#give me Jaskier content

[annmarcus63]

It's a pleasant night. His belly is full, his feet throbbing after dancing all over the tavern like he was the eighteen-year-old bard he used to be. He's no longer that foolish child, not after everything. The only thing left from the eighteen-year-old Jaskier is Geralt. Jaskier smiles at the thought. Speaking of a certain witcher, he's sitting on the chair by the window, the light from the fire coloring his side with an auspicious orange hue. He’s so handsome. 

It's been a while since the last time he traveled with Geralt, quite a while since the last time they were traveling to a big town, Oxenfurt specifically. That's the reason he feels so content, lightheaded in the best of ways and a little bit excited. You see, he's received a letter from the university. He will be named Artist of the Decade in a major award (obviously) as part of the Oxenfurt Music and Arts festival. Artist of the decade, him, Jaskier. Valdo Marx shited in his pants when the results were published, Jaskier imagined.

"I hope he'll be there! I want to see his cherry plump face when I'm called to the stage. ‘Vulgar art’ he said, he called me untalented, the bastard" The bard is beginning to remove his clothes before going to bed, he's undoing the laces of his boots while talking like eighteen-year-old Jaskier used to. "I'm sure he'll be there. That snake. There was a time he told everyone at the music guild that the lyrics of my song were false, that you weren't even my friend!” 

"Most of the lyrics aren’t exactly true" says Geralt in the background, Jaskier ignores him. 

"Oh oh oh I want to see his face when he sees you there"

“Jaskier” Geralt calls

"Take that mister 'i'm better than you' "

“Jaskier” Geralt calls 

"Yes, darling?" Answers Jaskier with fond exasperation. He's having a big monologue here and that's the moment Geralt decides he wants to add to the conversation. He's been quiet lately. 

"I'm not going" Jaskier feels a bold blow on the center of his chest. His heart hunching on itself at registering those words. He understands perfectly well but decides to play dumb anyway. "Where, darling?" and apparently Geralt wants to play dumb too because he stays silent. 

"Can I ask why?" Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest, already defensive and Geralt is there, still sitting, with a somber expression. This is going to end in an argument, both of them can tell.

"I can't" 

"Alright..." Geralt hates being prompted to talk when the conversation is tense, but Jaskier can help it, and doesn't want to help him.

"I'm sorry" at least here he looks remorseful. 

"No, no, Geralt. You promised!" 

"I'm sorry, something has come up..." Jaskier takes two steps forward and Geralt stands raising his hands in a placating manner. 

"What has come up...?" And then Jaskier remembers, the black speck against the window in the middle of the night a week ago. "Does this have something to do with that raven?" Geralt growls, sometimes he forgets his bard used to be a Redanian spy. “Is it because of Yennefer?”

"I'm sorry" Geralt nods, giving the truth. "Is important" 

"This is important too!" 

And now the bard is shouting at Geralt, he hates doing that, but the witcher is not helping either.

“It’s an award, you have plenty” 

“It’s NOT an award, is THE award” 

They are standing in front of the other, speaking to the other’s face, up this close Jaskier can see the pattern of tiny scars all over Geralt's face. The bard takes a couple of calming breaths, trying to keep his temper. He hates arguing with the witcher. "Can't she wait?" he asks, but Geralt only denies with his head, already so sure "What is it about?" the witcher doesn't reply "You don't even know!" There goes Jaskier temper again, the bard throws his arms in the air, exasperated and frustrated. This is important to him, and Geralt knew it and it pains him to realize that the witcher would so easily push him aside. A if Jaskier achievements aren't a thing to cherish and celebrate, as if... he's not important. "She didn't tell, she said It's important" Says Geralt followed by a heavy sigh indicating that he thinks  Jaskier is being childish.

"This is important to me, Geralt - "

" - I know..."

" I asked you to come last year, remember? I told you that I might win the award and you promised you’ll come! I know you don't like big cities but..."

“-I’m sorry” And that's it. Jaskier can feel his heart turning into dust and falling heavily to the pit of his stomach. It's not the same as the mountain, but it feels similar in a way. Jaskier is realizing just how much he means to Geralt. Again. Jaskier holds Geralt's eyes from below, at least the witcher looks ashamed. 

And then after a long, resigned sigh the bard murmurs "Whatever" It keeps happening, repeatedly, suddenly and inexplicably he keeps getting hurt with by his own naivety by thinking that someday Geralt would choose him, not over Yennefer, Ciri or the other witchers. Just choose him because he wants to. Because it's fair, because Jaskier wants him to be there. 

He likes Yennefer now, he even catches himself thinking of her with love. The kind of love you have for the one that makes your true love happy. But he also knows that she can fend for herself and that it is possible for Geralt to wait at least a day before responding to her siren song. She gets to have him forever, why does Jaskier can't have him only for a fucking day? And now he's being pitiful, and he hates himself a little bit for that.

Maybe he's overreacting, maybe it's not that important… but it is! He wants Geralt to be there, to share the award with him. But at the end it's not Geralt's fault, he'll not resent the witcher for having priorities, a family to take care of which includes Yennefer and the others but not him. Maybe it's time for Jaskier to find his own. He has already spent enough effort in becoming part of Geralt. Jaskier goes to search his travel bag for his notebook, he needs to rework on his acceptance speech. 

"I'll gather we'll be parting ways at the crossroads tomorrow?" Jaskier turns around briefly, wanting to see the witcher’s expression, to be suddenly confronted with an uncomfortable and unexpected feeling at reading on Geralt's face, a lot more than surely the witcher wants to convey. Shame, uncertainty, fear of not knowing what went wrong and how to prevent it from getting worse. And Jaskier feels sympathy, despite everything that has happened, what is happening, Geralt tries, on his own, albeit slow way.

"Yeah" 

"Good"

Geralt starts fidgeting on the same spot from before, when Jaskier decides he has had enough and turns. The witcher hasn't moved an inch, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, the bard can tell. But it won’t come to that. Not anymore. Enough of this, enough of scraps. 

"I'm going out, don't wait for me" Jaskier murmurs  when he's at the door. Geralt calls for him, but Jaskier pretends to have not heard. 

In the morning Geralt arrives at the stables to find Jaskier already waiting for him by Roach. They travel side by side all morning, Jaskier holding his notebook in front of his face, he seems to be reading and rereading the speech, which is weird because he said he's already memorized it. They haven't spoken much, and Geralt hates it. He should be saying something, anything! Something along the lines of "I'll go with you" but Yenn... what if? 

Jaskier stops and turns around to face him from below, one hand scratching Roach's neck. They are at the crossroads; it's almost noon and Geralt doesn't know what to say. Their gazes lock for a long time, the wind singing softly around them, the leaves of the trees falling like orange rain. It's so calm. "Take care, Geralt"  Jaskier says in the softest of voices and turns right. Geralt watches marching away, wondering why it feels like a goodbye.

It's funny how loneliness comes in the strangest of forms. Surrounded by dozens of people shouting his name from the square in front of the stage. Wasn't this what you wanted? his mind supplies unhelpfully. Yes, he did want this, the love and admiration of the masses. He is, after all, the artist of the decade. But, well, in retrospect he was young with little knowledge of life. It's only natural that your aspirations may change through the years. Don't get him wrong, older Jaskier wants the same as younger Jaskier, but now, he understands that the love of the masses can't fill the void of being unloved and unwanted by people close to him, or people he thought were close to him. So, he accepts the award with the biggest smile on his repertoire, mocks Valdo Marx and goes to the tavern with a bunch of scholars like him. He drinks, he laughs, he sings a lot of his songs, flirts and plays gwent.  And with every sip of wine and ale he peels a little bit of his sorrow, his wounded self-esteem, his beaten heart, and self-pity. He wished Geralt was here, with him, but he's not here, so be it. Enough of wanting, enough of this ever-present loneliness. He's resolute. He'll find a place to call home, and he won't resent Geralt. Ok maybe a little. 

The celebration has reached the part where everyone is drunk enough to dance and sing at the top of their lungs. Jaskier is standing on top of a table surrounded by the taverns, he's leading the song. He's sweating all over, his hair a brown wet mess. He's happy. When the front door swings open, it's Geralt. The witcher removes his hood and instantly locks eyes with the bard. Like a hunter finding his prey. Jaskier stops singing, right there and then, hopefully no one notices because the song continues its course. 

No, no, it's too late. Jaskier thinks. I've already made up my mind. The bard climbs down from the table and pushes through the crowd. His mind it's a volatile compass, pointing at his resolution and to Geralt. It tries to decide how to proceed. It tries to decide which path will hurt more or less. 

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier is proud of his steady voice. Not even the ale could break him.

"I thought I'd make it on time, ''Geralt replies , his eyes trying to find Jaskier's, but the bard is looking at a spot on the witcher's shoulder. 

"You're late" In that moment the blue eyes look up to meet yellow ones, defying Geralt to name the issue. To name the hurt on Jaskier’s eyes the night before. To name the emotion that is now on the bard's eyes.

They both know this isn't about the ceremony, not anymore.

"I'm here now" Geralt says heavily and Jaskier laughs cause it's funny really. i'm here now so it must be enough. 

And this is the thing, he forgave Geralt many times thanks to sporadic care and attention that would be forgotten later. His heart is screaming within his chest, the poor thing wants to take Geralt back. But no, Jaskier won't listen to it anymore. 

"And you are late" 

A girl walks past them holding a tray of beers, Jaskier takes one and drinks half of it in one go.

Geralt watches him, anxiety sewing itself on his veins. He can feel that is it. He fucked up, again, but this time for good.

"I thought Yen’s message was important" Jaskier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, cursing internally, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. He sounds bitter and resentful. He hates it.

"It is, but this is too" and oh the witcher is trying but instead of being charmed Jaskier gets angry.

"Oh, now it's important, I see. Well, maybe if you have arrived on time for the actual ceremony..."

“…I tried”

"Maybe it wouldn't be too fucking late" A young couple turn to look at them. Feeling embarrassed, Jaskier lowers his voice and continues. "I appreciate the effort, Geralt, but it is an unnecessary one. I’m sorry my friend” says Jaskier, reaching out to place a hand on the Witcher’s muscular arm, trying to convey comradery, an olive branch if you will, for Geralt to take and be gone without blame. If Jaskier dared to look at Geralt's face one more time, he would find sadness, grief, shame, and fear. Every emotion that the witcher always tried to conceal from everyone, especially Jaskier.  “There's an open bar, enjoy the celebration. Rest. I'm going to sleep" In that instant Jaskier's heart broke even more. Oh, how he wanted this man, how he longs for him, decades on end. Even in his resolution he still wants him. 

He needs to rest too. He's not young anymore, his feet hurt, and his thighs are trembling from the exertion. So, he turns around up the stairs to his room, closes the door behind and with clothes and all, he gets into bed and sleeps like death.

---

I'm posting this fic again because I just realized that I never posted the ending. I'm stupid. I'm sorry.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Five times the Witchers learnt just how cat-like Aiden actually is

Biscuit making - Lambert

Lambert stared down at his friend, eyebrows raised in silent question as Aiden dozed lightly, plastered to Lambert so they were snuggled chest to chest in the small inn bed. He'd gotten used to Aiden purring in his sleep when the Cat witcher felt safe (and Lambert tried not to linger too long on how that made him feel) long ago but this…this was new.

The hands resting on Lambert's chest were rhythmically gripping and releasing the material of his shirt in tandem, the pinprick scratch of long, tougher than average fingernails just enough to feel through the fabric. It wasn't uncomfortable as such, in fact once he got used to it, when paired with the soft, barely audible purr it was actually quite relaxing.

Soon enough, Lambert found himself being pulled into sleep, either not caring or not realising that he himself had started letting out a steady stream of content rumbling of his own in response.

"Question for you, Cat."

Aiden didn't pause in lacing up his boots, "Ask away, Wolf."

"You know you were-" he clenched his fingers in imitation of the gesture, "I don't know - kneading - me last night?"

At that, Aiden did pause and Lambert had the feeling if he could blush he'd be bright red.

"I..shit. Sorry, I didn't even realise. I usually only do that around my siblings. I'll try to control it better."

"Didn't say it was a bad thing. " Lambert bumped his shoulder lightly against Aiden's, "I was just curious is all. I don't give a shit what you do, short of stabbing me."

Lambert tried to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest as Aiden let out a tiny purr.

Jumpscare - Eskel

Eskel hummed to himself as he bought in the last of the vegetables from the greenhouses for pickling. Glad to see that Aiden was already in the kitchen setting everything up and was currently busy with a keg of brine. Things had been a bit tense to start with when his little brother had rolled up with a Cat of all people but Aiden had made it very hard to not like him. If nothing else, he was always more than willing to lend a hand with chores - always a bonus when your home was in a near constant state of disrepair.

"Alright." Eskel said, dumping one of the sacks out onto the stone countertop, "That's the last of this year's crop. If we work quickly we should be done by-"

He was interrupted by a yowl next to him and if Aiden was an actual cat, Eskel would be inclined to think somebody had just stepped on his tail. Whirling around he saw no sign of the other Witcher. Until he looked up just in time to see Aiden hauling himself up to fully perch on one of the rafters, glaring at Eskel's haul.

"Eh...Aiden?"

"Get those things away from me." The Cat hissed pointing accusingly.

Now Eskel was even more confused, all that was there was a perfectly innocent pile of….

"You mean these?" He held up one of the cucumbers, causing Aiden to growl low in his throat in response. Eskel hastily dropped it again, "Ok, ok. I'll put these away for now and we can work on the beetroot instead. Ok?"

Aiden nodded but still refused to leave his perch until the offending items had been shoved back into the sack and into a cupboard.

Soundlessly, he grabbed a knife and began to peel and chop the beetroot.

"Cat thing?"

"Cat thing."

Zoomies - Geralt

Geralt couldn't sleep. Again. He was nowhere near desperate enough to go down the Djinn route again but by the Gods it was starting to get annoying. He just wanted one night where his mind wouldn't keep throwing up scenarios where he failed his responsibilities to Ciri, Yen, Jaskier, his brothers…he was just one man for fucks sake.

He decided to go check on the animals, Eskel had mentioned that the fence on one of the goat pens could do with repairs but it was already getting dark by the time he'd noticed. It was on the list for the following morning but his brother would be heartbroken if any of them had gotten loose and hurt in the meantime.

Turns out Geralt wasn't the only one feeling restless. As he entered the courtyard he caught sight of a figure seemingly in the middle of running laps along the wall. Too lithe to be Eskel or Lambert, too tall to be Ciri, it had to be Aiden. Geralt stopped for a second, unsure why until he realised. Aiden was moving fast.. too fast to be running it safely in the dark and frost. Even for a Witcher, that could be a broken leg or concussion at least if he fell.

