He never enjoys the baths afterwards as much as the ones before, even if it is nice when Geralt waves his fingers below the surface of the gauzy, soapy water to cast his magic fire spell. He just needs a good seven hours of uninterrupted rest.

Those eager, golden eyes fall on him. Jaskier inhales, and Geralt’s nostrils flutter too as if he’s breathing in deep to catch the scent of his bard. Which, really, he is. Jaskier gives in— he is, after all, only human. “You’re taking the bottom bunk, then.”

The witcher laughs, loud and unencumbered. He would never have laughed like that when they first met. Jaskier takes this kernel of information and shoves it deep, deep down inside his heart, like a dragon hoarding something very special to admire later. Then the witcher reaches down to fumble for his coinpurse, and in the process accidentally-except-actually-very-on-purpose fumbles around Jaskier’s trousers.

They never even make it to the inn. Jaskier, despite how his body aches the next day, swears it’s one of the best nights of his life.

-

The flaps on his tent flutter— not in the evening breeze rolling down from the peaks of Caingorn, but from someone trying to drunkenly find the ties holding them together. Jaskier stares across the tent, letting whoever it is struggle. He’s already halfway through a bottle of vintage Toussaint white, and the sourness is beginning to give way to sweetness with each new sip. He can’t even remember why he was angry enough to drink himself into a stupor.

With a triumphant exhale, the witcher unties the opening to Jaskier’s tent, and slides inside without asking. Oh, right. There’s his anger. 

Jaskier doesn’t shy away from Geralt’s questing gaze— he’s drunk too, although he’s had a considerably less enjoyable night. He doesn’t try to summon any composure or lessen his glare, not even as the witcher ties the tent closed again without asking. Not even as the witcher comes to kneel at the end of his bedroll, his hands splayed comfortably out on his thick thighs and his shoulders sitting low and relaxed. Not even as the scent of lilac and gooseberries hits his system— a scent more sour than the dry wine.

Neither of them speak. Barbs rise unbidden to Jaskier’s tongue, but he swallows each and every one of them. Should you be doing this drunk— hypocritical. I thought the dragon hunt was important to you— stupid. Astonishing that an infertile mutant still has enough stamina to fuck two of his lovers in one night— cruel, and bigoted. The dwarves will hear us, you know— as if either of them give a shit.

Geralt’s mouth is warm as ever, leaving a trail of wet marks along the side of his throat. If Jaskier closes his eyes, he can visualize them— like angry, beautiful bruises. Except Geralt doesn’t nip hard enough to bruise, even as Jaskier wishes he would. If Jaskier had everything he wished for, they wouldn’t have chased an insane sorceress up the side of a mountain. They’d be somewhere else. Somewhere coastal, maybe. Somewhere he and his witcher could stand in the surf together, and bruise each other so intimately that the marks never faded.

The witcher reaches between his legs, his aim true as ever. As Jaskier’s head lolls to the side to make more room for the man kissing his neck, he is surprised to find himself blinking back tears. Of course, nothing gets past his witcher; the kisses move up his chin, past his jaw, and onto his cheek. Jaskier laughs, somewhat hysterically. Geralt doesn’t stop kissing him until his lips are pressed right against his wet eyelid. There, he mutters into the salty skin, “Okay?”

“Of course,” Jaskier’s breath hitches. Then Geralt does that thing he really likes with his hand, and his breath leaves him entirely. “Oh— yes, of course, yes! I’m alright.”

“Alright,” echoes the witcher quietly. He kisses Jaskier’s forehead. It feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done. Jaskier steels himself not to hate the man he’s fallen in love with, and not to fuck up a good thing just because his heart sings for a better one.

In Geralt’s arms, Jaskier glows brighter than a candle in the dark summer night. In his lover’s hands he is made immortal.

-

At Bleobheris, Jaskier heals in a way he thought impossible. Old wounds close up; blisters on his heel from walking behind a horse for more than twenty years, and soft spots on his heart from walking behind the horse’s rider for the same amount of time.

New wounds open, ones that hurt much more. He learns of the oppression that he took part in by travelling the Continent and singing anti-Elven slander to anyone who would listen. He learns of more oppression than he could possibly imagine, and he stops thinking of his own life so seriously. He does not choose a higher calling; during the raid, it chooses him. The alias claims him. This new group of wandering souls— the oldest wandering souls— need him, in a way he has never been needed his whole life. When the great oak is raided and his friends and lovers and family are massacred, Jaskier resolves himself not to give in to survivor’s guilt. He knows he was left alive for a matter of utmost importance.

