#jaskier x geralt x yennefer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

midniitemusewrites · 1 year

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The Amazing God (of Fertility)

[AO3 IS ALIVE AGAIN!! HERES THE LINK TO THIS FIC!!]

[thanks everyone who gave it a like or reblog!! I'm glad you enjoyed it 🥹 warms my heart to write something that people like!!]

Posted here to help tide those over who, like myself, ARE FUCKING ENRAGED THAT SOMEONE IS ATTACKING AO3.

Based on this comic here on tumblr!

Tags include: Explicit, Geraskefer, M/M/F, Jaskier is a God of fertility

Preview:

"Jaskier froze.

Yennefer blinked.

Jaskier’s heart went from a sleep slow beat to panic-rabbit fast in his chest and his hair stood on end from the chill of the early morning. He was freezing on the floor, nude as can be, bare ass against the soft worn wood.

In that half second of hesitation, he’d hoped that she had assumed the spell went wrong—but Yennefer was far too smart to have assed up even the most complicated spell in her arsenal. Slowly, her shock hardened into a mixture of anger and betrayal, and he knew he couldn’t hide the truth from her anymore.

He was Dandelion, God of Fertility. And he was so, so fucked. "

Jaskier stirred next to Geralt, happy and content. The first light of morning was just creeping through the window of Yen’s impossibly cavernous magic tent, and Geralt was still asleep beside him, his chest rising and falling softly. He stretched, careful not to wake Geralt, letting out a small groan. He could hear birds chirping outside the tent, and bacon was waiting for them eat. It was a perfect day to continue the “Hunt for Dandelion”.

He’d started feeling guilty about it a week back. But last night he’d come to a decision. And he was ready to face it.

He stretched again. He coughed. Coughed harder. There was a sharp, unfamiliar tug deep in his chest. He almost ignored it, thinking it was just a cramp from sleeping on his side, before remembering that Yennefer was in the next room over. He tried not to panic.

Purple light was spilling from underneath their door, along with the low tones of Yennefer’s voice. It sounded like a spell.

Jaskier didn’t even have time to sit up before the tug got sharper and he felt tendrils of Yen’s magic wrapping tight around him. He yelped and landed harshly on the wooden floor of her room, smack in the middle of a round sigil that had been drawn on the boards in what looked like rouge.

Jaskier froze.

Yennefer blinked.

He was Dandelion, God of Fertility. And he was so, so fucked.

The pot of rouge in her hand fell to the floor, spilling in a wide, crimson arc.

“You?” she asked, her breath barely above a whisper.

Jaskier swallowed. “Yennefer, I— let me explain—“

Quick as a snake, Yennefer dove and grabbed Jaskier, her nails digging into his arms. Jaskier shrieked, but he didn’t try to throw her off. He probably deserved this.

He felt shamed. She looked at him like she was trying to see through his cracks, see the God he was hiding underneath his skin. She looked at him like he was a stranger.

He knew that when she eventually found out the truth, he’d have a lot to explain. He’d apologize and she’d be cranky and upset, but it felt worse than that. He didn’t think it would feel so much like betrayal.

“You,” she said low and murderous, “are a liar. You’re a fucking liar!”

“Yen, I—“

Slap!

The force of her hand against his cheek stung like ice. When he looked back at her, there were tears forming in her eyes.

Shit, shit, shit. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was going to tell her tonight, to avoid exactly this!

“You piece of shit!” she yelled, hitting him with her fists now, anywhere they managed to collide.

“Ow! Ow! Yen, I—“

“This whole—“ whap “ fucking-“ slap ”time! “YOU KNEW! YOU HAD ME RUNNING AROUND IN CIRCLES WHEN YOU WERE RIGHT THERE! You stupid, selfish idiotic! Bastard!”

Heavy footsteps thundered and Geralt, dressed only in his braies, stood in the doorway to find his completely nude lover being assaulted by his other lover. And the growing disarray of the sigil on the floor.

“Geralt!” he cried for help. But the man just stood there, staring at the struggle on the floor. Finally, he seemed to gain control of himself.