As if the Gods had been reading his thoughts, Aiden lost his footing and soundlessly tumbled down onto the cobbles of the courtyard, landing in a heap. Only to bounce back up immediately as if nothing had happened and continue running laps at ground level instead.

Geralt felt his brow furrow as he continued watching, what the fuck?

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Aiden had come to a stop in front of him, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and eyes darting around ceaselessly as he almost seemed to be vibrating in his own skin and using all of his self control to stay still and talk.

Geralt hummed in response before gesturing to the wall "You do that often?"

Aiden looked slightly sheepish as if he expected to be reprimanded, "Only a couple of times since I've been here. The mutagens. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to combust there and then if I don't move , for some reason it's worse at night. I think there was something meant to make us nocturnal, at least partially anyway. If I were on the path I'd go hunting or just go run pell mell in the woods for a bit. Doing that on an unfamiliar mountain didn't seem like the smartest thing though. I'm reckless, not suicidal."

Geralt huffed a laugh, "Well, don't let me stop you. Just don't make us find you lying out here with your skull cracked open in the morning."

Aiden gave a mock salute before going to mount the wall again, "Remind me to tell you about Cat Trials. Trust me, a fall from this is nothing. You could always run a couple of laps with me if you want? It's just, you look as if you could use something to tire you out too."

Geralt shrugged. At this point, why the fuck not?

Chirp - Jaskier

"Melitele's tits, it's cold. I mean, it. Is. COLD." Jaskier proclaimed as the two of them closed the door on the snow storm they'd just left, moving to hang his cloak and hood by the fire in the great hall, "I swear, if you and Lambert ever decide you're heading South for the winter I'm coming with you. Geralt can freeze his tits off up here alone, he'll survive. Unlike me. "

Aiden said nothing, although the bard had been around enough Witchers by now to know his companion was probably silently laughing at him as he removed his own cloak. Jaskier tsk'd at the snow clinging to Aiden's hair and moved to brush it out without thinking. The Cat let out a small but clearly audible "mrrrp" and momentarily pushed into the hand before he caught himself. He turned to face Jaskier, who was grinning at him like both Yule and his birthday had come early.

"Oh, well. That is just precious! " He exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly like a small child who's just been shown a magic trick, "Oh my dear, if all Cat Witchers make such adorable noises I may have a new favourite school. Do you all do that or is it just some of you? Purring's a given, every Witcher I've met purrs to some degree or other."

Aiden caught Coen's eye, the other Witcher flashing him a smirk which said 'You're on your own'

"That's it, I've decided! I'm making it my mission this winter to find out just how cat-like you are!"

"Do that and I'll hide your lute up in the rafters." Aiden said with no real heat, the Bard trailing after him asking questions about tables and glassware, distracted (for now) from the coldness of the Keep.

If I fits… - Vesemir

Vesemir basked in the quiet. There were perks to being one of the first ones to wake in the mornings. As much as he loved having his boys back safe and sound for the winter, after months alone the constant noise could become a little overwhelming at times, making these moments of quiet solitude all the more precious.

He made his way to the laundry room with an armful of bedding he'd found which probably hadn't been washed since the previous winter if the stale smell was anything to go by. No matter.

He quirked an eyebrow at the closed laundry hamper. He was certain he'd opened the lid earlier unless old age and senility were finally starting to get to him. Dumping the dirty sheets on the ground to free his hands he lifted the lid again.

And was greeted by Aiden blinking sleepily up at him, disturbed by the sudden brightness. Vesemir briefly took a moment to try and figure out what manner of contortion he'd used to cram himself into a space the boys had struggled to fit in even as adolescents before catching Aiden's eye. The two held eye contact as Aiden tilted his head in silent question, still half asleep. Vesemir wordlessly lowered the lid again in response before walking away shaking his head. It was too early for his boy's antics.

[samstree]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it good?”

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

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

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

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

☆ 

For some reason, Jaskier keeps buying sweets for himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt blinks, confused. “For who?”

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

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

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

☆  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s something Geralt should have seen long ago.

Jaskier, he realizes, is a sweet tooth.

Has been this whole time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, Geralt loves sweet things.

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

WIP tag game

Rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents (or as many people as you want). Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Cracks knuckles. Okay.

Loki

Answer my prayer

Apology Kink IV

Are You Jealous? chapter 7

Choke Me?

Footplay in the TVA

It started with that hug

Kiss to give up control

Kiss where it hurts

Kiss on a scar or as an apology

Kiss to wake up or out of love

Post S1 Loki crying sex

Made in their image trans Mobius

Pie scene

Post S2

Riding Herd On chapter 3

The Binding of Loki

The end of all things

The Words I Could Not Say chapter 2

Timeslipping crying sex

Tuxes kiss

Witcher

Dominant kitten!Jaskier

Drunk maudlin!Jaskier

Fighter!Jaskier and Radovid

Foot fetish

Kiss for luck

Lips were made for extraordinary things

Paying no heed to what others say to sing

Prison roleplay

Radskier reunion

Sex worker!Jaskier

Spanking

They say, "Keep On Playing Nice."

Vamp!Jaskier amnesiac!Geralt

What He Deserves chapter 2

Wreck the prince

Stranger Things

I Need Your Discipline

Kiss where it hurts

Roommates

Scoops ahoy

Spanking

The Ghost of You

Midnight Mass

Club AU

Kiss out of jealousy or envy

Praying for Salvation chapter 13

Riley trunk

OFMD

Silky heat chapter 2

Tagged by the lovely @insert-witty-user-name-here @dewdropreader and @blackbirdofasgard

I haven't even counted how many wips I have, so tagging an inconcise number of writers and artists @dancingwiththefae @limerental @iwillbringyouruin @themanta @flawney @ptork66 @flightsfancy1 @misterkarchie @underthebluerain @rauchendesgnu @dapandapod @samstree @greyduckgreygoose @flordefandom @lgwilt @waterhorseyblues-ao3 @chaos-monkeyy @natendo-art @wolfpup026 @mobius-m-mobius @severeforever @mirilyawrites @cha-melodius @mimisempai @rins-love-wins @work-your-loki @cheshiredogao3 @artaxlivs @mojowitchcraft @kickassfu @kingeomer @jesskier @whataboutthefish @dreaminginpencil @unclewaynemunson @csinnamon-fox @lorifragolina

[littlefreya]

Horniest song to fuck Henry's characters too!

Okay... let's do this.

Headsup, I give no permission to reuse my content, copy, repost, translate, etc. 🖤

Characters included: August Walker, Captain Syverson, Sherlock Holmes, Mike, Geralt, Walter Marshall.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, sex.

August fucks you to Angel by Massive Attack... meaning: buckle up, sweetheart, because it's going to be slow, sensual and rough. First, he blindfolds you, wrapping a silken black scarf around your eyes, then goes your wrists and ankles, spread eagle on his bed.

He takes his time with you, his strong hands coursing through your naked body, touching you everywhere but the spots where you really want him to. He wants to see you writhe, needs to hear you cry and beg for him to fuck you and only then.. he might put something inside you.

More characters below the cut 🍄

Ideally, you should be fucking to romantic country music, maybe a bit of Creedence Clearwater Revival, but something got into you, and you want it wild. You want to fuck him like an animal, want to feel him from the inside.

Nine Inch Nails - Closer booms through the radio as you shove Sy against his own truck and unbuckle his belt. You nibble his ear while your hand grip his big fat cock and as you jump his hips and slip him inside your wet cavern, you whine, "you get me closer to god".

(read more Sy and NIN in Feral Collision)

Walter's emotional spectrum ranges from being completely quiet to pissed AF. But don't be confused by his death stares. He definitely has a romantic side.

Black candles burn in his bedroom as he fucks you gentle-rough to Love you to Death by Type O Negative.

But... if he ever has a bad day, you are getting your ass pumped to Walk by Pantera.

He is frivolously in love with you, but then again, he is also incredibly horny, so excuse him for thinking about sex all day long and for fucking you in the back of his care to A.D.I.D.A.S by Korn playing in the background.

Clair de Lune is quite romantic, isn't it? You love playing it loudly while you walk through his forlorn mansion, wearing nothing but a sheer robe.

After he fired the entire household crew, the house sank into decadence, but there is some beauty in destruction and there is definitely something enticing in seeing the half-maddened detective as he plays pool all with himself.

You linger at the door of his study, letting your breasts peek through the open robe to catch his attention, and next thing you know, you are flat on your back upon the pool table, being fucked and bred to tears. (more Sherlock pool table stuff here)

You hate Geralt, and he hates you, but that never stops you two from fucking like two angry beasts in the back of the tavern.

Up against the wall, he hikes up your skirts and enters you rough and raw, each thrust causing the wooden walls to shudder. He has no restraint; he doesn't care if it hurts but neither do you.

You mutter curses and pull each others' hair while Jaskier is playing Burn Butcher Burn from the other room...

[biscuitbox23]

The Stag and the Warbler

Pairing: Jaskier/Dandelion x Witcher!Reader.

Summary: The bard has written a song about you. And it has given you a lot to think about.

Author's note: It's a late night thought I've had for a while. Jaskier has always been my favorite character in both the Witcher games, books and the tv show. I wanted to give him a bit of honor by writing this :) —also a little Skyrim reference cuz im not creative in song writing.

Warning: platonic love, fluff, kind of a bittersweet ending.

As Jaskier strummed the strings of his lute, he hummed the tune of a popular ballad. "Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart…" he sang but then paused mid-verse, his forehead creasing in concentration. "I tell you, I tell you, the Witcher comes- no, that does not sound so good," he muttered.

You couldn't help but chuckle at him. You busied yourself with grooming your loyal steed, Melorax. The horse stood still, contentedly munching on bits of hay. While you brushed off dust and dirt from his coat, you could see the tiny frown written on Jaskier's face as he tried to come up with a better verse for his song.

Curious, you asked him, "Who is this hero exactly?"

Jaskier looked up, glad for the distraction. "Ah, well," he said, his fingers stilling on the lute. "It's just a tale, my friend. A story of a brave warrior who fights for justice and honor."

You nodded, understanding the stories that Jaskier shared with you during your travels as a Witcher. Tales like these were always inspiring and entertaining. Jaskier had been your companion for quite a while now, and you had grown fond of his musical talents and witty banter. He would often compare your kinder nature to his friend Geralt, who hailed from a different Witcher school whom you had heard of but never met. After grooming Melorax, you approached the front of the horse and kissed his soft muzzle. The horse whinnied softly, and you smiled at him, feeling content.

"You know I just hunt monsters for coin," you recall, sitting near him as you started the small bonfire.

"Well, yes. But, Y/n of Verden makes a good song subject. Don't you think?" Jaskier smiled widely at you as you put your hands near the fire for warmth. His fingers began strumming on his lute, calmly humming with the tune of his renowned instrument.

You began to listen closely. "With a silver sword gleaming and signs so fierce and cold…" Jaskier sang, "Believe, believe, the Stag of Verden has told."

"Stag?" You asked sheepishly, looking over at him with an expression of confusion.

"Umm… do you prefer to be called deer?" Jaskier asked sheepishly.

"Just confused with the Stag part…" you replied.

"Well, you remind me of a stag."

"How so?" You asked.

"Well, you're strong, very resilient, and almost similar to that of a protector of the realm," Jaskier beamed with poetic pride.

Upon hearing those words, a sense of pride and appreciation washed over you. It was rare for a Witcher to receive such positive recognition, as they are empty vessels of beings whose sole purpose was to slaughter monsters and collect payment. Being regarded as a hero was a new and unexpected experience for you. However, it was evident that most people still saw you as an exterminator who only existed to rid the world of dangerous pests rather than a true hero. All you let out was a slight chuckle.

Jaskier turned his head towards you, and his eyes met yours. He noticed the corners of your mouth curling up, and your eyes sparkled. Curious, he leaned slightly to his right and tilted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what had caused this reaction in you. "What's so funny, Y/n?" he asked, his voice full of genuine interest and amusement.

"Oh, nothing," you jested. With a look of concern on the bard's face, he turned his gaze back towards his musical instrument, the loot. He asked in a questioning tone, "Is there something wrong with my song? Don't you like it?"

"I assure you that I like it," you said to the worried songwriter before returning to warm your hands by the fire. "Please continue."

Jaskier's face lit up with joy as he responded, "As you wish." He meticulously plucked the strings of his lute, producing a melody that seemed to flow effortlessly from his fingers. His body swayed with the rhythm, and it was clear from his performance that he was a true virtuoso of his craft.

"In the heart of the woodlands, where shadows dance and play Beware, beware, the Stag is on her way For monsters she'll conquer, with every foe she'll slay

You'll know, you'll know, the Stag brings light to the gray."

You were captivated as the bard plucked at the strings of his lute, his voice soft and sweet as honey. The music wrapped around you like a warm embrace, easing the tension in your body and calming your mind. The bard's songs were beautiful masterpieces of melody and meaning. What impressed you the most was how his music seemed to capture the essence of the world around you, bringing to life the sights and sounds of your travels in a way that words alone never could. Being a Witcher often meant living a life of solitude and danger. It made you feel isolated and alone. But having the bard by your side changed everything. His easy conversation and quick wit were a constant source of comfort and amusement, and you eagerly looked forward to every new adventure with him by your side.

By the end, you knew you could never repay the bard for all he had given you, but you were grateful nonetheless.

"You know one thing," you thought to him, "you remind me of a Warbler."

The bard chuckled at you with his sweet smile, "a warbler?"

"Yeah, those birds that sing a lot," you recalled.

As you reminisce about your childhood, your mind wanders back to when you were a young girl, growing up in a Witcher school. Life wasn't easy for you, especially since you were a frail child with a mother who struggled to provide for you. Days at school could be long and tiring, and you often find yourself exhausted by the end of them.

One particular memory that stands out to you is the sound of the Warblers that would perch on the window sill of your room. Their melodic songs would echo through the walls, piercing your ears and keeping you awake at night. You would try to drown out the noise by covering your ears with your pillow, but it was no use - the Warblers always seemed to find a way to sing their way into your thoughts. Despite the annoyance they caused, however, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and familiarity in their presence. After all, they had been a constant presence in your life for as long as you could remember.

"They were annoying when I was young," You scoffed playfully, "I hated listening to them sing whenever I wanted some peace. Now that I'm older, I wish they still sang to me," you look at the burning bonfire as the warmth engulfed the front of your body. “I like your songs, jaskier, even if you played the same tune for a week. I won’t get tired of you.”

"Huh…" Jaskier gave your statement some thought, "I've never had anyone think of me that way." He sat over next to the fire, feeling a bit cold.

"Why? May I ask," You cocked a brow at him.

"I'm a bit of an exasperation and––" Before Jaskier could continue, he stopped himself. He could ruin his godly reputation in front of you, and he did not want that.

"A skirt-chaser?" You continued.

"Oh- No, no, not that," you can sense the embarrassment that overcame his confidence.