He forms new connections, a new underground community, and in doing so connects with countless others who need him. It is exhausting to have found his purpose. The exhaustion fuels his art; he doesn’t sing Toss A Coin no matter how many coins people offer to toss. His new songs are thinly disguised fuck-yous to monarchs, rallying the Continent against those who would tear it apart from the inside, and hope for a better future. People hate it. People love it. He’s never made any music like this before, and he’s never spent less time selfishly waffling over his own music, either— his nights are spent sleeplessly ferrying refugees to secret meet-up points, and learning new codes and languages spoken only by those in the know. He doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself.

He celebrates each victory with a bottle, and then one triumphant bottle becomes a bottle and a shot, and soon he’s racked up a tab at most taverns that will still let him play. No matter how far he distances himself from his old life, the last sip around the ring at the bottom of every bottle tastes like death, destiny, and heroics. And, of course, heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak.

The song comes to him after one especially lonely night. Jaskier would love to say he had been planning this song full of empty threats and hollow lies for years, spitefully scrawling lines into his journals between other fantastic romantic affairs. But the affairs would be as false as the rest of the story. He doesn’t write the song, it arrives written; he merely pours it onto the page. What for do you yearn? Good, poetic rhymes. Or at least they would be if he could sing them without his voice cracking.

He knows the song will hurt the witcher, should it ever travel far enough to reach his ears. He knows, too, although it turns his stomach once he’s sober, that songs hold enough power to do serious damage. But even though he convinces himself he’s forgotten the specifics of his decades-long infatuation with the witcher, he cannot, and will never, forget how the witcher made him feel.

Despite knowing it’s wrong, Jaskier plays the song for an eager and wide-eyed audience. Heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak. They lap it up. He burns. His voice cracks— he’s only human.

-

Threadbare both at the seams of his sleeves and the cavities of his heart, Jaskier wonders when he stopped feeling the cold. 

He should feel it here more than ever. None of the witchers have put any work into maintaining their drafty fucking fortress atop their frigid fucking mountain. That’s still a word that it’s hard to wrap his head around— not fortress, which he’d always known about, nor mountain, which he has more than enough experience with. Witchers. In the plural. A whole family of them, thicker than any family united by blood and hard-pressed to accept visitors.

Except they had accepted him, for some fucking reason. Bewilderingly, it was likely Yennefer’s doing. And also, he can hardly call them a ‘whole family’ after their school lost more than half its ranks to an insane power-hungry demon who possessed a little girl who looks just like a princess that Jaskier once played at court for.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel the cold; maybe his head is still spinning from the last few days. He had never expected to run into half these people again, and in fact has complicated relationships with more than a few of them, and those relationships have only grown more complicated since his arrival here. He supposes things will get easier soon as he descends the frigid fucking mountain and leaves the drafty fucking fortress far behind him. Maybe once he’s on proper flat ground he’ll be able to clear his head. He’ll have a drink without being worried a demon will kill everyone if he sleeps off a hangover, and he’ll light a fire without his burnt fingers shaking too badly to strike the match.

The real reason he has to leave is more selfish than any he could admit aloud. Even in this place he’s never been, there are too many memories— ones he swore to leave behind when he left his old life. He doesn’t want to see the spitting image of Pavetta bundled up in a wolf pelt, somehow also resembling her adoptive father. He has no desire to remember exactly how mad he used to get at Yennefer, and even less desire to rekindle their strange new friendship. He feels too raw and exposed and sober and vulnerable up here, as the memories dance on the edge of his consciousness.

No. Holes in his jacket or not, he’d better get going.

Hands actually on the lever to push open the courtyard gate, he moves to do so— and is blanketed from behind by a furnace. It takes Jaskier a moment to identify the witcher, and then another moment to identify the embrace as not exactly Geralt shoving him up against the gate, but. A hug. He’s… this is a hug. He’s being hugged, by Geralt.

“I need to go,” Jaskier mumbles, muffled, into the witcher’s broad shoulder. They’ve always been of a similar height; he isn’t sure why he remembered Geralt so much taller. He turns his head to speak more clearly, and he catches golden eyes already watching him intently. “Don’t,” warns Jaskier, even though the witcher hasn’t said a word.