“What— Yen! Stop slapping him— what’s going on?” He finally managed, still groggy from sleep. He kneeled down and Jaskier thought he was about to still her hands, but instead he used his own bulk as a shield, his arm raised to protect his face. Jaskier rubbed at his bruised shoulder.

“What did you do now?” Geralt hissed. Yennefer was trying to climb over his shoulders, grabbing at the air in front of Jaskier’s face, but Geralt kept her back. Finally she gave up, slapping Geralt’s chest in frustration.

A single, perfectly sharp fingernail pointed accusingly at Jaskier.

“He’s Dandelion.”

A huff of confused laughter escaped from Geralt.

“What?” He asked. He sniffed the air in front of her and asked, or rather, demanded, “How much wine did you have last night?”

“It’s not the wine,” she growled, and gestured to the complicated sigil on the floor, “It’s him.”

Jaskier grabbed at the corner of Yen’s bed and pulled down the sheet enough to cover himself. Not that he had a problem being seen by either of them nude— that had happened plenty of times before. It was just being nude and yelled at. And once he’d said his piece, there’d be even more yelling.

Geralt eyed the floor again, really looking this time. His gaze slid up to Jaskier, then back to the floor.

Jaskier gulped.

“Let me explain—“ he managed, before a pillow from Yennefer’s hand hit him square in the face.

Geralt couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the floor. He was looking at the sigil, but he seemed to be in the past, perhaps trying to remember if Jaskier had ever shown any signs of being a minor deity.

“I was going to tell you,” Jaskier pleaded, hand on his heart. Yennefer glared at the ruined sigil.

“I just… I didn’t know when… and then we started traveling together and—“

“We didn’t have to go on this stupid journey at all if you’d been honest with me from the very start,” She said. At least she wasn’t yelling anymore. Jaskier thought he preferred the yelling as opposed to this. Now, she wouldn’t meet his eye at all.

No, no, he thought, he had to tell her. But where would he even begin? The part where he encouraged his friends to go looking for Dandelion when he was right there, or the part where he’d been lying to them from the start? His own dearest friends…

Geralt opened his mouth as if to speak and Jaskier clapped his own trap shut. Yennefer still refused to look at him.

“You are Dandelion,” Geralt said.

“…Yes.” Jaskier admitted. But I’m still Jaskier, he wanted to say.

“The God of Fertility.”

“Yes.”

Geralt laid his hand on his chest, where his silver medallion rested on his skin. His expression was one of confusion, but he didn’t fight what appeared to be the truth. How could he? The circle hadn’t lied.

“How did I not know?” he asked softly. “How’d you even manage to keep that from us? Why did you?”

Jaskier threw up his hands and scoffed, “You would have killed me, if you knew. In the beginning,” he said.

Geralt frowned.

“Or at least, I thought you would have. And then when I realized you were kind, you weren’t like what the stories said, I… don’t know. You would have… treated me differently. And I decided it was safer to just keep it a secret.”

A dry scoff turned his attention to Yennefer. She was staring at him from the corner of her eye only.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted the truth to come out. He was suddenly very tired, even though he’d just woken up. He’d been keeping that secret for a long time and now that he wasn’t holding it in anymore, his muscles ached with the years’ worth of tension.

“You wouldn’t have believed me, Yen.”

She squinted. Annoyed, perhaps, that he could predict her reaction to anything at all. She was the Sorceress Yennefer, terrifying and so beautiful it hurt to look at her. She wasn’t predictable.

“And then we had such a great time, traveling together. Didn’t we? And…” he soldiered on, “the night before last, at dinner…?”

“What about that night, bard?” she said, daring him to finish that thought. But he felt those amethyst eyes on him, and her gaze only compelled him on. He burned underneath her discretion.

“You fed me, Yen. From your plate, with your fork. You looked at me like…”

Geralt cocked an eyebrow, turning at Yen. But she only raised her chin, as if the accusation was beneath her. Perhaps she thought she’d concealed her wants better, but they’d both been a little drunk, and Jaskier didn’t have to be a God to know lust when he saw it.