"right, alright," A mischievous chuckle escaped your lips as you heard the mention of the notorious bard. His reputation preceded him, and you couldn't help but be amused. Word on the street was he had a knack for breaking up marriages or being the third person for sleeping with married men's wives. You won't deny it. Jaskier was handsome and quite the romantic.

The atmosphere was serene as if the world had a standstill. Not a sound except for the gentle rustling of leaves as the wind passed through the trees. "Can you sing me a song, Jaskier?" You asked, "Please?"

As Jaskier continued his endless string of tales, you couldn't help but politely express your reluctance to hear more. In response, Jaskier flashed a sweet smile and said, "Yes, you may, Y/n."

One day, Jaskier won't be around you. One day, you won't ever see him again, and it will be just you and Melorax on the lonely road. It could happen tomorrow, or it could be years from now. You tried not to dwell on that possibility, but it was always there lingering at the edges of your consciousness. But that did not matter now. It was a love that grew deep inside you that you have never felt. It's a companionship that was a strange yet familiar feeling. One day, he will see you as a monster like everyone else did when they saw you. Despite this, You listened intently to his stories and musings, even when they seemed nonsensical or meandering. You laughed at his jokes and marveled at his wit. You knew these moments were precious, and you never took them for granted because you will never know when that moment will end.

A/n: hey guys :) I apologize if my interpretation of Jaskier and the Witcher universe had errors. I was busy with school to read the books and watch the show for extra context and accuracy and did this all by itself. Overall, im unite happy with how this turned out.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Loves Me Knot

This is a fic I wrote for @witcher-bows-and-arrows... and then totally forgot to post for two weeks. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day, everyone! This is set in the same AU as Knot On My Watch and Sorry Knot Sorry.

Prompt: Mate

Rating: E

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Warnings: omegaverse, explicit sexual content

Word count: 5K

Summary:  It’s been half a year since Jaskier last saw Geralt at the fateful banquet in Cintra—after which Jaskier made the mistake of asking Geralt to be his mate and Geralt ran away. So he’s taken off guard when Geralt bursts into his office in Oxenfurt and tells Jaskier that they need to mate right away to help him catch a katakan targeting omegas.

You can read it below or find it on AO3!

***

“This isn’t a bad composition, per say,” Jaskier tells the fidgety young man sitting across the desk from him, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he can. “It’s just very close to the last assignment you did for this class.”

“But you gave me top marks on that one, professor!” Piotr says, overwrought as only a first year getting his first less-than-stellar grade can be.

Jaskier sighs and reaches across the desk to pat the lad reassuringly on the hand. Teaching at Oxenfurt year-round, rather than just for the winter term, seemed like a good idea months ago. He thought it would give him time to rest, as well as providing him and Geralt with a bit of a much-needed break from each other after the disaster in Cintra. But he doesn’t have to deal with tearful first years on Path.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “Because it was a lovely song the first time you submitted it. But this was your final assignment of the term and it just isn’t—”

The door of Jaskier’s office bursts open, ricocheting off the wall. Piotr lets out a shriek of surprise, then shrieks again when Geralt comes striding in. Geralt looks distinctly worse for wear, Jaskier notices, his armor worn and his face pinched in that way it gets when he hasn’t been getting enough rest. He looks like he’s lost weight and Jaskier tamps down on that old urge to protect and provide, because Geralt made it pretty damn clear that wasn’t what he wanted from him.

“Professor!” Piotr squeals, holding up his composition like he thinks it will shield him from a witcher.

“Calm down, Piotr.” Jaskier rises to his feet, opening his mouth to ask Geralt what the fuck he’s doing here after all this time.

Geralt beats him to it. “Jaskier, I need you to mate with me.”

Piotr squeaks. Jaskier wonders if the fish pie he had for lunch was bad and is making him hallucinate. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Excuse me?” he finally asks when he finds his voice.

Geralt’s golden eyes have a slightly wild look to them. “I need you to mate with me,” he says again.

Jaskier stares at him for a long moment, then turns to Piotr. “Piotr, office hours are done for the day. Why don’t we chat tomorrow after class?”

Wide-eyed, Piotr rises to his feet, looking between Geralt and Jaskier. “Er, congratulations?”

“Good day, Piotr,” Jaskier says firmly, already anticipating the wild rumors that are sure to have spread by the end of the day. He watches as Piotr edges by Geralt, then says, “Hello, Geralt.”

Geralt steps inside, letting the door close behind him. “Will you do it?”

“I’m doing well, thank you.” Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at his lover. Or his former lover? He’s not sure, to be honest. It’s not like Geralt officially ended their love affair, but he did tell Jaskier that he would never be his mate before leaving him alone in Cintra. “Classes have been going well and I forgot how beautiful Oxenfurt is in the spring. I would ask how you’re doing, but given that you look like shit, I already know the answer to that. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Ten days ago,” Geralt says. “There’s a katakan that’s been killing newly mated omegas. The only way to catch it is to make myself bait.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Of course Geralt doesn’t want to mate with him because he loves him or wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Of course it’s just because of witcher business. “Come on, I’m not having this conversation while you look half dead on your feet, nor where any of my students or colleagues could walk by. Let’s go back to my lodgings.”

***

Geralt can’t stop watching Jaskier as the bard moves around the kitchen of his Oxenfurt townhouse, preparing a tray of crackers, salted meat, and cheese, even though Geralt has told him multiple times that he’s fine. Geralt has wiped himself down with the soap and basin of water Jaskier brought him and changed out of his armor. He should feel relaxed, but the knot of tension hasn’t left his shoulders.

Jaskier looks just like he did when they parted ways in Cintra six months ago. He smells the same, moves the same, talks the same. But there’s a distance there that wasn’t there before. He holds himself a little differently, like he’s bracing himself. Geralt doesn’t like it, even though he knows that there’s no one to blame for the distance but himself.

Walking away from Jaskier in Cintra before the foolish alpha bound himself for life to Geralt out of obligation seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But now here Geralt is, asking Jaskier to bind himself for life anyway, because Geralt will always want more than he should when it comes to Jaskier.

“Here you go.” Jaskier puts the plate down in front of Geralt, as well as a mug of ale. “Eat.”

Geralt doesn’t actually remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t jerky or hardtack, so he takes a piece of cheese with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Jaskier watches him eat for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He smells unhappy and Geralt hates it. “Why are you here, Geralt?”

Geralt finds he can’t look at him. “There’s a katakan in Denesle that’s killed a half dozen omegas, all within days of them being mated. I remember Vesemir telling me about something like this a few years back. If it’s the same katakan he told me about, she’s been popping up every two or three years for decades. She’ll spend a month or so killing every newly mated omega she can find, then she’ll vanish and pop up on the other side of the Continent years later. I need to find her and kill her before she disappears again.”

“And so you want to make yourself bait?”

“Too dangerous to use anyone else as bait.”

“Oh, of course.” Jaskier’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Your heat isn’t for months, Geralt.”

“Got a potion in Novigrad to induce heats.”

Jaskier’s lips pinch like he’s tasting something sour. “What happened to ‘witchers don’t take mates? Witchers spend their lives alone?’” He pitches his voice lower, like he always does when he’s imitating Geralt.

Geralt is hit with the sudden, vivid memory of Jaskier standing outside of the Cintran palace, looking up at Geralt with an uncertain smile.

“You don’t have to walk away from this,” Jaskier said at the time. “Look, it’s about time you made an honest alpha out of me. We can mate. We can be a family, us and your child of surprise. Hell, we can settle down in Cintra so she can still see Calanthe, Duny, and Pavetta. They have a university here, even if it’s no Oxenfurt. We can have a house with a garden and a stable for Roach. We can have a life together, Geralt, away from the Path.”

And Geralt told him no and rode away, because he wouldn’t stick Jaskier with his mistakes. Jaskier, who was always so careful not to knot any of his lovers except Geralt and who drank a tea to make himself less likely to father a child. Jaskier, who didn’t want to be a father any more than Geralt did. Jaskier, who had given up his whole life to walk the Path with Geralt. Geralt hadn’t intended to ask more of him, not until the katakan forced his hand.

“I wouldn’t ask this of you,” Geralt says stiffly. “But people are dying and more will die if I don’t stop this thing. Her last victim was killed on his wedding night. His new wife stepped outside to use the outhouse and came back to find her husband dead in their bed.”

He closes his eyes against the memory of the young alpha’s anguished face. He knows she’ll carry the guilt of not having been able to protect her omega for the rest of her life, even if there’s nothing she could have done.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, like he’s picking each word carefully. “Mating is for life.”

“I know. Like I said, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t the only thing I could think of.”

“You found the idea of becoming my mate so repellant six months ago that you left me alone in Cintra. Do you know how angry Calanthe was about the whole Law of Surprise thing? I had to talk my way out of ending up in the stocks. I’m pretty sure the only reason I didn’t was because Pavetta talked her mother out of it.”

“Fuck.” Geralt’s gaze flicks anxiously over Jaskier, but he doesn’t see any signs of injury.

Jaskier smiles tightly. “I’m fine, but I’m under orders to never return to Cintra and to tell you to do the same. I don’t think the Lioness of Cintra will be spreading the word about my triumphant performance at the wedding, I’m afraid to say.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt knows it’s inadequate, but he doesn’t know what else he can say to make this right. He should never have come to Jaskier about this, he realizes. He has no right to ask his bard for something this big. Abruptly, he stands up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll find someone else.”

“Someone else?” Jaskier stares at him with the same incredulity as when Geralt appeared in his office. “Someone else to mate?”

Geralt nods. It won’t be easy to find an alpha willing to mate a witcher omega, but maybe he can find an alpha in Denesle willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of more omegas’ lives. It’s not like he’ll make the poor fucker endure his company after the mating.

“No.” A growl enters Jaskier’s voice and Geralt goes still, some latent instinct snapping to attention. “You’re not just going to go out and offer your neck to the first knothead that comes along.”

Geralt swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “I told you, I need to mate someone if I’m going to lure the katakan out.”

“Then I’ll fucking do it.”

“But—”

“You say people are dying.” Jaskier sets his jaw stubbornly, in a way that reminds Geralt of the first time that the bard told him that he was coming with him and Geralt could try to leave him behind as many times as he wanted, but Jaskier would always catch up to him. “And if the choices are innocent omegas being slaughtered in their wedding beds, you finding some random alpha to mate you, or me giving you a mating bite, then it’s no choice at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells him.

Jaskier smiles tightly. “When do we leave for Denesle?”

***

Jaskier knows that Geralt hates being knotted in unfamiliar places. They’ve split his heats between the heat rooms at the Temple of Melitele and the lovely omega spas in Toussaint since that first unexpected heat in the middle of Velen. He can see the tension in his omega as Geralt paces around the room at the inn, already reeking of pre-heat. It’s a perfectly fine room, probably one of the nicer ones where they’ve stayed during their travels, with a comfy mattress, plenty of bedding for a nest, and a sturdy lock on the door.

“I don’t know why you’re fussing,” Jaskier finally tells Geralt, because the pacing is setting his nerves on edge. “The whole point is us not being safe here, right?”

Geralt turns to frown at him, looking a little hurt. “I want you safe. As soon as we’re mated, I’ll go take a walk and hope the katakan smells me.”

“Fucking and running, Geralt?” Jaskier asks with a levity he doesn’t feel. “You cad.”

That only makes Geralt’s frown deepen. “I told you—”

“I know, you wouldn’t be doing this if you had a choice.” Jaskier turns away so he doesn’t have to look at Geralt’s face. “You have made that abundantly clear, my dear. You don’t have to worry about me getting any romantic notions.”

“Why are you doing this then?”

“Because you need my help and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” Jaskier says. “We’ve known each other for over a decade, Geralt. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Geralt is quiet for a moment before he says, “Of course I know that.” He doesn’t say it like he thinks it’s a good thing.

“Then why do you keep not letting me?” Jaskier whirls on him.

Geralt looks away, jaw tight. “We should get started. This potion works fast. My heat will be over within the hour.”

It says a lot about Jaskier’s emotional state that he didn’t notice the sweet scent of Geralt’s pre-heat growing deeper and muskier, nor the flush to his skin or the sweat starting to dampen his brow. His cock, luckily, has taken notice; it’s already half-hard in his breeches. He supposes for this to work, only his knot has to be in the mood for what comes next.

“Alright,” he says, trying to sound at least a little enthusiastic, and closes the distance between them. Without preamble, he takes Geralt’s face in his hands and kisses him. Geralt stiffens, like he wasn’t expecting to be kissed, before relaxing into the touch. His skin is hot to the touch. This, at least, is familiar. Jaskier tries to focus on the warmth of Geralt’s skin against his, the scent of his growing heat, the taste of his mouth. He tries to let his mind go blank.

And then Geralt pulls back. “Stop.” His voice rings with the note of tension it normally only carries when he’s spotted a danger in the woods.

Jaskier jerks away as if he’s been slapped, blinking in confusion. “What’s wrong?” He looks around, half-expecting to find the katakan lurking in the corner, but there’s nowhere for a giant bat to lurk in the tiny room.

Geralt shakes his head, taking another step back. “I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry. I never should have come to you.”

“Do what to me?”

“I’ll find another way to get the katakan.” Geralt is still moving backwards, like Jaskier is a beast who may lunge. “There has to be a better way.”

Jaskier lets out a laugh that sounds hysterical to his own ears. “Is the idea of being my mate so repulsive that you’d rather let people die?”

Geralt mutters something that Jaskier doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” Jaskier advances on him, because he worries that if he’s not standing between Geralt and the door, the witcher will slip off into the night, never to be seen again.

“I can’t sacrifice your well-being,” Geralt grits out. “I won’t. You matter too much.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, a furious reply on the tip of his tongue, before Geralt’s words catch up to him. “What do you mean, my well-being?”

Geralt looks at him like he can’t believe how obtuse Jaskier is being. “In Cintra, you were ready to tie yourself to me for life because I’d made a dumbass mistake. I couldn’t let you give up your life for me.”

Jaskier stares at him. “Geralt, do you think I only asked you to be my mate because of the child of surprise?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I asked you to be my mate because I’ve been in love with you since I was eighteen years old and there’s no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

“You said you wanted to settle down,” Geralt says. “I know you. You love life on the road. You really want to spend the rest of your life in Cintra?”

“Well, that ship has sailed, as if either of us ever return to Cintra, our lives are forfeit,” Jaskier says. “But yes, if it meant you having a relationship with your child of surprise, I was willing to settle down. But we can be mates without having a cottage somewhere. I’ll be your mate anywhere on the Continent. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because you never brought it up before Cintra.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d say yes before Cintra.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “I was going to ask anyway. I’d been working up my nerve to ask for the better part of a year. But I was afraid that if I asked, you would panic and run away. I should have listened to my instincts, huh?”

A too-warm hand cups his cheek. “Mating bites are forever, Jask. There’s no spell or potion that can undo that kind of bond.”