“I need you to stay,” Geralt tells him, firmly but quietly. His tone leaves no room for an argument. Jaskier still reaches for that old familiar urge, for all the anger that brought him to write of burning his witcher. His witcher. He finds his pockets empty, and with no barbs to throw, he’s left speechless. A rare thing, for a bard. Rarer still, Geralt breaks the silence to speak again: “If you go, I’ll follow.”

“You’ll— well— you— you won’t just follow—”

“Yes. I will.”

“You have a child—”

“She can come.”

“I don’t— I mean, shouldn’t she stay? She just went through some severe trauma, and she’s supposed to be safe here—”

“She’s safe with me.”

“Right,” Jaskier huffs. Apparently he does have one barb left in him— he regrets it immediately. What happened to Ciri hadn’t been Geralt’s fault, much as what happened to the Wolves hadn’t really been Ciri’s. But he searches the witcher’s gaze for offence, and finds none. “Why would you need me to stay? Party’s over, isn’t it? Not that I was an integral part of the operation—”

As he’s done a hundred times before, Geralt kisses Jaskier quiet. It should, by rights, annoy him. But just like the previous hundred times, it delights him too much to play on his nerves. How could he be irritated as his heart sings?

Then Geralt breathes him in, deepening the kiss, and Jaskier realizes, oh. The witcher is kissing him, all these years later— after so much hurt between them both, and so many changes that neither one of them could call himself the same man, the witcher— his witcher is kissing him.

Jaskier kisses back. He’s only human.

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Rating: G

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier, Yennefer/Jaskier, Jaskier & Ciri

Prompt: Three times where Jaskier helps his family through a troublesome night, and one where they help him.

He’s normally one to sleep through the night. As soon as his head was set against the feather and down pillows, and wrapped around in freshly washed and comfortable sheets, Jaskier was gone. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. Then again, he doubts that anyone would have that sort of memory. 

But he wakes all the same, blinking and frowning at the dark still left in the room. The hearth across from his side of the bed is nothing more than a bed of embers, still glowing and warm, but not enough to offer any sort of light. The two windows to the room aren’t covered with shutters or drapes like other taverns. Moonlight stretching in through the glass shows him the edges of the hearth and the cabinets lining the walls. Their saddlebags are still by the door, with Geralt’s sheathed swords set against the foot of the bed should they ever be needed—

And he hears it. 

A small inhale of breath.

[eggcompany]

Jaskier and his Snuggly Wuggly Killing Machines Part 16

Spin-off of our work Jaskier and the Snuggly Wuggly Killing Machines!!!!

Jaskier has some of his fellow musicians over and his manager, Rosemary (Miss Rose). Eskel and Geralt go to cuddle and nap in the basement. But Geralt won't cuddle with him! Eskel come up to Jaskier crying for some loves but Jaskier tries to send him up to bed early! Miss Rose to the rescue with snuggles.

“Well boys you can go take a nice nap and I’ll come wake y’all up when everyone leaves. Lammy and Aiden, you can go ahead and be upstairs. I’m gonna turn on The Peabody and Sherman Show down here if you want to stay. Just stay in one place okay? I’m going to be very busy.” Jaskier explained to the pups as they washed up from being outside. They got rather icky today, given they were all almost naked and sweaty rolling around in dust and sand. So each got a shower and their hair brushed out by Vesemir. The older witcher had been picked up earlier though, dental appointment or something.  

Geralt, who was scratching absently at his own stomach hairs, nodded and yawned. He had decided that he really only needed to wear a pair of grey sweatpants. Eskel was pulling his head through his heavy wine red knit sweater, he hadn’t bothered with pants but put on a pair of plain black boxer briefs. Lambert, who was helping Aiden pick out a short, was clad in his favorite grey fluffy socks, green plaid boxer shorts, and a snuggly grey cotton sweatshirt. And Aiden, getting pulled into wearing a pair of borrowed black sweatpants and a Champion brand t-shirt. 

“Um… we’re gonna go to Lam’s room.” Aiden said and walked out of the bathroom and across to Lambert’s room. The other cat was close behind him. Geralt and Eskel snicker at them and smiled over at Jaskier. Geralt walks by him and gives him a kiss on the cheek. 

“I’m so tired, daddy. I’m gonna make a nice nest and sleep.” Geralt says tiredly, his eyelids drooped. He had run himself to exhaustion. Surely he would be drowsy even after his nap. Geralt made his way down to the ground level and then to the basement door. Eskel hugs Jaskier and snuffles his hair with his nose. 