“Well, fine. If you won’t admit it, I will. Despite your terrifying beauty and rather horrid tendency to shove people away, I’ve seen you, Yen. That strength and terror you hide behind— the courage and the kindness — yes, kindness, that you desperately try to keep hidden. Despite what I know you think of me, I’m not ashamed or scared to admit that I’ve grown quite attracted to you over these past few weeks, and I know I’m not the only one that’s developed—“ he waved his hand in the air, searching for a word that wouldn’t provoke her into throwing yet another pillow, “—affections.”

Yennefer scoffed again, still staring in the direction of the wall.

She couldn’t be that angry, he thought. She found what she wanted: Dandelion. He was here.

Her mouth worried itself in a way he’d seen before— lips pursed, and she looked as if she were battling some thought in her mind. She wasn’t furious anymore, so what was it?

“I was going to tell you,” Jaskier said softly, “Soon. Probably tonight. I was going to apologize a thousand times, on my knees if necessary, for not saying anything and I was going to offer you my blessing. Yennefer, I am offering you my blessing. If you still want it.”

She stayed silent. She blinked fiercely, and when finally, her gaze flicked back to Jaskier, she looked slightly… hopeful.

She cleared her throat and quickly flicked a perfectly manicured finger underneath both eyes.

It seemed she was composed to her satisfaction. “I thought,” she said carefully, “if I finally found you, it would be wonderful. But now I’m—“ she looked down, twisted a ring on her finger back and forth a few times. Jaskier waited.

“You know I’m barren, Jaskier. Tell me how your blessing will even work with me.”

He’d never seen a more courageous women, kneeling before him to hear an answer she probably believed she’d never get. She hadseemed so sure these past two weeks, too. Talking about finally getting the child she’d always wanted. She must have been hiding behind that veil of hope, then, if there was still a nagging in her mind that told her even with the help of a God, she would remain childless.

She was his strong, fearless Yen. He climbed over Geralt, never breaking his gaze away from her. He hesitated a moment before reaching up and cupping her cheek, smoothing away a tear that had managed to fall with his thumb. And she let him. Certainly not because he was a God and she knew that now, but perhaps because he was her friend.

“I don’t entirely know how it works,” he admitted softly. “And I’m not always able to control it. Sometimes it surprises me. A child is either born or shows up as if by magic, if that is what is desired. It could be that you might bear a babe, or maybe one will come to you in a different way. But it will be yours,” he said, “I promise.”

Her eyes slid closed and a small sob escaped from her. Before he knew it, her arms were wrapped around his neck, and she clutched him tightly, like if she let go she would fall.

“Do you want this blessing, Yennefer?” he whispered, asking formally. A blessing had to be done the proper way.

“Yes,” she nodded,“Yes.”

The night Yennefer almost kissed him, Jaskier could hardly believe his own eyes. He thought maybe he’d been reading too much into things, just seeing what he wanted to see. But the way she looked at him… he’d just finished telling her about a time he’d gotten caught in a women’s bed. Her husband had arrived home early, and neither of them heard the door. When the man cleared his throat, Jaskier looked up and recognized the man he’d spent a very pleasant evening with the night before. Jaskier was terrified, but then the woman suggested that her husband watch… Yennefer laughed high and bright, and that was priceless. Then she’d called him an insatiable whore in a wine drenched voice that had gone straight to his dick. Jaskier thought he was hiding it well, but then she glanced down and smiled…

They didn’t talk about it the morning after. Jaskier had retreated to his room, bidding her a good night before she could speak. He didn’t know if her wine had been particularly strong that night, and thus her inhibitions loosened, or what. But he was reeling. He had to tell Geralt about this new attraction. Decide what to do. Would Geralt object? Jaskier liked Yennefer— but being intimate with her was different. He would be opening up his heart to her, and he found that the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t find reasons to object. Could she be cruel? Yes. But her jabs hadn’t been aimed at Jaskier for months. She teased him, calling him things like flower and even using Geralt’s pet name for him, ‘song bird’, once or twice in the last week. And where a year ago, she might shove him out of annoyance, they played a strange game of chicken. Yennefer would stare into his eyes and dare him to look away first. She would run her hand across his neck, fingering his doublet collar and make some remark about last season’s fashion. In the same breath she would suggest a different style and silhouette that would suit him better. She’d even offered to bring him something the next time she made a trip back from Aretuza.