“Melitele tits, really? I had no clue.” Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to summon up some proper sarcasm.

“You’ll be stuck with me. Forever.” Geralt sounds pained. “You’re still young. If you ever want a proper omega—”

“Love, you’ve ruined me for all other omegas. I don’t know if I’d know what to do with a proper one.” Thinking of being mated to one of the painfully proper omegas his family has tried to foist on him, Jaskier shudders. He can’t see one of them manhandling him into place to take what they want from him or rolling him over to fuck him as soon as his knot goes down.

Geralt makes a pained noise and Jaskier opens his eyes to look into those honey gold eyes.

“Geralt, I meant every word of what I said in Cintra,” Jaskier says. “I want to be with you. Mated or not, settled down somewhere or on the Path. There’s no one else for me. I don’t think there ever will be. I want us to be a family. And maybe someday, your child of surprise will be part of that family.”

Geralt grimaces and Jaskier surmises that’s a conversation for another time.

“I don’t think of you as something I’m going to be saddled with,” Jaskier continues, lips quirking. “If anything, it’s the other way around. Think of all the songs I’m going to have to write about you if we mate. They will be horrifically sentimental, so I hope you’re prepared for that.”

Finally, the tension in Geralt’s face softens in a smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Jaskier leans his forehead against Geralt’s. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Hm.” Geralt breathes in deeply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone in Cintra. I just—”

“Panicked?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier swallows back the thickness in his throat. “I could have picked a better time to bring it up. Emotions were already running high.”

“You are a bard,” Geralt says tiredly.

“You’re right. Can’t help but be dramatic, can I?”

Instead of answering, Geralt pulls him close. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Then mate me, Jask.” Geralt’s gaze is piercing, his eyes seeming to bore right into Jaskier’s.

Jaskier smiles at him. “Okay.”

***

This time, when Geralt kisses Jaskier, it’s the easiest thing in the world, as familiar as if the past year never happened. Jaskier smells so godsdamned good, like the subtle, floral cologne he favors, mixed with arousal and the musky scent of alpha that has slick coating Geralt’s thighs and his prick throbbing in his smalls. Geralt pushes him backwards until Jaskier falls back into their nest with a surprised laugh against his lips.

“Darling,” Jaskier says as Geralt crawls on top of him and kisses his way down his neck. “I think I’m supposed to be the one ravishing you. You’re the one in heat.”

Geralt growls and nips at the soft spot under Jaskier’s ear, eliciting a shudder from the alpha. He doesn’t care about who’s supposed to ravish who; he just wants Jaskeir naked and writhing with pleasure under him. He slides his hand under Jaskier’s doublet, fingers trailing over smooth, warm skin.

“Tear it,” Jaskier rasps.

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “You sure?” After the first time he popped a button off one of Jaskier’s doublets during foreplay, he learned to take care with his bard’s clothing.

“This cut is out of fashion anyway.” Jaskier’s eyes are dark with desire. “Tear it.”

Geralt doesn’t need to be told a third time; he crushes the buttery soft silk in his hands and wrenches, tearing the doublet and shirt underneath apart to expose Jaskier’s hairy chest. He takes one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak, reveling in the way Jaskier’s body arches under him. Just to be a bastard, he grinds his his hips down against the length of Jaskier’s erection.

Jaskier lets out a delicious whimper. “Geralt,” he hisses. “If you want me to make it inside you before I pop a knot—”

Geralt growls at the thought of not getting Jaskier’s knot tonight.

“That’s what I thought.” With a breathless laugh, Jaskier tugs at the waistband of Geralt’s pants. “Off.”

Geralt takes as little care getting his own clothes and Jaskier’s breeches off as he did with the doublet. When they’re both naked, skin pressed against skin, he presses a long, languid kiss to his bard’s mouth. He’d like to take his time here and reacquaint himself with every inch of Jaskier’s body, but there’s only so much time before his witcher mutagens burn through the potion and this false heat ends. So he pulls away from Jaskier’s lips and lines his hips up with Jaskier’s.

Jaskier lets out a noise that’s half-gasp, half-groan as Geralt sinks down on his cock without any effort; it feels like his body has been waiting for this for a year. Jaskier feels perfect inside of him and under him. His hands roam over Geralt’s body like he can’t get enough of him, like he’s as eager to reacquaint himself with Geralt’s body as Geralt is to touch every inch of him. As Geralt begins to roll his hips, Jaskier surges up to capture one of Geralt’s nipples in his mouth, his mouth hot and slick. Geralt throws his head back and rolls his hips harder, driving Jaskier’s cock deeper into him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers against Geralt’s chest. “You feel perfect, Geralt. And oh gods, you smell so good.”

Before Geralt can formulate a response, that perfect mouth sucks his nipple back into his mouth and all attempts at intelligent conversation are lost. When one of Jaskier’s hands wrap around Geralt’s aching cock, jerking him in time to the thrust of their hips, it only takes a few strokes for Geralt to come. Jaskier moans against his chest, the thrust of his hips growing erratic. Geralt feels the slight stretch of Jaskier’s knot starting to fill.

Jaskier’s eyes meet Geralt’s and there’s a question there.

“Do it,” Geralt says hoarsely.

Jaskier doesn’t need to be told twice. His thighs shudder with his orgasm, knot swelling inside Geralt, as he buries his teeth in the scent gland, right in the place where Geralt’s neck meets his shoulder. Pleasure-pain explodes inside Geralt as a second orgasm hits him like a wall. It’s too soon, even for an omega in heat, overwhelming in its intensity. Jaskier peppers the bite mark with kisses, laving his tongue over the crescent of teeth marks.

“Oh, love,” he whispers. “Oh, Geralt.”

Geralt closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the curve of Jaskier’s neck. He can feel the grip of the false heat lessening; the potion’s effects are lessening even quicker than he expected.

“Bite me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt looks up at him. “What?”

He told Jaskier once that it used to be common for alphas, omegas, and even betas to have mating bites. Even his mother, an alpha, had a mating bite on her neck, though the omega who gave it to her was long gone. But that was near a century ago and it’s fallen out of fashion for anyone but omegas to have mating bites. He’s surprised that Jaskier even remembers that conversation; it had to be at least five years ago.

“Bite me.” Jaskier’s eyes are hazy with pleasure and soft with affection. “I want everyone who looks at us to know that I’m yours as much as you’re mine. I want them to know that we belong together. I want—”

Geralt sinks his teeth into the soft, musky-scented place where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. Jaskier lets out a gasping little cry, the knot inside Geralt throbbing. Geralt nuzzles at the bite mark apologetically.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Bit too hard.”

“No.” Jaskier reaches up to touch the bite mark, smiling drowsily. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Geralt wraps his alpha—his mate—up in his arms and holds him close, breathing in the mingled scents of them. Soon, there will be a katakan to kill. He’ll have to leave the warmth of Jaskier’s arms and go to kill a monster. But he’s not going anywhere with Jaskier knotted inside him, so he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy his lover’s embrace.

***

Jaskier never likes watching Geralt armor up to go fight a dangerous beast—well, he likes the armor part, the dangerous beast part less—but it’s far worse when Geralt left with Jaskier’s mating bite is still healing on his neck and reeking of heat, sex, and Jaskier. Every instinct in Jaskier wants to go find his omega and drag him back to their nest, where he can keep him bundled safely, far away from anything that might hurt him. 

Jaskier paces the length of the room, his entire body humming with tension. There’s a long night of waiting ahead of him; Geralt hasn’t even been gone an hour and a katakan hunt isn’t going to be a quick, easy kill. He should try to sleep, or at least maybe get some grading done—he brought a stack of student compositions with him for just this purpose. But he can’t make himself stay still for more than a minute or two.

When the door of their room opens, Jaskier whirls around, hand twitching on instinct towards the knife Geralt left with. But it’s Geralt standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking as unruffled as if he just stepped out to grab a bite to eat.

“You’re back!” Jaskier launches himself at his witcher.

Geralt catches him around the waist, pressing a kiss to the healing mating bite on his neck. “I was motivated to get back quickly.” He kisses Jaskier’s jaw. “Anyway, she wasn’t expecting me to fight back. She didn’t think much of omegas, witcher or no.”

“Is she dead?”

“Very. Corpse is downstairs with Roach.”

“What did poor Roach ever do to you?”

“She’ll bite anyone who tries to steal the body and claim the reward before I go see the alderman in the morning.”

“She is convenient like that.”

Geralt hums in agreement, nuzzling at the sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear.

“Are you hurt?” Jaskier murmurs.

“No.”

“Actually not hurt, or do you just not want me to fuss?”

“Actually not hurt.”

“Good.” He’s hardly covered in any viscera, so Jaskier tugs him back towards the nest. Geralt comes willingly, shucking his armor off as he goes. Once he’s divested of his armor, he collapses into the nest next to Jaskier, curling around him. Jaskier snuggles into his arms, tracing his finger over the crescent-shaped bite mark on Geralt’s neck.It’s already healing into a scar; Jaskier might have to mark him again to make it stick. The thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“I was thinking we could stay here another night or two,” he says softly. “Then we can go back to Oxenfurt so I can finish up the term. I don’t have much to do besides teach a few classes, grade some finals, comfort some crying first years. So there will be plenty of time for us to laze around in bed.”

Geralt hums in an agreeable sort of way.

“And then maybe we could head south to Toussaint?” Jaskier asks. “I think we deserve a proper honeymoon, don’t you?”

“Not sure if you and I know how to do anything the proper way.”

“Then we deserve a deliciously improper honeymoon.” Jaskier leers.

Geralt snorts. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Jaskier melts into his arms, surrounded by the mingled scents of them. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Geralt says, pressing another kiss to the mating bite on Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier is quiet for a moment, letting them both bask in their togetherness. But he’s never been one to bask in silence, so he says, “You know, it’s the latest fashion in Oxenfurt for mated couples to go about in matching outfits.”

“Is it now?”

“It is.”

“Guess we should get you some armor then. Sure I can find a zeugl in the sewers to dirty it up.”

Jaskier gasps in horror. “I think not. I was thinking you’d look dashing in a nice periwinkle blue, or maybe lavender.”

“No.”

“You’re right. Lavender is too cool for your skin tone. You need a warmer shade. Maybe plum.”

“No.”

“But Geralt, we’re mates! How will people know that we’re bonded for life?”

“Mating bites on our neck might give it away.”

Jaskier sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’m consigned to a life of being hopelessly unfashionable. I’ll be the laughing stock of the bardic circuit.”

“What else is new?”

“You!” Jaskier pokes him in the chest. “We’re supposed to be basking in the joy of our union, you—”

Geralt grabs him around the waist and flips him over. Jaskier doesn’t even realize what’s happened before Geralt is kissing him, his lips curved into a smile against Jaskier’s.

Jaskier lets himself be distracted, reaching up to trace a finger over Geralt’s mating bite. After all, he has all the time in the world to talk his mate into matching outfits.

***

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving kudos and/or comments over on AO3.

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[olderthannetfic]

Escapade Dance Party 2023 Writeup 3/3

Second Half

Jaskier has no more fucks to give by Gondolin AMV

Obviously, having just shown the other Witcher, I had to open with the more familiar one.

Vids under 2 minutes also aren't actually danceable no matter the tempo, so this makes a good upbeat intro to a section.

Grandmaster of Troublemaking (The Untamed) by NKZephyr Edits

I love the enthusiasm and goofiness of this vid.

Goncharov (1973) | Read the description! by Etoile

Come on, we had to have Goncharov!

TBH, there were other vids, but basically none of them were danceable.

【HIStory3-圈套】On a daily by Nerjaveika

Trapped's moment seems to have passed, but the combination of great use of text and this fun song made this one a perfect fit.

Ego | AMV | Mo dao zu shi & Heaven Official's Blessing (CC Lyrics) by Nitisha Donghua Productions

I was more looking for Heaven Official's Blessing alone, but most of the options I was finding weren't really danceable. I love this song and was looking for a vid to it anyway.

trouble in my head | lan jue & zhang ping | a league of nobleman by Victoria

I have no clue what this is. I probably found it in the sidebar while searching something else, but it's such a pretty vid.

История Бай Ци (AU, Bai Qi/Shen Zui) by Kemriko

What is this? Who knows. I liked it, and it was m/m, so people got to watch it.

BTS Jhope • Gasolina• |FMV|• by kookie taex

In a concession to how many people the previous song would inevitably chase from the dance floor, I wanted to follow it with something much more booty-shaking. I fucking love Gasolina and am always looking for more vids to it. Tragically, a lot of English-speaking vidding fandom has No Taste and does not vid this kind of music.

Yes, this is a vertical vid of J-Hope dancing to Daddy Yankee. No regrets!

Мания Хирото by Fausthaus

Ah, my favorite source of vids: Russian fandom combats. Are they on AO3? Yes. Have English speakers gone anywhere near their vast stores of battshit content? No, absolutely not.

No one at the con, including me, knows anything about this fandom. Too bad. The music is great, and I wanted to dance to it.

Отступники by fandom Vampires of Central Russia 2021

This is another fandom I spotted in the fandom combats. The vid is shorter than I'd normally show, but I wanted to showcase this interesting vampire fandom that I didn't think most people at Escapade had heard of yet.

Sex and Violence by bironic

Another one breaking my rules. Nandermo was a must-have for a vampire-themed year, but mockumentaries are shot like ass on purpose, and that makes them hard to vid, so my options were limited. Bironic's always a sure thing, if not exactly obscure to an Escapade audience.

Sadly, the embed seems to be dead at the moment.

Sex Drive by Franzeska

Yes, I will always play my own vids when I need to fill a hole in a playlist.

Night Watch was such a passion of mine for a while and the source of my ill-fated attempt to learn Russian. I always meant to go back and add text to this vid to echo the weird subtitles they did for the movie, but I never got around to it. Oh well.

【盾冬衍生】no body no crime 黑暗爽文利刃出鞘兰森/我们一直住在城堡里表哥 by 蜜桃奶霉包

Batshit AUs are my favorite. When I found this, I knew I had to inflict it on everyone.

The Hunger - Say Yes To Heaven by themaybatatter

I had a long list of vampire fandoms, most of which I never did find a vid for, but The Hunger was at the absolute top of my list. After scouring the internet, this was the only arguably danceable vid I could come up with and one of the few in general. What the hell, internet? What the hell?!

“你不了解你的妻子，我吻过她” by 没饭呲了

This would be a lot more danceable if it weren't quite so plastered with show audio… but too bad. As usual, sufficiently horny femslash gets an automatic pass. Everyone swayed vaguely on the edges of the dance floor staring, so I still consider it a success.

【巍澜】这可是极限拉扯的鼻祖！！！ by 甜飞惹

Guardian is another fandom where I'm spoiled for choice, but the Chinese vidders do like to include an awful lot of dialogue. This vid stood out for great dance party music and no audio clips.