“I’ll go nap with Bear. I’m tired too. I wanna cuddle up with bubba.” Eskel says and yawns. He walks down to the basement and Jaskier follows him. 

“You’re such a sweetie. That’s alright. I’m gonna be up late tonight so get your cuddles in now. Maybe Lammy will let you sleep in his nest with Aiden tonight.” Jaskier said and set the TV to play the animated show. It was one of the boy’s favorites, so it should keep their attention should they wake up. 

Geralt was hauling out an armful of blankets to the already piled up pillows. Eskel automatically went to fix them into a large U-shape. Jaskier checked the small fridge that was near the TV. There were a few juice boxes, a half gallon of chocolate milk, waters, and plenty of puddings and cheese sticks. He looked over at the few snack baskets and they were moderately still full. He’d need to remember to buy more cheese crackers and popcorn…

“Alright, well darlings my friends are gonna be here soon. Have a nice nap, I love you both!” Jaskier said and watched the two flump down into their nest next to each other. He hopped up the stairs and closed the door behind him. He picked up the living room where a few pillows had been on the floor and he pulled out his wine glasses and made sure he had a few nice bottles pulled out in the fridge. He looked around and made sure Lambert and Aiden weren’t being too loud but he couldn’t hear anything. He clicked his stereo system on to play some quiet instrumental music. 

There was a knock at the door, signaling his bandmates were finally here. Jaskier happily walks over to the door and opens it smiling. 

“Welcome to my kinda new home! Come on in!” Jaskier calls out and steps aside to let everyone else in. Gwen and Alfie smiled and handed him a large bottle of honey rum (one of his favorites!) and walked into the living room, flopping down on his couch. His manager, Rosemary, walks in and gives him a great big hug and tells him “You have a beautiful home!” and she sits in the large cushiony black chair. Finally his drummer, Gino Patrick, walks up to him and engulfs in a big hug. 

“Hey man! Sorry I couldn’t make it to Valdo’s party! I was swamped with my taxes! I wouldn’t get my papers, it totally sucked. I’m so glad to hear that you’re back though! I heard about the uh… dogs? Bears? I dunno, I heard a lot about your new house mates.” The shorter man said and patted Jaskier on the back. Gino was a shorter man who always had something going on. He was only a few inches shorter than Jaskier but still. He had dark black hair and dark brown eyes that are always lined. Gino shoved a small bag into Jaskier’s hands. 

“Here’s a little somethin, somethin, from Mama. She’s been bored.” Gino said and walked in and said hello to everyone else. Jaskier looked down and noticed it was a few thin pieces of hand carved wood, guitar picks. Jaskier laughs and slips them into his pocket. 

“C’mon, house tourrrrrrr~” Gwen egged as Jaskier walked into the living room. He laughed and shook his head. 

“Fine. Whatever, c’mon losers.” Jaskier joked and motioned to be followed. Everyone stood to follow him. First he pointed over to the basement door but stood in front of it to make sure no one opened it. 

“This is the boy’s kinda playroom. They’ve got a TV and toys and stuff down there. I’d really like to show you guys cause it’s so cute but Bear, uh I mean Geralt and Eskel are sleeping and stuff down there right now. But yeah don’t go in there, it’s their safe space to relax and play.” Jaskier explained and Rosemary put her hand over her heart and ‘aw’ed. Everyone nodded and Jaskier showed them over to the kitchen where everyone grabbed a glass and he pulled out the chilled wine. 

“I kinda freaked out about safety before they came home so everything is both child proof and puppy proof so like yeah… lots of latches. Which by the way do not work when you have a two hundred pound beasty wanting a snack at 2 a.m.. I swear I thought one night a raccoon got in the house but no it was just Lambert scavenging for spaghetti Os.” Jaskier said and laughed. 

“Oh my gods… how do you even control them like… they’re huge. Gino they’re the size of volkswagens.” Gwen said and smacked the drummer's arm. He in return looked shocked and looked up at Jaskier. The singer sipped his wine and leaned back against the sink. 

“They’re so well behaved. I really don’t have to reprimand them all that much. Sometimes I have to kinda pull Eskel off of Lambert at night because he has a bad habit of like… rubbing himself on pillows and stuff at night and Lammy hates it and occasionally Geralt chews on the banister but really they’re very good listeners.” Jaskier says and the guitarist hums in understanding. 