Now, she was still wrapped around him, nodding yes. And he remembered that the sheet had fallen away. Only the voluminous fabric of her skirt across his lap granted him any decency.

They’d have to talk about things later of course. Because now Yennefer was leaning up, catching Jaskier’s mouth in a kiss as if he was the air and she’d been underwater for far too long.

As soon as their lips touched, as soon as Jaskier tasted her tongue against his, her mouth hot and sweet, he knew she was thinking the same thing: he was sure that she could taste the memory of that other night on him, as he was tasting it in her.

Finally, they were beginning.

A moan rose from Jaskier as Yennefer pulled him closer, her fingers grazing his scalp, lowering them both to lie atop the scattered remains of the sigil.

He wanted to taste all of her, she smelled so good. Her perfume encompassed them both, warming on her pulse points, heavy and full of dark purple fruits. Forbidden. He moved down to kiss at the skin there, moving aside the low collar of her dress, desperately trying to mouth at more of her breasts. The thought occurred to him that this was a very nice dress, and Yennefer might be less than pleased if he ruined it.

The mental image of her disapproving glare, perhaps grasping his neck to admonish him, made his hips buck against hers. Shit, that was something they’d have to do later…

She threw her leg over his back, and the motion moved him closer into her space, his prick rubbing against the fabric of her dress so luxuriously that he had to pull his hips back a bit, it was so good. How ridiculous, that he was naked and she wasn’t. He wanted her dress off. Gone.

At this point, they both heard the wood creak as Geralt rose to leave. Shit, Jaskier had forgotten that he was actually still in the room with them.

“I’ll just…“ Geralt said, motioning to the door, but was cut off when Jaskier broke away from Yennefer and they both ordered him to stay.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yennefer rasped from beneath him, disheveled and lips red from Jaskier’s kisses. Her soft hair billowed beneath her on the floor, and Jaskier wanted to know how it felt between his fingers. How it felt to grasp and pull, just a little. Maybe a lot.

“Is that— allowed?” Geralt finished awkwardly. “Your magic, I mean. Does it matter if I’m here?”

Yennefer had turned around so Jaskier could better get at her laces, and his neglected prick was making it surprisingly difficult to focus on both things at once. “I don’t think so. I don’t think it has before? It should be fine. It’s Yen I’m impregnating, not you.”

He’d never unintentionally blessed someone with a child before. He was sure it was fine. Besides, Geralt was clearly hard underneath his braies and Jaskier had the sudden urge to see what Geralt and Yennefer were like together. Was he different than when he was with Jaskier? Was he softer? Coarser?

He hadn’t asked how Yennefer preferred to have sex, which was rude on his part. They’d gotten carried away after that first kiss. He decided to remedy that now.

Finally, Yennefer’s dress and fell in a puddle around her, and she kicked them aside. She lifted her shift to mount Jaskier again, which he was all for, but he had to ask.

“Yennefer, darling, I am not just Dandelion, God of Fertility. I am a gentleman. How do you like it?” he asked, rubbing small circles into her thigh with the tip of his fingers. Her eyes slipped closed, enjoying the sensation.“Soft? Rough? Slow? Fast? It is my genuine pleasure to give you yours.”

Her mouth quirked into a smile. “As much as I like when others give,” she said, slowly moving down his body, her hands coming to rest on his thighs and her mouth a breath away from the divot in his hip, “I like to take.”

He watched as she licked up his length with a slender pink tongue, her hand wrapped around the base, and sucked the tip into her mouth.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. All he could feel was her warm, wet mouth and then two strong, familiar hands took his wrists and held them above his head, firm.

“I always wondered what this would be like,” Geralt whispered. “To have you both. To see the little faces you make when Yennefer does one of my favorite things.”

“What favorite thing?” he breathed.

Then one of Yen’s fingers did something to his ass that he did not expect at all to happen. He yelped and laughed at the ridiculousness of it, at how good it felt.

He was supposed to be the one doing the work, here. Instead, they had him laid out on the floor like a quivering virgin.

“Yen,” he gasped, “Not that I don’t absolutely love this, fuck you have no idea, but at this rate, I’m going to get pregnant faster than you, darling.”