Morpheus & Hob | The Night We Met by WolfPhoenixWriter

A lot of people were into Sandman this year. I liked this vid for making me feel a lot of feelings despite never having seen the show and barely remembering the comic.

It's a bit slow dance for Escapade, but I loved the emotion in the song too much to not include it.

Boyfriend | FMV | Yan Wei X Xu YouYi by Nitisha Donghua Productions

I guess this was my horny femslash year.

Lee Soo Hyuk - Gwi (Scholar Who Walks the Night) Savage by Serendipity

What's this? Dunno, but it's got a vampire and this great song.

The Monster by frayadjacent

This one was pure self-indulgence on my part. It was made for a con by a vidder everybody knows, but the vidder felt it required too many content warnings and didn't send it in the end. I, however, reserve the end of the dance party to show more content warnings-heavy things if I feel like it. I despise how fandom has turned into a "compromise" where anything that reaches into my soul is never on the table while pabulum always is. Fuck that. I am the arbiter of what's normal.

This vid lit me up in places I'd forgotten.

Ahs Hotel :| Tear you Apart by xxxxxx

This song was used in the show and there are a billion vids to it, but this one is far better than the others aside from how it just cuts off.

AHS isn't a fandom most at the con are in, but I just had to include its vampire season.

A Shot for the Pain by Franzeska

I honestly did go looking for other Penny Dreadful vids. Sadly, the selection was not impressive, and most of it was not to anything danceable, let alone goth club-appropriate music.

【拔杯|暗黑慎入】你是我奇怪的瘾症 by 两只阿夏跑不快

I've seen a lot of Hannibal vids. Almost all of them are gross. Few are as interestingly edited as this one.

Twilight Zone by hmmyeahokay

Okay, this one is a massive blast from the past. Do people outside of Highlander fandom even remember this bad 2001 movie?

I loved the song, and I appreciated that there was a black lead. That and vampires trump the fact that it's a het vid (ish).

Supernatural ►Cry Little Sister by Gwen

I scoured Youtube for vids to this song. I thought this was a particularly interesting take out of the extensive genre of horror set to Cry Little Sister. (No, seriously, it's a genre.)

【荣耀向我俯首｜kinnporsche】没长出恋爱脑前的少爷们怎么能错过这首BGM by 旧城与笙Zz

Kinnporsche hit big this year. I wanted a really fantastic vid that people hadn't seen. I love that this one is by a Chinese vidder (probably) to a French song.

Sadly no longer online, probably for being of a horny BL series and posted on a Chinese site

Kingdom come by fandom ATEEZ 2022

Okay, ATEEZ isn't a big fandom at the con, but this vid is some sort of kink AU, and I'm always weak for that. It's also to a Taylor song everybody loves.

Last of the Real Ones by colls

I cheated again and included a well-known vidder, but do you know how hard it is to find stormpilot vids? Kylux has like eight billion genius animatics and fan art vids. Finnpoe? Bupkis!

I don't know if people still care about this part of Star Wars, but all of the Bandom trash immediately rushed the dance floor when the song started playing.

louis & lestat | take my breath away (interview with the vampire) by ScribbledDreaming

I have ended with this song before, with finnpoe in fact, so that's a little in-joke for myself.

What better way to end the vampire party than the new IWTV and the most over-the-top vid I could find?

[annmarcus63]

The warm night envelops the camp with its deep black cloak. Jaskier is sitting in front of the campfire when Geralt appears from the shadows carrying a bag and a pot in each hand. The bard snorts and turns his gaze to the flames.  

"It's been two days, Geralt."  The witcher proceeds to hang the pot over the flames to heat its contents and offer the bag to Jaskier. He reluctantly takes it to discover that it's full of apples and grapes, his favorites. But Jaskier doesn't appreciate the gesture, being that Yennefer was the one who gave him the food. "I've waited for you for two days." adds Jaskier a little more firmly. Then Geralt sits down next to him on the log leaving inches between them, as he always does when Jaskier is upset. "I know." Jaskier lets out a disgruntled chuckle.  

"I know, he says. Well, I don't like it." The confession floating between them. 

"You never seemed to mind" Geralt responds after several seconds in silence. 

"No I didn’t, because it was different." And that's the problem, both have had affairs, lovers and adventures, both have enjoyed each other and others. But Yennefer...it's something else entirely.  

The wood gives way to the fire throwing sparks into the air, the crickets sing and Jaskier envies their joy. "We never talk about what we are to each other, I know it's not something you like to discuss." Geralt grunts softly to let him know he is listening. "But we had an agreement, or a pact so to speak: no matter who we were with or how many, we would always go back to each other. You would always come back to me.” 

"I'm here." replies Geralt somberly.  

"No, you're not." Jaskier hates himself for the tears clinging to his eyes. Don't cry, he begs to himself. "Not since the Djinn.” The bard turns tentatively to face the witcher. He carefully places one of his hands on Geralt's powerful forearm and clings to it, a little desperate, a little broken. "I'm here, Geralt, but I'm alone." Jaskier kisses Geralt's shoulder and then rests his forehead on it. "Come back to me, Geralt." He then raises his face to meet Geralt's disgruntled eyes. Such beautiful eyes. "Please, come back to me. I miss you. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier's and squeezes. "You won't." he repeats to convince Jaskier, or maybe it's to convince himself and isn’t that worrisome. 

"Please come back to me." Geralt then wraps his arms around him and kisses his temple and then leaves a wet trail all over his face.

That night Geralt takes him lovingly, slowly and affectionately, making him come twice. That night the soup over the fire burns. That night Jaskier realizes that it is inevitable that he will lose Geralt.

[yolki-palki]

Higher vampire Jaskier, anyone? Why isn't there more higher vampire Jaskier content? Give me higher vampire Jaskier flying under a witcher's radar to "keep his enemies closer" feeding right under Geralt's nose, having a crisis, struggling with addiction in secret, trying to stop feeding, falling in love with aformentioned Witcher, and so on... the possibilities are endless.

[samstree]

in other words (please be true)

A secret santa gift for dear @lamberts, hope your year is full of good sleep and love! 💖 (2.2k ☆ AO3)

“Jaskier,” Geralt says with his eyes closed.

“Hmm?” A slight shuffle, the sound of Jaskier burrowing into the cover.

“Go to sleep.”

A puff of breath ghosts over Geralt’s cheeks. The pillow under his ear is soft, a nice spot to stay forever like this.

“I am,” Jaskier answers, carefully.

“Your eyes are still open.” Geralt doesn’t even need to look to know, with Jaskier’s gaze on the back of his eyes.

“They’re not,” Jaskier lies again with a smile in his voice.

Sighing, Geralt leans forward to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, down his eyebrow, and then lightly, on the tip of his nose. He rests a hand over Jaskier’s back, patting a gentle rhythm. It’s a trick he’s learned to get Ciri to fall asleep quickly.

Jaskier sinks into the bed further, but Geralt can practically hear the sound of him blinking. The feeling of being closely observed by Jaskier is not a bad one. It’s just a small weight of attention, a warm tingling on his senses, a safe kind of being seen.

Still, the subtle hint of exhaustion threads into the thrumming of Jaskier’s heartbeat, just on the edge of too light and too quick.

“It’s late, and you are tired,” Geralt shushes again under his breath. “Close your eyes.”

“They are closed.”

Shamelessly, Jaskier keeps looking, so Geralt lets him for a few moments longer.

The fire crackles as Geralt keeps his eyes shut—opening them would mean admitting defeat. He’d be giving up on the attempt to sleep, and he’s reluctant to do so just because Jaskier wants to be a cheeky liar.

Without looking, he can picture Jaskier perfectly—lying on his side, face only inches away. The night is dark, and so are Jaskier’s eyes, peeking from under the covers with his face hidden. Age has never taken away that mischievous glint in those eyes, nor the overflowing adoration resting in the crow’s feet at Jaskier’s temple. Without looking, Geralt knows he’s being seen with love.

His lungs expand, filled with the familiar scent of Jaskier, and then, he opens his eyes.

There Jaskier is, safe in their bed, the lower half of his face hidden under the cover. The smile is unmistakable when his eyes are curved like this, showing those beautiful crow’s feet. Upon seeing Geralt is wide awake, his eyes light up even more, nearly gleaming with excitement in the dim firelight.

“Oops,” Jaskier murmurs. “You’ve caught me.”

“As if you regret it.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Letting out a deep breath, Geralt searches for Jaskier’s hand under the covers, his limbs all slow and lazy, heavy from a day’s journey. Jaskier meets him halfway, links their fingers together and brings Geralt’s hand to his lips.

“Hey,” Geralt greets him as if they didn’t say goodnight mere minutes ago. A content hum rumbles quietly as his hand is being kissed.

“Hey,” Jaskier greets him in return.

They lie there, blinking slowly in the warm nest of their bed. There are faint bruises under Jaskier’s eyes from days of traveling. He truly is exhausted, and Geralt’s heart twists in sympathy.

“The only thing you’ll regret tomorrow is the lack of sleep.” He squeezes Jaskier’s hand in worry. “Come on, stop staring.”

Jaskier only shakes his head. “No.”

“Jask.”

“I didn’t ride for days just to not look at your face, witcher.” Jaskier’s lips purse into a displeased line. “I’ve waited for months. Months, Geralt. Do you know how long they last when you are away?”

Geralt is too aware, because those months stretched out in Jaskier’s absence as if they’d never end. The empty bedroll beside him grew cold every morning when he reached out, but he kept reaching anyway.

“So you’ve decided to never take your eyes off of me again?” Geralt asks. “Even at night, just to make up for those months?”

“You tease me for missing you.” Jaskier pouts, wounded as if he’s suffered great unfairness.

“I tease you for being unreasonable.”

Geralt wraps an arm behind Jaskier’s back again and begins running soothing circles, inching forward until Jaskier fits into the curve of his body.

“Perhaps I am,” Jaskier whispers, his breath warm against Geralt’s neck. “When we were apart, I’d close my eyes and picture all the details of your face. I was quite proud for remembering well, but my imagination could never compare. You see, you’ve changed in my absence.”

“I did?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier touches his forehead to Geralt’s in confirmation. “You always change when I’m not there. I merely wanted to record the differences for my imagination. So next time, I’ll be more accurate.”

Geralt aches at the thought of separating from Jaskier again. “You understand we need to part, do you? Between your job and mine, it’s the way it is.”

Jaskier swallows. “Yes, for a few years at least. We have our plan, so I understand. Doesn’t make it easier.”

With that, Jaskier looks down at where their hands link. For the first time, a real sense of tiredness weighs on his frame, shrinking his presence, and it makes Geralt feel wrong-footed in a million ways. It just won’t do. Geralt hates it when Jaskier takes up less space.

“No. It’s never easy,” Geralt agrees, rather urgently. “It’s the same for me. I…I’d pretend you were with me too.”

“You would?”

Geralt nods. “Our bedroll felt too big. I kept trying to find you at night, only to remember you weren’t there. Even Roach sensed I was sad.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, I am. Shouldn’t have made fun of you.” Geralt pulls Jaskier closer to lay on his shoulder, securing the comfortable weight of his bard at his side.

“You can’t stop making fun of me even if you wanted to. I don’t know why I’m sweet on you,” Jaskier mumbles into Geralt’s shirt. “Perhaps I shall forget about your face altogether and let you suffer in unrequited longing.”

With a huff, Geralt pulls away, wrapping a hand around Jaskier’s chin. “My, my, have mercy. I won’t survive.”

“So you’ll let me stare now?” Jaskier perks up, his face open and earnest. “I don’t ask for more, only a few stolen moments at night.”

Jaskier still talks about Geralt’s love as if it is something he cheated out of the universe, as if he can only steal moments of affection in the darkness of the night. Even after all these years, he treats Geralt like it’s a privilege to love him, to be loved by him.

Suddenly, he never wants Jaskier to stop looking.

“Stare all you want,” he answers. “Look all you want. Remember all of me, but know you can ask for more. Always.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with a coy smile, the lower half of his face swallowed by the soft cover once again. “Always is a long time. I’d never sleep if you kept letting me get my way. You’d be dealing with a cranky, sleep-deprived bard every morning.”

“Hmm. A compromise, perhaps,” Geralt says. “A deal. Look all you want, but if you sleep early enough, I’ll get you those strawberry tarts you like in the morning.”

“With honey tea?”

“With honey tea,” Geralt confirms. “You can stay here comfortably, with your tea and breakfast. It’ll also be snowing in the morning, I can smell it in the air.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes hopefully, “you know I cannot refuse a lazy morning in bed. With snow, no less. This is the highest form of bribery, I’ll have you know. It’s put me in a rather difficult position.”

“Look your fill, bard.” Geralt raises his eyebrows, his hand sneaking up Jaskier’s back again, patting gently. “I won’t mind, but think of the price you’ll be paying.”

Jaskier squints, studying Geralt with a wicked look.

“There is one thing different about you, now that I’m paying attention,” he says. “You’ve grown cunning while I wasn’t here. It’s not a good look, darling. I liked it better when I could get away with anything.”

“I learned it from the best.” A human’s heartbeat thrums under a witcher’s callused fingertips, and Geralt keeps his touch patient. “What else is different about me?”

Jaskier reaches out for the stray hair at Geralt’s temple. “Lots of things. Your hair, for one. It was too short when we parted. Kept getting into your eyes. Now, I think I can braid it again.”

“In the morning, then,” Geralt offers another bribery. “And?”

“You have a new scar. Right here, by your collarbone. Is it a scratch? A vicious beast, perhaps?”

“The most vicious.” Geralt winces. “A stray cat by the road.”

Jaskier gasps, soothing the claw marks, hissing in sympathy. “What? Have you still not given up on petting them? Geralt, you know they attack witchers on sight!”

The orange little thing liked Roach fine, purring and rolling by her feet in the sunbeam, so Geralt made the mistake of letting down his guard too soon. It’s been a century of feline injuries; he really should have learned.

“I’ll live, Jask. Don’t you fret.” He catches Jaskier’s hand and kisses his palm. “Anything else?”

“Hmm, let’s see. I don’t see other signs of your foolishness.” Jaskier recoils a little when Geralt’s stubble scratches the sensitive skin of his wrist. “Except you are not taking care of yourself again, despite all my nagging letters. You know I love your face as it is, dearest, but this beard needs some upkeep.” His voice drops to seriousness, a hint of worry hanging by his pursed lips. “You’ve also gotten thin, just a little bit.”

Jaskier looks saddened by the thought, his fingers now tracing the sharp lines of Geralt’s cheekbone.

“You know how winters are,” Geralt says, his chest warm from the sense of being protected. It’s a rare feeling, but here Jaskier is, fussing over a witcher who is only meant to protect others.

“I know it gets like this. But again, it doesn’t make it easier.”