“Oh he self soothes at night then? I’ve heard of cats doing that sometimes.” Alfie said and Jaskier nodded and walked to the recording studio and bathroom. They were the same as before he had renovated. Then he stepped onto the stairs but halted for a moment. 

“Um… Maybe we can not go up there. Lambert and Aiden are… They canoodle in Lambert’s bedroom and let’s just say they like to be left alone. It’s just their bedrooms, their bathroom, and then my bedroom still. I really just added onto the back.” Jaskier said and Gwen, Alfie, and Gino all looked shocked. Jaskier started to walk to the backyard but the guitarist grabbed his arm. 

“You let them have sex? What if one of them gets pregnant? You already have three, you couldn’t manage a litter!” Gwen whisper yells and the other two nodded. Rosemary smirked and put her hand over her mouth. Jaskier giggled a bit but shook his head and answered. 

“They’re witchers. They’re sterile. They’re all neutered. Completely. Plus they’re just boys, no worries.” Jaskier said and walked to the back deck. It was getting dark now so the air was much cooler than it was earlier. 

“I added onto the porch and ya know… decorated. Eskel keeps asking for more planters and he takes such good care of his flowers so it’s really pretty out here. That’s their sand pit, and they were wrestling in the big mud puddle earlier today. They always put their toys up and keep the deck clean and everything too.” Jaskier said as everyone went around to look at the large variety of plants and hanging baskets. Vesemir had brought the eldest boy a few books on botany and grafting plants and propagation, since then he was really into planting. There were a few large pots around the railing that held lush green flowerless varieties and there were baskets hanging off the railing with small colorful flowers and hanging baskets of plants that spilled over the lip of the pot to hang down. Jaskier loved to sit back here and watch Eskel water them and clip and cut and poke cuttings into different boxes. There were many bowl shaped pots that lined the outer wall that had many varieties of babies growing and putting on new leaves. 

“Woah dude, it did this by itself? That’s awesome man!” Gino said which Jaskier smiled at but corrected him. 

“He, Gino, He did it by himself. But yes, yes he did. A much older witcher that comes over often, he gave Eskel a few books on plants and he just has a knack for it.” Jaskier said. 

They sat and talked on the porch for a while before they traveled back to the kitchen for more wine that ended up just being brought to the living room. They spent hours drinking and talking. Art, new artists on the music scene, gossip, drama, family, social life, everything Jaskier had missed. 

Jaskier was sitting on the loveseat with his manager and everyone else spread out in the room. He was saying something about a new line of guitars that he saw but the basement door opened and a pouting Eskel walked out. His ears were drooped down and his tail was sagging behind him. He kept his head down until he walked over to Jaskier. 

“Hey baby, what’s up? Why're you pouting?” Jaskier said, concerned. Eskel looked so down in the dumps. He could tell by the way he was chewing on his own lip that he wasn’t quite out of his softer mindset. Eskel sniffled and kept his eyes on Jaskier’s knees. 

“Geralt kept shoving me ‘way from him and he wouldn’t let me under the blankie and he snapped ta me when I tried to cuddle him and he won’t let me hold him and and and-” Eskel said in a hush rushed voice. Tears prickled his eyes and started to fall by the time he was done. Everyone in the room was quiet. Jaskier stood up and hugged him, though the pup didn’t hug back but instead kept crying and sniffling. 

“Aw, poor thing. Well maybe he’ll want to cuddle later tonight. How about you go get a bath upstairs and you can watch a show in your room till it’s bedtime? How’s that sound?” Jaskier said quietly as he thumbed away his tears. Eskel sniffled and shook his head. Everyone else was whispering around them and Jaskier was about to suggest it more but Rosemary stood up and shooed away Jaskier’s hands. She lifted his face up to look at her and his face relaxed some.

“You poor little baby! Oh you just need some lovin’ don’t you? Come here, you can come sit with me. Shoo stinky ole daddy away and you can sit right here.” The woman said and shoved Jaskier’s shoulder and sat Eskel right next to her. Jaskier looked at her in surprise for a moment but decided to go sit on the couch with Gwen and Alfie. 

Eskel smiled and happily let her situate him. He was sitting on one side of her and his legs were thrown over her lap. She pulled his head to rest on her collarbone. She cooed at him slightly and had one hand in his hair to rub the bases of his ears and the other rubbed up and down on the outside of his thigh. Eskel purred loudly and closed his eyes. 