Yen pulled off of him, keeping her hand on the base of his dick. Good thing too, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to last if she didn’t. Her mouth…

“You can do that?” she asked, her tone almost disinterested. It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did. She stroked him slowly, waiting for his answer.

“Shit. I’ve been pregnant a few times before,” he said, “I much prefer to sire, though.”

A surprised, choking sound may have come from Geralt.

Her brow quirked up a bit at that. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime. For now though; Geralt, can you get behind me?”

Geralt smirked and released Jaskier. Jaskier watched as Geralt cupped Yennefer’s face and kissed her fiercely, dipping her back as if they were dancing. Their kiss was filthy and it looked almost painful, but neither of them pulled away. Then Geralt reached up and tore Yennefer’s shift in two, the scraps hanging from her arms like a luxurious silken robe. The edges of it fell and tickled Jaskier’s stomach.

She gasped as Geralt began to mouth at her neck, moving further down. But before he could get to her breasts, she whispered something into his ear. He paused to breathe in her scent before moving behind her, and then two pairs of eyes were staring down at Jaskier.

He was going to explode. Or die. Probably both.

She rose to her knees and reached behind her, but Jaskier felt nothing. Instead, he heard the delicious sound of Geralt gasping. He had his head tucked into her shoulder, and his large hands were gripping her waist. One hand lifted and trailed over skin light as a butterfly wing, and Yennefer threw her head back in pleasure as Geralt started sucking at her neck once more.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier whimpered. He wasn’t sure what was worse— closing his eyes so he had a hope of lasting longer, or keeping them open and enjoying the show. But he had to last, he reminded himself. In order for it to work, he had to spill inside her.

And all the while, Yennefer’s left hand was on Jaskier’s lower stomach, teasing and pressing gently.

“Please,” Jaskier managed, and he knew his voice was whiny but he didn’t care. “Please. Yen, take it.”

Yennefer closed her eyes, relishing in the sound of him begging. He’d beg a thousand times to see that look on her face again. Say anything she wanted. Call her names, call himself names—

“You could call me ‘Mistress’,” she said, and he whipped up to look at her, stunned. “Or ‘Mommy’. I like both.”

“Did you read my mind?” he asked.

“No. You said it loud. That you’d call me names.”

Jaskier whimpered again and covered his face with his arm. Shit. He didn’t realized he’d been saying that out loud.

Watching Geralt and Yennefer together was lovely, but he was getting close.

“Yen,” he said, “Hurry. Take it, I’m not gonna last.”

She huffed, but finally, finally brought her hand back around to Jaskier’s prick. It took everything he had not to spill once her hand closed around him. If he was this worked up over

Then she was guiding him into herself, and he stopped breathing.

She was hot, and slick, and so, so soft and perfect. Of course her cunt was amazing. Oh shit, was he talking out loud again?

“Thank you,” she said, before sliding up and then down, slowly.

Jaskier reached out behind him for something to hold onto, but his hands found nothing. Then Geralt was there, right beside him, grounding him with steady, soothing arms.

She rode him for a while, taking her time and experimenting. She learned that Jaskier loved having his skin stroked with soft touches, his nipples played with. And he was quickly learning that he loved to be teased.

But it soon became too much--Yen saw the clench of his balls before he could warn her, and she gripped the base of his dick punishingly. He whined, and received soothing kisses from Geralt. What was she doing? Didn’t she want--?

Her hand squeezed once. “You think I’d be done with you so soon? I want to show you how grateful I am. For your power.” She leaned down close, to whisper in his ear. He gasped as her nipples trailed ever so lightly across his chest.

“And then I want to punish you, bard, for keeping it a secret for so long.” She licked at the spot just under his ear, sucking lightly at his neck, before pulling away cruelly.

Jaskier’s hands fumbled in the air, needing to hold on to something— Yen, Geralt, anything. He settled for both; his right hand landed on Yen’s hip, and his left on Geralt’s arm at his chest.

When she was sure he wouldn’t spill, Yennefer released him. Jaskier gasped with relief, but he missed her. Almost like she could read his mind, she moved up until she was straddling his waist and took his cock with one hand. She guided it between her folds, teasing him, letting him just taste her, before she sunk down suddenly, until her hips met his. She rolled against him, moving slow at first, and then gradually built up a rhythm.