Jaskier sighs, brows knitted and deep in thoughts. They are no doubt thoughts of pampering Geralt over the entire winter now that they are together. He’d be mentally arranging all those sweet treats Geralt likes, or even contemplating cooking by himself again. Hopefully not—the kitchen can’t take another burning.

It’s too ridiculous a sight, Jaskier exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, worrying over Geralt’s missed meal or two.

“Hey,” Geralt calls out, interrupting. “I know something hasn’t changed.”

“Hmm?”

He always knows another trick to put Jaskier to sleep.

With their bodies tangled up and breaths mingling, Geralt kisses Jaskier sweetly and lazily. He sets a languid pace, a gentle exploration, a quiet homecoming. They exchange soft hums between pleasant teasing, but it never goes beyond what it is. Geralt simply kisses Jaskier, coaxing him to lie back and bask in the attention.

“Is it the same?” Geralt breathes, pressing another small kiss on Jaskier’s grin.

“Better, even.” Jaskier blinks slowly, his eyelids growing heavy despite the grin on his face. “Something else hasn’t changed.”

“Oh?”

“The way you look at me.”

Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, studying the light fluttering of his lashes in the dim light. He’s looking right into all that is kind in the world, all that is his.

“And how do I look at you?” Geralt asks.

“Like I’m a secret you get to keep,” Jaskier answers.

For a moment, the world disappears and all that’s left is them, being here, a secret Geralt never thought he could keep.

Jaskier’s hand falls next to the pillow, where Geralt threads their fingers together. He’s almost entirely resting on top of Jaskier, but he knows the weight is welcomed. It makes Jaskier feel safe enough to be humming that pleasant sound, and most importantly, it makes Jaskier sleepy.

“My secret. Mine. How did that happen?” Geralt muses as Jaskier lets out a yawn. He chuckles. “You know, we can always pick this up tomorrow.”

Under him, Jaskier is all sprawled out and squirming, pressed into the mattress and melted into a puddle of contentment.

“Not tomorrow, no. More kisses for me…right now.”

“Hmm, another deal, then.” Geralt smiles wickedly, resting his head on the pillow, studying Jaskier’s silhouette. “More kisses, but only tomorrow morning. I’ll kiss you more when I have the strawberry tarts.”

A sad whine escapes Jaskier’s throat, but there is no fight behind the drowsiness. “Sabotage on top of bribery, depriving me of kisses. You are truly too cunning.”

“You can complain tomorrow.”

“And feed you strawberry tarts too.” Jaskier yawns again. “Must feed you treats. Keep you happy and healthy.”

“Tomorrow,” Geralt promises, watching Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth going slack. The quietness stretches on with only the fire crackling. The shadows dance around Jaskier’s features, warming his round cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest evening out.

It’s like Geralt could stay here all night, just counting all the ways Jaskier is safe and happy and comfortable.

“Your eyes are still open,” Jaskier whispers under his breath, half asleep.

“They are not,” Geralt lies.

“Liar.”

A small smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips as he drifts off. He lets out soft snores soon after, his pinkie still hooked with Geralt’s thumb.

Geralt stays there for just a while longer, reveling in not having to reach out for cold, empty sheets, and in not having to miss Jaskier like there is a bard-shaped emptiness in his heart.

He sleeps, knowing he won’t need to miss Jaskier for a while longer, knowing in the morning, he will have sweet treats to buy and his bard to kiss awake.

[winters-mistress]

The Bloody Princess

"She's still weak," Yennefer says, standing up and turning towards Geralt. "dangerous to move her."

"I am still here, you know." The girl spits bitterly from her place upon the bed. But the cannot dispute the accusation of weakness, being so pale and brittle and bloody.

The two look at her. "We know, and we're trying to find a way to help you heal." Geralt rumbles, but he doesn't walk towards the girl, given the anger in her eyes. Her expression is all Calanthe.

"Am I supposed to be greatful that you've decided not to go away and fuck each other in my time of need, again?" she spits, scowling. "And that goes for you, too, by the way. Don't think I don't know where you were last night when you were supposed to be protecting me, who you were with, who sent those men for me." Ciri looks at Jaskier, who has the decency to look ashamed, sitting on the floor with his head down.

"I know. And I'm sorry. We let you down." Jaskier says, his voice low. "All of us."

"Indeed you did." she glares, but she can't find the energy to muster up any more anger or resentment. Her side hurts too much, she's lost too much blood that too many people find valuable.

After shit had hit the fan in Thanedd, both Yennefer and Geralt had been forced to make the journey on foot to get back to Loxia. Yennefer couldn't risk portalling them and risking being found via magical tracing, and there was nothing left in the stables apart from hay and horse shit by the time the squirrels and Redania had ambushed.

Their hearts were racing, chests heaving when they finally made it back to Ciri and Jaskier, but the sights that befell them couldn't have been what they had been expecting.

Twenty seven bodies baring the Redanian flag had been laying on the ground, as well as a snivelling Crown Prince who had quickly been sucked away by a portal, no doubt by the Owl herself. Ciri had been on her knees, shaking and bleeding and pale, with Jaskier coming out of hiding behind the second little cottage.

The girl had barely set her eyes upon them before her bloody side had forced her onto the ground, eyes rolling back in her head. Jask had squealed as he managed to catch her from hitting her head, while Yennefer had ripped Ciri's gillet and tunic away, leaving her only in her chest band, to reveal the bloody wound.

Geralt had growled loudly when he saw the state of the injury. Deep and long, made from a fine, sharp blade. He could clearly see a deep gash, at least 12 inches in length running diagonally from her right side to her upper abdomen. Ciris tattered had been used to dab at the blood, trying to get a better sight of her injury. Once he'd cleared away some of the blood, he was able to see that the wound was extremely deep and had penetrated through the layers of skin and fat and had exposed the muscles of the abdominal wall, straight to the bone. He can see her fifth and sixth ribs, and the sight makes him sick.

Geralt's idea of Philippa's fog having some anti-magical properties proves fruitful as Yennefer tries and fails to heal the wound, again and again and again until she's simply giving energy she doesn't have. A glass jar of picked cabbage had been the sacrifice to the sorceress' temper, she had screamed and punched the thing with such force it went flying, smashing into the kitchenette area.

With her own knuckles bloody, they sew her wound closed after reliving Geralt of any and all vials of clensing tonics, pouring half down her throat and half over her wound. Her wound is bandaged now, as tight as they can make it without cutting off precious blood flow, and Ciri was now awake. And she was not happy with them.

"Where can we go, to get her healed?" Yennefer asks, folding her arms around her ribcage. Perhaps to hide her hand, perhaps to guard herself form unpleasant memories, perhaps to keep her stomach contents on the inside.

"The temple?" Geralt suggests. "Nenneke took a shine to her when we were there last."

Yennefer flinches at the memory of that place as if his words had struck her across the face. The manipulation, the betrayal, it was too much to bare.

"And then what?" Ciri asks. "Lay in wait like sitting ducks, waiting for Vilgefortz or Rience to come for me? Again? Or what? Get me out of the way for more bedsport?"

"Ciri, for the love of gods, we aren't sex crazed maniacs. We're trying to protect you after failing, trying to make it right. I think Geralt can agree with me that you mean more to us than we mean to each other." Yennefer turns to her.

Geralt nods silently, his eyes intently locking on her. Jaskier looks at her silently, for once.

She huffs. "Making up for something you did wrong doesn't make what you did right. Healing a cut doesn't make the scar go away." She reaches over and winces at the feeling of her wound, grasping for the cup of water on her bedside. "But, even the temple is the best course of action, how are we going to get there? Yennefer can't portal, the horses are across the sea, and the chain ferry is probably long lone, and even of it was, its a stones throw away from the island, with soldiers and rebels surrounding that itself. So, tell me, what's the plan?"

Geralt huffs, shaking his head. Jaskier looks back down again.

"You." Yennefer says.

"Of course it is." Ciri rolls her eyes.

"You can portal us there. You didn't use a spell to get us out of the other sphere. You didn't use a spell to get us across that broken bridge." Yennefer explains. "I know they'll instantly track me if I use my magic, but you and yours? I'm not so sure."

"Yen, she can't." Geralt takes her wrist. "She can't even stand up, let alone portal four people miles away. You said it's dangerous to move her."

"Do you have a better idea, witcher? It's only a matter of time before Redania, Vilgefortz or a greedy commoner sees us. We need to leave this place, we need to get Ciri help. And we can't do anything to help her standing here bickering." she huffs. "Radovid will tell phillipa where we are and the fact that Ciri's here, and killed almost thirty guards by herself when they tried to take her by force, he even distracted Jaskier by fucking him and waited until the spell wore off to let them know she was alone and vulnerable. Phillipa or Dikstra or some other Redanian will find us sooner or later, they already know where Ciri is. And when she or the guards don't show up wherever the meeting point was, they will come for her again. I can't do magic right now, and you only have two hands to kill however many there are. This is the only way to save her."

"Can you even do that laying down?' Jasmier asks, his voice quiet. He probably still suffers with his heartbreak, poor thing. "Those times, you were standing and healthy. Now? You're neither of those. And don't think of standing up. You could rip your stitches."

"Don't tell me what to do or treat me like I'm stupid or like a child." Ciri growls. "May I remind you all that I'm only in this position, in this part of the fucking continent because of you lot? And now I have to save your arses because of your mistakes and misguided hospitalities?"

A silence flows over the small cottage.

"Yeah." Geralt whispers. "Yeah."

"Is that all you can say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're sorry! That you won't put her in front of me, because if you haven't noticed, every time you do, shit happens to me! In the temple, in Cintra, at the festival and now this. Have you not noticed by now?"

"Uh-"

"Ciri, stop. We don't have time for any of this. We can fight out our issues when we're in a safe place and you aren't in a deathly state. Now, can we please all shut the fuck up and work on a way that gets us all out of here?"

Ciri silences, licking her lips. Her head falls back into the pillows.

"I don't know how it happens." she whispers. "Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't when I do the same things each time. I think of a place, and all of a sudden I'm there. In Cintra by the river, in the sphere to Kaer Morhen, that's how it happened. But-"

"No buts. Just try. Because we don't have another option. Get us out of here, Cirilla."

Ciri closes her eyes, and pictures Nenneke. The temple and its pretty architecture. Jarre and the mazes of corridors, the candles and the sweet tea. Nenneke's grin when she forces Geralt to dig up root vegetables, claiming a sore back. Jarre's flushed face when he looked at her, and Geralt's murderous frown when he took sight of it. The sweet smell that the incence gave off, the pink smoke and the comfy beds and the hearty helpings and the clean clothes and hot baths and-

She lands on the marble floor with a choked gasp. She gasps for air, winded, feeling the blood seep from her side once more. She heaves for breath, opening her mouth to cry out, but a voice interrupts.

"Geralt! What's happened?'

"She's hurt, Nenneke. She needs help." Her body is grabbed and hauled into thick arms. She looks up at Geralt with wide eyes, seeing Yennefer a few feet behind them, rushing over, Jaskier's wide blue eyes. She writhes in pain, feeling her wrappings quickly become damp with blood.

"She was attacked in Loxia, and-"

"Why are you just standing there, boy? Get to the infirmary, you fool!"

And Geralt takes off in a flash of black and white. Ciri cries out at being jostled about, but a bitter tonic is forced down her throat and everything becomes hazy.

"Don't fight it, Ciri. You don't have to. Just sleep, you'll be better when you wake."

[flowercrown-bard]

We build our castles

"There! It's finished," Jaskier announced proudly and got up.

Geralt watched as he dusted the sand off his knees, but some of it still stuck to his legs, where they were still wet. He had rolled the legs of his pants up, when he had waded into the water to search for the prettiest sea shells, but the hems had still gotten wet and were now clinging tightly to his legs.

"Hey," Jaskier said, snapping his fingers to get Geralt's attention. "As much as I appreciate you ogling my legs, I need you to look at what I made."

With a fond roll of his eyes, Geralt looked at the sandcastle Jaskier had build. It was adorned with sea shells and dark pebbles he had found. Jaskier had complained endlessly about Geralt not helping him search for more and how Geralt didn't know how to have fun. That wasn't true though. Geralt had a great time watching Jaskier hop around, whenever a wave lapped at his trouser legs and he hadn't been able to stop smiling whenever Jaskier had found a particularly pretty shell and called out to Geralt with a grin on his face to show him his newest treasure. So yes, Geralt did know how to have fun. For him, it simply involved watching Jaskier be happy. Lucky for him, that he had found out years ago that being around him was what made Jaskier happy.

"So?" Jaskier nudged him a little with his toe. "What do you think?"

"Hmm," Geralt said, mainly to watch Jaskier groan in fond exasperation. The bard dropped down in the warm sand next to Geralt again, grabbed a handful of sand and half heartedly tossed it at him.

"You're terrible. I tell you, one day, I will live in a castle just like that and then -"

"Would be a bit small for you," Geralt teased.

"Oh, now you can speak." Jaskier huffed indignantly, but his eyes crinkled at the sides in mirth. He let himself fall backwards, heedless of the sand that would get stuck in his hair. Maybe later Geralt could brush it out for him.

"Do you even want to live in a castle?" Geralt asked. "Feels a bit restrictive for your lifestyle."

Jaskier blinked up at him. He had to squint against the sun.

"I don't know. Right now? Absolutely not. What kind of friend would I be if I left you to roam the Continent alone." He closed his eyes and hummed contently. "In a few decades, however? I can imagine settling down. Maybe not in a castle necessarily, thought it would have it's perks. But maybe a cottage. Or I could open an inn and be much nicer then all the grumpy innkeepers who charged us double for getting monster guts on their floors."

Geralt snorted at the thought of Jaskier becoming an innkeeper. He would be terrible at keeping the business alive.

"Would I get a friend-discount if I were to stop by at your inn?"

"Absolutely not!" Jaskier said, "You'd live with me at the inn, of course. Or the cottage. Or..."

"Or the castle," Geralt finished for him. He dug around in the sand, until his fingers found a small sea shell. He placed it on top of one of the crumbling towers Jaskier had build.

"Or that," Jaskier agreed softly.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. At some point, the sand of the castle got too dry and the towers crumbled fully. Some other parts of it were washed away in the waves.

Jaskier didn't seem to mind. He had that look on his face that he always got when he was daydreaming.

Geralt closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face. Blindly, he reached for Jaskier's hand. Without hesitation, the bard weaved their fingers together.

Summer wouldn't last, Geralt knew. In only a few weeks, autumn would paint the trees red and then it wouldn't be long until winter too fell upon the land.

"We don't have to wait decades," Geralt said after such a long pause that he wasn't sure if Jaskier still remembered what they had been talking about.

"Hm?" Jaskier looked up at him with a grin. "You want to give up witchering and open an inn right now?"