Jaskier watched with his mouth open in disbelief. Gwen reached over and closed his mouth with her hand. Jaskier just stared and threw his hands up. 

“I’m being replaced!” Jaskier said dramatically. Everyone, void Rosemary, laughed and joked at him that he stank and that he was ugly and such. All the while Rosemary pet gently around Eskel’s ears and the pup flicked his tail up into her hand. 

“Aw what a soft tail. Do you brush it? So pretty, yeah, you are so pretty.” Rose whispered quietly to the pup as he purred and snuffled into her exposed collarbone. She was wearing a soft red gingham a-line dress that had a square cut neckline. The fabric was so nice to Eskel… It made Rose look like a lovely lady right out of a picture book. Eskel had a handful of the skirt fabric in his hands, rolling it back and forth in his fingers. 

“Oh soft ears too. You’re just a big fluffy baby, aren’t you. Just need some pets, huh.” Rose whispered again and kissed his forehead. This caused Eskel to freeze. His breath was still in his lungs and his eyes were wide open. He was stiff as a board. Rose seemed concerned about the quick change. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I should have asked first. I’m sorry, Eskel. I won’t do it again.” Rose said frantically which caught Jaskier’s attention. Eskel was sitting stone still and hadn’t even let out a breath. His eyes were open and his muscles were frozen. 

“Hey, Wolfie, baby, what’s wrong? Bad thought?” Jaskier asked as he walked up and bent down in front of Eskel. Suddenly Eskel breathed out and his face turned a roaring red color. 

“Daddy, Miss Rose kissed my forehead. She gave me a kiss on my head. Daddy, daddy she she kissed my forehead . Miss Rose did. Me , she kissed my forehead.” Eskel said frantically and smiled widely. His eyes blew out wide so only a thin ring of yellow showed. His feet and hands started to curl up and then stretch out, a funny little movement to see on such a large creature, making biscuits most called it. It meant that he was overly happy. Jaskier laughed and looked at Rose’s worried face. 

“I think a certain little wolf has a crush on our ‘ Miss Rose ’! How cute!” Jaskier announces to the room. Aw’s spread through the room. Rosemary looked surprised but then hugged Eskel against her chest. 

“Aw! Do you like me, little pup?” Rose asked and Eskel buried his face into her neck and nodded quickly. Rose pets him and smiled. 

Eskel relaxes and Rosemary goes back to talking to everyone else in the room. She thought that the weight of him felt nice. His little sleepy sniffles and even breaths were cute as she felt them against her skin. She assumed he was fast asleep when he started to rock up slightly. She shushed him and petted his tail. He stilled and slept peacefully. 

“Alright, it’s fuckin’ late I’m gonna crash out in the Uber probably. Peace out Jask.” Gino says and walked to the door. Everyone else called goodbye. It was starting to get late… The boys would need to go to bed soon. As if reading Jaskier’s thoughts Gwen piped up. 

“Hey, we should probably head out too. You probably need to start putting the pups to bed right?” She said and stood up. Her and her partner put their glasses in the sink and said their goodbyes. Jaskier stood up and stretched. Rose was still petting the eldest pup and was leaning her chin on his head. 

“You think you can leave him last? He’s just so good. He’s sleeping so well. Poor little thing.” Rose said and looked at Jaskier with the world's best puppy dog eyes. Jaskier thinks for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah I can go ahead and put Geralt to bed and check on Lamm and Aiden. Ya know he usually doesn’t act like this to strangers. He really only cuddles up to me and Yennefer.” Jaskier says and picks up the last few wine glasses and the bottles. Rose smiled and explained. 

“You don’t remember? I sat next to him at Valdo’s party. He just about climbed into my lap that night. Maybe he just likes me. Maybe I smell nice or I look like someone he loved.” Rosemary explained and scratched lightly at the back of Eskel’s head. Jaskier put the dishes in the sink while thinking about it. Lambert loves Aiden so maybe Eskel had someone he fell for?

“He’s never mentioned anyone he liked, except Geralt. They used to ‘ do stuff’ . But maybe he really does just has a crush on you… He’s got a big heart. It’s locked away in fucking fort knox but it’s huge. Big ole lover boy. Maybe when we start recording again he can come sit with you.” Jaskier said and looked at the sleeping witcher. Even dozing Eskel had a smile on his face. 

Maybe Eskel found someone else to entertain when no one else wanted to. 

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