“Look at her,” Geralt whispered, mouthing at his neck. “Look at how hungry she is for you.”

She looked like a goddess. Her eyes were closed as she took her pleasure exactly how she liked it. His hand was still on her hip and he couldn’t resist it, so he didn’t— he reached lower and squeezed Yen’s ass, feeling the flesh give so sweetly under his hand, and Yen groaned, her hips twitching deliciously sharper. Who was fucking who?

“Yes, fuck, fucking destroy me,” Jaskier gasped, and he felt his own cheeks burn a bit at his brazenness. But it was worth it because Yen responded by leaning down over him, her round tits in his face, as her hands gripped the headboard. Hard.

Shit, he thought, and spread his legs to plant his feet against the mattress better. Yes, perfect; now he could thrust up into her, like a gentleman.

But Yennefer smiled deviously. Her hips snapped against his, again and again. She fucked him hard but slow, savoring the sweet slide of his dick. He couldn’t stand being under her gaze, harsh and sharp, yet there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He felt his blush descend lower, and for fuck’s sake, he was a God, he was the one with the power of fertility here! But under that purple-eyed gaze, he found that he didn’t give a shit.

Yennefer licked her lips and slowly descended to meet Jaskier’s mouth with her’s— before darting at the last minute to lick into Geralt’s mouth instead.

Jaskier watched as they moved together above him, listened to their moans as they enjoyed each other. He was so busy watching them that he was completely caught off guard when Yennefer used that leverage against him and snapped her hips forward so hard that Jaskier felt it behind his eyes. She shuddered, her cunt clenching Jaskier’s sensitive prick, and collapsed on top of him.

They were plastered together now, from collarbone to navel, and Jaskier thought he could lie there forever. Every thrust of her hips made Yennefer’s breasts move tantalizingly against his own chest. The soft skin of her stomach met his like a kiss.

And Geralt was there, making little noises every time Yen did something clever with her tongue. Jaskier reached out to touch him, just to feel him, and could have cried when Geralt tore away from Yen to grab Jaskier’s hand and kiss and mouth at his wrist. Eventually he moved to his arm, his shoulder, his neck and shit Geralt was an amazing kisser.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen, at least not this soon, not today, but he was so glad it turned out the way it did.

Yennefer had just came, but already she was grinding against him again, insatiable. This time, there was an urgency in her thrusts, in the way she gripped Jaskier’s shoulders, that wasn’t there before.

“Yes!” she groaned, like she was wild with it, like an animal, “Fuck, give me everything. Fill me up, Jaskier. I want to make sure it takes.”

He would. He’d fill her with his spend. He’d do it again and again, however long it took, because Yennefer wanted it, she deserved it, and he was Dandelion, damn it. She’d wanted this for so long.

He nodded, feeling tears at the edges of his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He almost felt ashamed, crying underneath her like an idiot. But then Yennefer looked at him and kissed his cheek where a tear had already fallen, and she whispered, “Give me this. Give me this, too. I’ll take care of it. You know I can take care of it.”

Jaskier nearly sobbed again. He steeled himself and flipped them over, so that his knees were resting on the ground to better fuck into her. She raised her hips and wrapped her arms around him. Geralt adjusted quickly, his hands sliding under her spine, holding her up so she wouldn’t exhaust herself. Jaskier jumped as his stupid, gorgeously thick cock slipped easily against Jaskier’s backside. Geralt let it linger there for a moment before sheathing himself in Jaskier’s ass.

It was too much. It was perfect. The sound of skin hitting skin was obscene and delicious. Between the two of them, Jaskier couldn’t move much, could only fuck into Yennefer shallowly, but he fucked with vigor and the little breaths and uh, uh, uh’s that left her told him that he was doing his job. After a moment, Yennefer cried out again, her hands fallen above her head in exhaustion as another orgasm worked over her.

“C’mon Jask,” Geralt grunted, rolling his hips in a rhythm that reminded Jaskier of heartbeat, hitting him in just the right spot, “Give it to her. Fill her with your child.”

“Shit!” Jaskier yelled, finally cumming in waves of pleasure that made the most intimate, dark parts of him throb and pulse.