"Absolutely not," Geralt deadpanned. He looked down at their linked hands. "But I have a castle - well, more like a keep where we could live together. At least until spring. And only if you're willing to share it with my family."

Jaskier didn't reply, but his eyes lit up as if he had just gotten the inspiration for the greatest ballad.

"I would love that," he said, giving Geralt's hand a light squeeze. "I would love that very much."

[doberbutts]

Okay well I watched the first episode of Blood Origin and honestly my thoughts are:

I just don't understand why people are so resistant to changes/new plotlines/some lore breaking of *recent* franchises but gobble it up when it's older. People telling an untold portion of a common tale is well established in storytelling culture. The first example that springs to mind is Lancelot, who straight up does not exist in original Authorian legend and was a FRENCH invention when the myth spread. Nowadays, most casual enjoyers of King Author stuff don't bat an eye to Lancelot's presence. Lancelot, who comes to mind, because Sapkowski writes said Lancelot to be in love with Ciri, and we're totally cool with *that* but not with changes to Sapkowski's work.

It's really telling that there's such a bigoted negative reaction to this because honestly? The black people so far have been BLACK black, darker than me, darker than even my black family sometimes. I'm enjoying seeing melanin in fantasy don't mind me. And the hair on the sisters is excellent, I'm liking the costuming, and I *really* like Eile.

The accents are kind of all over the place. Both as individual characters but also as the actors themselves. Sometimes Fjall goes from generic American accent to some form of fake Irish to ????european???? and back and it's distracting and weird. HOWEVER I do like the Irish and Welsh accents in high born kingdoms, because too often those accents are for commoners and poverty only, and this sort of turns the trope on its head.

I'm not sure how much I like the pan-Asian vibe I'm getting from some of the props and architecture. Some things look vaguely Chinese while others solidly Arabic while others a weird fusion of Indian and Korean and it's just odd to me. At first I thought it was because of clan structures but then I saw that it's just sort of everywhere. I have 0% Asian in me so I'm not really a good authority to speak on it but it's a weird vibe, a little Orientalist to my eyes. I'll freely admit that I like the aesthetic since I was raised pretty pan-African but I recognize that most continentally grouped cultures don't love that and it's mainly the black diaspora that's embraced it because we don't really have much of a choice.

I STILL feel that doing away with this short-season "but the episodes are an hour long!" nonsense would help pacing so much. Literally every time I thought the episode was going to come to an end, it's been roughly at the 20-25 min mark, which a standard TV episode would have been ANYWAY. So there's not really much point to having this be 4 hour-long episodes when it could be done better as 12-15 20 minute episodes... which would be the eqivilant of a short season while 24-32 is a more "standard" season (instead of 8 hour-long episodes). It gives you more time to flesh the characters and plotlines out while also allowing you the chance to trim some of the long-and-boring content people get tired of watching.

I really do feel bitter that the witcher tags continue to be people making racist and misogynistic memes instead of a fandom happily discussing a pretty strong first episode that introduced a billion fantasy characters of color. It really sucks that black people in fantasy is received so poorly when my inner 10 year old is happy to see people who look more like me having fun with the genre. I long for the day when I can exist in a fandom space and happily discuss my favorite black characters without having to justify their existence every 2 seconds.

Oof that CGI is pretty rough though. Which surprises me because the S2 CGI was not this rough so idk what happened here. That monster in the first episode is, uh, bad. And the background in the weird magicky place is also pretty, uh, bad.

I don't understand why the first witcher being an elf would piss Geralt off except maybe because that means Jaskier knows more about witchers than Geralt does? All of Geralt's iterations- the books, the games, the show, the comics- are pretty chill with elves as long as they're pretty chill with him. He only pursues certain elves and elf-blooded mixed race people when they pose a direct threat to him or his loved ones. Same as humans. So I don't really get that line at all unless, as said, it was more a "wow Geralt's gunna be pissed that I know this story and he doesn't"

[kayte-overmoon]

An excerpt from my Geraskier ABO Pregnancy AU

I'm still working on this fic (it's a big one) but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING, so here's a little (3.5k-word) excerpt to tide you over!

Rating: Mature (no explicit sexual content, but it's fairly suggestive)

Tags: fluff, mild angst, platonic affection, idiots in love, pregnant Jaskier, mpreg, ABO/Omegaverse, canon era

Jaskier is soaking in an Igni-heated bath barely big enough for him to fit in. He doesn’t seem to mind, kicking his feet up over the far edge as he rests his head on the other end. 

“As much as I hate you spending all our money on inns,” he’s saying, eyes closed as Geralt cleans his swords. “I do appreciate a good soak in a man-made basin every now and then.”

“I know you do,” Geralt says, half a smile on his face for a moment before it drops. There’s something on his mind, something that’s been bugging him since the moment he decided to keep Jaskier. 

“Now, now, witcher,” Jaskier tsks. “What’s the frown for this time?”

Geralt sets aside his swords and looks at his companion. Jaskier has twisted his torso to see Geralt better, arms crossed on the side of the basin and chin propped up on them, watching Geralt with wide, amused blue eyes. Geralt no longer bristles at the bard’s nudity—a good thing, because he tends toward heat spells these days, and often the only way to cool down is to strip to the skin. They’ve had a good couple of weeks of work, so his cheeks are full and pinked with the heat from the bath. He could use a shave, but other than that, he looks good.

Geralt looks down at his own hands. “We should talk. About our arrangement.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, watching the omega smile out of the corner of his eye. “I mean our situation.” He looks up and meets Jaskier’s eye again. “You can’t keep traveling like this, Jask. We need to get you somewhere safe. Comfortable.”

“But I am safe,” Jaskier pouts. “I feel safer with you than I do anywhere else.”

“That’s the problem, little lark,” Geralt says, the endearment spilling from his lips like water. Every time he calls him that, Jaskier’s shoulders relax like Geralt’s taken a great weight off them. He makes it a point to do it as frequently as possible now. “I told you before, the Path is no place for a child. And all that aside, you’re going to keep getting sicker if we don’t let you rest.”

Jaskier waves him off, sinking back into his bath. “You worry too much.”

“No, you don’t worry enough!”

The omega flinches at his tone, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. 

Geralt sighs, looking at him apologetically. “I just mean you should take care, Jaskier. If you’re this ill barely a third of the way into your pregnancy, what do you expect to happen later on?”

“I’m not that ill.”

Geralt scoffs. “You turned down a minced pie today, Jaskier.”

He purses his lips, caught. “Fine. You’re getting rid of me, then?”

Geralt should take it for the opening it is. He knows how dangerous traveling with him is for Jaskier. How much worse will it get when he has a child at his breast? Geralt’s new worst nightmare had quickly become returning from a hunt to find Jaskier taken, hurt, beaten, ripped apart and sold for parts. And besides all that, it was becoming dangerous for Geralt. He’s never been so attached to someone—perhaps Eskel or Vesemir, but they know the dangers of their line of work and can fend for themselves. It’s hard to focus on monster hunting when half his mind is preoccupied with the omega waiting for him back at the inn. 

A distracted witcher is a dead witcher.

“No,” Geralt says, not even surprising himself.

There’s no question. He physically can’t bring himself to let Jaskier go. He’s tried considering it a time or two in the months they’ve been together, and each time, his stomach ties itself in knots.

The omega relaxes in the tub. “Good. Because as much as I love you, Geralt, there are some things even you can do to break my heart.”

His tone is light, teasing, and he doesn’t seem to realize the impact the words have on Geralt.

He’s still reeling from those words (I love you echoing in his mind) when Jaskier finally pulls himself from the bath, dripping wet, pruned, and smelling of chamomile. Perhaps the sight, perhaps the smell, perhaps those words muddle his mind enough for Geralt to blurt out, “Come to Kaer Morhen with me.”

Jaskier blinks up at him from the towel he’d been drying himself with, his hair tufted up on one side from where he’d rubbed it. “Kaer Morhen?”

“The homeplace of the witchers,” Geralt explains. “The wolf witchers, at least. It’s where I grew up. It’s where I—where we go every winter.”

“And you… want me to come with you?”

“Is that… is that alright? For me to ask?”

Jaskier chuckles and comes to where Geralt is sitting at the edge of the bed—there’s only one, since they’re on a strict budget, after all—and insinuates himself between Geralt’s knees. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of his nudity. Geralt decidedly is aware of it. “Dear witcher,” Jaskier says fondly. His hands land on either of Geralt’s shoulders and his scent, warm and happy, surrounds Geralt’s senses. “Never doubt how much your generosity means to me. It sounds lovely, but…”

“But?” Geralt gives into temptation, lets his hands settle in the dip of Jaskier’s hips, his wrists almost brushing the soft skin of his ever-growing belly. Some deep, base instinct makes him want to rub his scent glands over Jaskier’s bump, to claim him and the pup as Geralt’s. He digs his fingers into his bard’s hips to keep from doing that. He hasn’t been given permission. Jaskier has given no indication that he sees Geralt as anything more than a close friend, a platonic person who could protect him and his pup. The last thing Geralt wants is to breach his trust.

Jaskier purrs softly, not seeming to realize he’s doing it. He fiddles with Geralt’s hair. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you.”

Geralt snorts. “Trust me, if I didn’t want you here, I would have dumped you before we even left Posada.”

The bard tips his head and smiles and gods above Geralt just wants to pull him into his lap and press his face against his neck where his scent is strongest. Still grinning, Jaskier asks, “Why do you put up with me, witcher? You don’t seem the type to form attachments.”

“I’m not.”

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt observes him carefully in the candlelight. “Here we are.” He drags his thumb absently across Jaskier’s ribs, watching goosebumps rise in his wake. Jaskier takes a breath at that, pulling himself away from Geralt to continue drying and dressing himself. Geralt mourns the loss of his touch but lets him go.

“So.” Jaskier twists open a jar of sweet-smelling oil he’d been rubbing on his belly of late. I may adore this child with every fiber of my being, Geralt, but that does not mean I wish to have the marks of pregnancy on my youthful form for the rest of eternity. “Kaer Morhen?”

“Mmm.” Geralt picks up his swords again, going about cleaning and sharpening them absently while he watches Jaskier go about his routine. “Vesemir will be there. He’s a healer, of sorts. He could help with the delivery. Or we could bring someone if you like. A midwife of your choosing.”

Jaskier hums back at him, a mannerism he’s beginning to pick up from Geralt without even realizing it. “Vesemir?”

“My… father, I suppose.” At the omega’s inquisitive look, he goes on. “Witchers are born human and come—came, rather—to the keep when they were young. Many were orphans. Some… weren’t.” Jaskier clearly catches on but graciously deigns not to dig in. “Vesemir was one of the teachers before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, when mages destroyed all knowledge of making new witchers and killed all but a handful of us. Vesemir is the oldest living witcher. He took it upon himself to care for the keep and the last few witchers.”

“You speak fondly of him,” Jaskier says. “Are you close?”

Geralt grunts, not in agreement or disagreement. “I suppose. As close as witchers let themselves get. We have a lot in common. All the witchers left do. No one quite understands the life of a witcher more than another witcher.”

“How many of you are there left?”

“Of my school, the wolf witchers”—he thumbs his medallion—“there’s only me, Vesemir, and my brothers Eskel and Lambert. There are several others left from other schools, but we’re not nearly as close.”

“So, this winter,” Jaskier says. “Would it just be us and Vesemir? Or will your brothers be there?”

“Hard to tell,” Geralt shrugs. “We usually don’t know who’s going to show up until they arrive at the keep. The past couple years, Lambert has brought a guest.”

Dark eyebrows rise as Jaskier slips into a clean change of smallclothes. “A guest? Then it won’t be strange if I come?”

Geralt snorts. “No, it will be strange. Lambert’s guest is a witcher from one of the other schools.” He meets Jaskier’s eye. “None of us have ever brought home a human. Not since it’s just been the four of us.”

“Let alone a pregnant omega?” Jaskier snorts. He flicks a wrist, playing at being scandalized. “Imagine what they’ll say, Geralt! They’ll accuse you of stealing my virtue!”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “As if you had any to begin with.”

Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, darling. I’ll have you know I was the picture of innocence before—well, before this.” The hand at his chest smooths over his stomach as he looks down fondly.

Geralt hums in response, languishing in the omega’s happy scent as he strokes his baby bump. “They’ll know it’s not mine anyway.”

“How so?”

“Witchers are sterile,” Geralt says. He expects the shocked, saddened look Jaskier shoots his way, and waves him off. “I’m not sensitive about it. It’s part of the Trials to become a witcher, and they don’t hide the information from us beforehand. We go in knowing we will either die in the trials or come out the other side an alpha with no ability to breed.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wilts a little, his scent—usually a mix of honey and lilies—dips toward something like sandalwood. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“It’s not your fault, Jask.”

“No, I mean.” He throws his chemise over his head and scrambles up onto the bed with Geralt, laying his head on the witcher’s shoulder with no regard for the sword in his hands. Again, that blind trust that makes Geralt wonder what he did to deserve it. “Here I am, running around and making poor life decisions while carrying a pup, and you can’t…”

“Jask.” Geralt nuzzles his hair absently to get his attention. The omega tips his head up to look at him with watery blue eyes. Geralt sets the sword aside—again—and resolves to finish it in the morning. “I told you, I don’t care. Especially not when I get to see how happy you are every day.”

Jaskier squints, mushing his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder, looking every bit like a contented house cat. “I am happy. I feel as if I should be worried or anxious or afraid, but I’m not. I have many regrets in my life, but this is not one of them. I’m glad I have the pup. I’m glad I have my freedom. I’m glad I have you. You’re a dear friend, you know that, Geralt?”

Geralt grunts.

“You are!” Jaskier shoves his arm gently, not even enough to dislodge himself from Geralt’s shoulder. “Not many people would be willing to put up with me, with or without the child. And here you are, not just tolerating me, but taking care of me. Why is that?”

Geralt shrugs with his free shoulder.

“Oh, don’t get silent on me now, Geralt! We’re having a heart-to-heart!”

“Exactly.”

“Ugh!” Jaskier flings himself back on the bed, kneeing Geralt in the thigh as he squirms to get comfortable. Geralt pinches his leg in retaliation, making him giggle. “Fine. Don’t tell me, then. I’ll just assume you are susceptible to my charm and wit. You saw me in Posada and thought, ‘Yes. Now there’s a man I’d let rub chamomile on my lovely bo—‘”

“It was one time, Jask.”

“One very memorable time, on my part.” Jaskier grins, cheeky and lecherous. With a face like that, there’s no wonder he was knocked up before the age of twenty. 

Geralt makes himself end that line of thought the second it arrives. 

Instead of admiring his friend’s fuckability, he grunts. “It’s not too late for me to leave you along the road somewhere.”

“No!” Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, his head knocking against his hip. Geralt twists to accommodate him, letting the bard rest his head in his lap. “I’ll surely shrivel up and die the moment you leave me. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

“I think you overestimate how much you need me. You’d make it just fine on your own.”