It was always good, fulfilling his duty to whoever wanted a child, but this felt different: it was more than just a good fuck. With both of them surrounding him, it was so much more.

Yennefer moaned, soft and high, her mouth open in a little “o” of pleasure. Jaskier couldn’t resist licking into it. He ran the tip of his tongue along the border of her lips before kissing her deep. When he thought he should pull away and give her space, she pulled him back with some small trick of her own— she bit, she licked into his mouth in return, and shockingly, she ran her hand along the length of her cunt, brought it dripping back to his mouth to lick clean. He did so, lapping at her hand. He was about to lave his tongue against her palm one more time when a strong hand cupped his chin and Geralt dipped down to bring Jaskier’s mouth to his own. He kissed hungrily, as if he were searching for the lingering taste of Jaskier’s spend in his own mouth. Him being a Witcher, Jaskier didn’t doubt that he could taste it.

His second orgasm took him by surprise, and this time Yennefer locked her legs around him, bringing them closer together, grinding and rolling her hips.

He knew Yennefer enjoyed being intimidating, strong. He thought she’d be placating or submissive in the bedroom, the complete opposite to how she usually was. He was glad he was wrong. He’d just been fucked within an inch of his life and he felt amazing. And she was glorious to watch— the expressions she made, brows turned up as she chased her own pleasure, the way her mouth hung open in a wordless gasp every time she took Jaskier back into her in one slow slide, the way the sweat that was accumulating on both of them trickled down her neck, slid between her breasts to pool just below her navel.

He collapsed next to her, trapping his arm underneath him, but the dull throb of the awkward position was overshadowed by that ridiculous orgasm that was, impossibly, still roaring through him: delicious pleasure pulsed through his dick, even his ass in waves, making his hips twitch uselessly against the mattress.

When he heard whispering, he looked up to see Yennefer with her head bent over Geralt’s, her hand trailing feather-light on Geralt’s thighs and strained cock.

His ears were still ringing, so he heard only bits and pieces.

“…Next time? Would you like that? If you weren’t allowed to touch?” Yennefer said in soft tones.

Geralt’s arms flexed above him where he gripped the top of the headboard, the wood creaking dangerously. He keened, sounding strangely like he was almost in pain. But the look on his face told a different story. Jaskier nearly came again just from the sound and sight of him.

Yennefer refused to let him finish easy, and it seemed that Geralt didn’t want her to. He bucked his hips against her fingertips, trying to get what little friction he could. Yennefer allowed it, though she pulled her hand just a fraction away every time, leaving Geralt wanting.

Jaskier was fascinated. Did Geralt truly enjoy this madness? Jaskier liked a good tease now and then, but was far too fond of coming to let it go that far.

Geralt had never expressed dissatisfaction when it came to their lovemaking. So it was a Yennefer thing, then. Something they shared. He suddenly felt very honored, and strangely touched, that he was being allowed to witness this. It struck him how beautiful Geralt was like this.

Yennefer was still whispering, mewling naughty things in Geralt’s ear that threatened a blush to rise in even Jaskier’s seasoned cheeks.

Geralt whined. “Yes. Please. Please, can I—?”

“No.”

“When?”

“Not now. Look at you. No.”

“Please! Yen, I need—I need it.”

Yennefer motioned to Jaskier and he went, moving slowly, afraid to spook Geralt or ruin whatever it was they were building up to.

“Put your hand on his throat,” she said.

Jaskier didn’t move. Geralt was gasping, his head buried in Yennefer’s chest. He couldn’t see his face.

“Go on,” she said, “he likes it. It’s good for him.”

Jaskier watched as his hand moved to cover the soft skin of Geralt’s throat. Once he made contact, Geralt laid back on the pillow, his mouth open in a wordless shout. Pre-cum dribbled from his tip, a thin string connecting Yennefer’s finger to his prick.

He threw Yennefer a desperate glance.

“No,” She said, firmly.

He didn’t mean to, but Jaskier tightened his loose grip on Geralt’s neck a fraction. Immediately, Geralt thrust his hips up, up, up until he was cumming violently, the muscles in his stomach twitching and flexing, streams of cum landing on his heaving chest and cheek. Some of it got on Jaskier’s hand, warm and wet.