The omega tips his head to level an unimpressed look up at him. “When we met, I was getting booed out of taverns and stuffing bread in my pants so I’d have something to eat later.”

Geralt just hums.

Jaskier pokes him in the side. “I’m happy with you, Geralt. It’s a peculiar arrangement, but I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Geralt watches him for a moment, aware his face was probably too fond at the moment but too content with the omega’s closeness to care. “You pet your stomach when you’re tired, you know that?”

Jaskier looks down. Sure enough, his hand had strayed to the little bump and was smoothing over it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Winter isn’t for another two months still.”

“Very astute, love.”

Geralt snorts and tugs his hair until Jaskier yelps and bats his hands away. “I mean, I think we should find somewhere safe for you until it’s time to make the trip to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier frowns and turns to lay on his back, his head still in Geralt’s lap. The hand that had tugged his hair now smooths it back. “You want to split up?”

“Only for a couple weeks,” Geralt says. “The Path, as I’ve said, is no place for you right now. You’re only going to get more uncomfortable in the coming months, and you need to be somewhere you can rest and relax. It would… I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the pup because you’re with me.”

“What do you propose, then?”

“I can put you up somewhere. Somewhere with good weather and plenty of things for you to do. Somewhere you can relax and pick at that lute you’ve barely touched the past few weeks.”

Jaskier frowns. “Fingers were too swollen.”

“The swelling will go down if you rest.” Geralt leans over him to catch his eye. “And as much as I love having you close, knowing you and the pup are safe and healthy, I’d feel better knowing you were somewhere you can get warm baths and hot food whenever you want.”

“How do you propose we do that, hmm? It isn’t as if we have the money.”

Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier’s chest to hold him steady as he reaches over the edge of the bed for his sword. He unclasps the pin there, the one he’d pulled from Renfri’s body as a reminder all those years ago. He holds it out for Jaskier. 

The bard takes it and studies it. “I’ve seen this but didn’t want to ask.” His thumb runs carefully across the clasp. “I figured it was sentimental. It’s fine craftsmanship. I’m sure it would sell for a pretty penny, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“It is,” Geralt says. “I’m not sentimental. The person who gave it to me is long dead. It was more of a… reminder to myself, than anything else. I don’t…” He looks at Jaskier. The bard was now holding the hand Geralt had put on his chest, stroking his wrist softly as he watches Geralt with those wide, innocent eyes. “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart rate spikes for a moment as he turns the pin over in his hand, pink flushing his cheeks. “If you’re sure,” he says. “I don’t want you giving up any more than you already have for me, Geralt. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

“I’m not doing this so you’ll pay me back.”

“Then why are you?”

The same question from earlier, just rephrased. Glancing at Jaskier, Geralt knows he did it on purpose. Geralt sighs and takes the pin back, just to give himself something to do. “Because you’re special, Jask.” The bard beams, and Geralt nudges him softly. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m going to sell this so you don’t freeze or go hungry while I’m gone. I’ll let you pick the town.”

“Oxenfurt,” he says without hesitation.

Geralt frowns. “Why Oxenfurt?”

“I’ve got friends there, at the university,” Jaskier explains. “I know at least one of them will put me up, especially if I pay for food and whatever other expenses I’ll have.”

“How do you know these friends?”

“Stand down, guard dog,” Jaskier chuckles. “We grew up together. Priscilla was from a neighboring family, and we were the same age, so we always sat together at parties. She is kind, and generous, and happily bonded to her alpha, Philippa.” He gives Geralt a significant look and Geralt stops bristling—which he didn’t even realize he was doing. “They’re good friends, Geralt. They’ll ensure I’m looked after while you’re gone.”

Geralt nods, smoothing a hand down Jaskier’s chest. His gaze strays to the little bump on the bard’s belly, where Jaskier is still stroking.

“You want to feel?” the omega offers. “Pup won’t be moving for a couple months, probably, but it’s a fascinating feeling.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier takes his hand and lifts his chemise, letting Geralt finally rest his palm over the little swell beneath his navel. His skin is hot and smooth, little divots where his skin has begun stretching to accommodate the life growing beneath the surface. It’s not big—Geralt’s hand covers the full expanse of it—but it feels significant. If he focuses, he can feel the vibrations of the pup’s heartbeat. His breath leaves him in a rush. 

“What?” Jaskier asks in quiet alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Geralt says. He strokes his hand across Jaskier’s belly gently, soothing him in and taking in the feel. “I can feel their heartbeat.”

“Really?” Jaskier slips his hand under Geralt’s, brows drawing in with the effort of trying. 

Geralt chuckles softly at him. “You won’t be able to. Witcher senses.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier squeaks. The scent of tears alerts Geralt to his sudden burst of emotion.

“Jaskier?” He shifts around so the bard is no longer on his lap and leans over him, one hand still on his belly and the other on the bed. “Jaskier, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No, no.” Jaskier gives a shaky laugh and wipes his face with the hand not trapped under Geralt’s. “I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He flips his hand over to catch Geralt’s fingers in his. “That was the greatest gift you could give me. Guh.” He gives a mighty, nasty sniff that makes Geralt laugh. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of a poor, pregnant omega.”

“I would never.” Geralt raises their joined hands to his lips before he even realizes what he’s doing and presses a kiss to the omega’s knuckles. Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink and his scent takes a sultry spike that Geralt doesn’t let himself linger on. “So, we’re agreed? Tomorrow we leave for Oxenfurt, where you’ll stay with your friends if they’ll have you. I’ll return for you in two months when it’s time to make the trip up the Blue Mountains. We’ll spend the winter in Kaer Morhen until the pup arrives, then we stay as long as you need to recover.”

Jaskier blinks up at him. “We… you mean you intend to keep me around after the pup arrives?”

“Of course,” Geralt says, though he hadn’t put much thought to it before. All he knew was that there was no way he was willing to part with his omega. 

No, not his omega. Just Jaskier. Jaskier, who happened to be an omega. Jaskier, who was carrying another alpha’s pup. 

Jaskier can’t seem to find words—a rare occurrence for him—so he just pulls Geralt down into a crushing hug. Geralt keeps himself up, afraid to put too much weight on the bard. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes and smearing all over both of them. “Thank you, thank you.”

[crazypaperwasteland]

How Geralt Lost Her-Part One

Summary: Geralt unknowingly hurt the person he loved most, leaving her feeling unwanted and forgotten by the people she cared for. Will he ever be able to make it up to her? Or will she leave him and never come back?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Just a lot of sadness and Yennefer being a bitch (no hate to her, I love her. But in this story, she’s a bitch)

A/N: Just as a reminder, up until this post reaches 50 likes, Part Two will not be posted. Again, sorry about that. 

Masterlist

Part 2 (Link will be attached when it’s posted)

I could see that she had Geralt under her spell from the moment he saw her. It was fine, I knew what she meant to him, I knew that he loved her. He’d told me as much, he told me that she was dead too, and that a part of him would always love her. I was fine with that. The one thing I wasn’t fine with was the way that Yennefer looked at Ciri, I could tell that Ciri was uncomfortable as well. 

It made my blood boil. I could also see how Yennefer looked at me when Geralt turned his back, she tried to hide it, but she saw me as a threat. She’d been teaching Ciri witchcraft, in ways that I couldn’t teach her, and it seemed that she believed she was superior to me because she spent a lot of time with Ciri. I knew about Yennefer’s infertility, I knew that she had spent decades trying to have a child of her own. I also knew that she saw Ciri as a surrogate for that loss, that void she felt inside of herself. 

For weeks, we’d been on the road, after Ciri’s little spill at Kaer Morhen. After learning about Yennefer’s betrayal, Geralt had been giving her the cold shoulder and really only talking to me, Ciri and Jaskier, albeit very little. Geralt seemed to think that he could just come running back to me when his first relationship was at odds with him. I, however, was not content with that little arrangement. So I would sleep near Jaskier, if Geralt set his bedroll down next to mine, I would move away from him and go over to Ciri. The poor man looked so confused. But I was not a toy, I wouldn’t play that game. 

I never intended to let anyone in on the way I was feeling. Betrayed, forgotten, lonely, upset. However, eventually those things boil over. Especially with me. Yennefer was skilled in magic, there was no doubt about it. She’d singlehandedly turned the tide at Sodden with all of her flames and had not lost her life. But I was different. Once upon a time, I’d been at Aretuza, long after she’d left. 

The mages of Aretuza were fearful of her because of how she’d weaponized flames at Sodden, but when they heard of my abilities, they were even more terrified. There would always be mages who were unlike others, who had greater limits than average humans. I was one of them. A woman with an affinity for fire, I used it everyday, I felt it rising up my throat like bile everyday, fighting to shove it back down everyday. 

This day was one of the harder ones. Yennefer had put Ciri in danger. We had come across a monster, another monster after Ciri. While Geralt was incapacitated, Yennefer had tried to portal. But her magic was still…finicky. She had taken Ciri in her arms, trying to protect her, when in reality she’d opened a portal right into the creature’s path and nearly gotten Ciri snatched up into its jaws. 

It took a split second for me to burn it into a crisp from the inside out. The work wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Yennefer had put Ciri in danger again. And I felt the familiar burn of fire in my stomach, rising up my throat as if I could spew it at her like my poisonous words. 

Ciri had gone to check on Geralt, who was unconscious after being thrown into a tree and hitting his head, Jaskier went with her. “Do you realize that Ciri could have died just then?”

Yennefer glared at me while rubbing her arms, “yes.”

“She would have died all because of your mistake,” I knew Yennefer felt guilty, I could tell, but everything I’d been feeling was coming out now. The hatred I had for her ran deep, because she thought that she could steal everything from me. My best friend, my lover, my child. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Yennefer snapped, her eyes blazing. 

I felt heat rising in my clenched fists, “if you had simply left it to me, that thing would have been a pile of ashes in a moment. Instead you left me to knock you and Ciri out of the way because you decided you wanted to portal. You decided you wanted to test out your shaky magic when Ciri’s life was in danger!”

“I was trying to protect her!”

“No, you were trying to play house,” I shouted back, stepping up until there was no space between us. “Like you’ve been doing ever since you got here. Happy little family. Mother, father, daughter. With you as the dutiful wife.”

“That’s what this is about?” Yennefer laughed, “you’re worried that I’m going to take your place?”

“No, I want to make sure you understand some things.” I sneered, I grabbed her arms, she hissed as steam rose from between her skin and mine, my hands burned right through the fabric of her sleeves. Her eyes were frantic with mine at the pain I knew she was in. “I don’t give a shit if you buddy up with Jaskier, I couldn’t care less if Geralt chooses you over me. But let’s get one thing clear, Ciri is not your child. You can get close to her, you can teach her, you can love her, but she is not yours. She’s mine. And if you put her in danger one more time, I swear to the gods that I will burn you alive, you spiteful bitch.” I shoved her away and stormed off, twigs snapping under my boots. 

I sat on a cliff edge for hours, my feet dangling off. How many times had I considered jumping off of a cliff since Yennefer returned? Three times. Once, when she first came back, I saw how Geralt looked at her. He looked at her like he loved her, he looked at her the way he looked at me before she came back into the picture. The second time was when Jaskier recounted her as his friend and slipped an arm around her, that wasn’t what did it. It was that she looked at me and smirked when he said it. And then the third time was when I heard her and Geralt speaking in hushed whispers while we were staying at an inn one night. I heard Yennefer giggling in delight and speaking in a sultry voice. 

All I had left was Ciri, she was the only one that I hadn’t lost, that didn’t entertain Yennefer’s desire for the perfect family. I recalled what my father told me when he found out about my gifts. “You will always be alone. You are extraordinary, but you are also a wrecking ball. Everything you touch, you ruin. You aren’t worth the pain, and one day everyone you care about will realize it too.” For decades that echoed in my head, those words. 

I felt tears slip down my cheeks, for a second I thought it was beginning to rain, but then I realized that it was just me. My lips trembled as I picked up a rock and chucked it off the cliffside, letting out a wail that I hoped no one could hear. 

Alas, I never got that lucky. In fact, my entire life had just been a series of bad luck. A series I thought ended when I met Geralt and Jaskier, when I met Ciri. Turns out that it was only just beginning. 

“Is this why you haven’t been speaking to me?” I heard Geralt ask in his usual gravelly tone, only this time it was softer, as if he was afraid to startle me. “I have no idea why you would think I’d leave-”

“You love her, Geralt,” I cut in, “I don’t need anyone to tell me that what I’m feeling is unjustified, I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m crazy. You love her. You’re cross with her at the moment, but the moment you accept her apology you two will be all cozied up to one another. In fact, you probably already are.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment, “me and Yennefer are done, (Y/N). I made that very clear to her.” I heard his boots moving on the gravelly rock before he sat down next to me. “I love you-”

“You only love me because you can’t have her, Geralt,” I turned to look at him. He seemed to jump back at the sight of my tear stained face. “I am no one’s second choice. All I have ever done is help other people, all I’ve ever done is think of everyone else, put other people first. And yet no one ever does the same for me.” I stood up and started to walk away from him, but he grabbed my hand before I could get very far. 

“You are not my second choice,” Geralt tugged me towards him until I looked at him again. “You should have just told me-”

“And what?” I shoved him away from me, “you would have told Yennefer to leave? You would have “listened” to what I had to say? Like you’re doing now?” I laughed, despair seizing me.

“I am listening.”

“No, you’re not. You’re trying to make it seem like I am at fault. You wouldn’t have listened, because you are unwilling to see the pain I’m in, the pain that I have been in, because you also know, deep down, that you are the cause.” Geralt lowered his head, and I knew I was right. 

“Then explain it to me, explain so I can understand, because I truly don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” Geralt’s voice was pleading. 

I huffed a laugh, “it’s simple. She has her claws sunk so deep into your heart that you are blinded to any wrongdoing on her part. You have not seen the way she has looked at me or treated me, because you’d rather not see it.”

“How has she done wrong to you, (Y/N)?” Geralt snapped at me, “what exactly has she done to make you hate her so?” His tone was so…mocking that I flinched slightly. 

I felt myself choke on my tears, “this, Geralt.” I gestured between me and him, “she is determined to destroy everything that I perceive as mine.”

“No, she isn’t!”

I let the tears in my eyes fall, my legs felt wobbly beneath me, I saw guilt flash on his face at the sight, but I cast that observation aside. “Fine, Geralt. I’m done….I’m just…I’m done.” I took a step back away from him, “she wins. You’re hers, Ciri is hers, Jaskier is hers. I’m done.” I threw my hands up in defeat and turned my back on him, and I left. I left it all behind, Geralt, Yennefer, Jaskier and Ciri. I left it all behind because I knew if I stayed, it would eventually kill me. So with teary eyes and an aching heart, I walked away from the love of my life, my child, and my best friend.