Immediately, Yennefer was whispering into Geralt’s ear.

“You did so good. I know, I know. Jaskier was naughty— you did so well, my darling. Fuck, you were so pretty.”

She gave Jaskier a secret smile, and he knew that somehow, what he did was the right thing.

Geralt was still heaving, still basking in bliss. His hand came up and rested on Jaskier’s arm— thank you for seeing me. Seeing me like this, and accepting it.

Then Yennefer turned away quickly to sneeze.

“Bless you,” Jaskier said.

Yennefer turned back around with a grin. She caressed her stomach, saying, “Thank you. Very much.”

She leaned over Geralt and gave Jaskier a chaste, but long kiss.

“What do you think it will be?” she asked, a beatific smile on her face. She laid back and tucked her arms behind her head, gazing up at the ceiling as if the face of her future child could be seen in the pattern of the fabric.

“Hmm,” Jaskier said, imitating her pose. “I think only a girl would be fitting.”

“Strong and fierce as you,” Geralt added in a soft murmur.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “A little girl.”

It wasn’t something Jaskier could control. But in his bones, he felt the truth of it. All they had to do now was wait and see.

And in the kingdom of Cintra, a young princess slept on her fine feather mattress, dreaming of destiny again. In her dream, she walked in a meadow, familiar yet strange. Walking ahead of her in tandem were two men and a woman. Two swords gleamed on the back of a man with hair even paler than her own. The woman said something Ciri couldn’t make out, but when she turned around to smile, her laugh was as clear as water and her eyes as purple as amethysts.

Then she heard music. The other man slowed to fall in step with the princess, and she was struck by the bright aquamarine of his eyes. She couldn’t hear what he was saying either, but she could hear that beautiful lute and she knew that he was playing it for her delight. He’d written it for her.

She didn’t recognize these people, but she knew them. She knew they loved her, and she loved them back. She hoped she would remember this dream when she woke.

She needed to find this love.

#a pox upon those who have moved against ao3 !!#geraskefer #witcher fic #geraskefer fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt x yennefer #twn #yennskier

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geraskierfanficprompts · 3 months

Text

Prompt 75

After being yelled at on the mountain, Jaskier stumbles and tumbles his way down the perilous path down, all the while being half-blinded by his own tears. He makes it to town and decides to wait. Geralt will realize it was all a mistake and come to find him and apologize. It'll take a few days, but Jaskier can wait. He'll play for some coin, and buy himself something nice to distract himself from the heartbreak. It's been four days. Jaskier has a room at an inn, two beds, in case Geralt doesn't want to sleep in the same bed with him like they used to. Jaskier plays every night. Everyone keeps requesting his songs about Geralt, but he redirects them easily enough. The only problem is he ran out of non-Geralt songs after the second day. Even ones that don't mention him, Jaskier can't bring himself to play, because he knows that he wrote them about Geralt. It's been a week. Jaskier has his room at the same inn. He still plays for coin, but he's been forced to play his songs about Geralt, as nobody wants to hear the same songs for a week straight, so he had to diversify. Jaskier is worried Geralt might've gotten hurt. Hopefully with his witcher healing, he'll be here in no time. It's been two weeks. Jaskier has his room at the inn. He's decided to take a break from playing for a bit, lest he get boring for the crowds. He's begun really exploring the town, and he's even met one of his frequent listeners out in town, got his name - Pietr - And was introduced to his wife as "The song guy". It was nice hearing compliments about his work from them both, even if it did remind him of the nights Geralt would talk in-depth about Jaskier's songcycles with him. He misses those nights. He hopes Geralt heals up from whatever injury he must've gotten and gets here soon so they can continue having those. It's been two months. Jaskier has changed to a one-bed room. Geralt is taking forever, he can deal with sharing a bed with Jaskier when he gets here. Jaskier plays every few nights, he has regular listeners now. He's tried writing new songs, but every time he puts quill to parchment, he starts crying. Really wish he'd stop doing that. It's been four months. Jaskier has changed his room again, now in a room with a single small bed, just for one person. It'd be physically impossible to even attempt sharing it with Geralt, unless they laid on top of each other, and even then, Geralt's feet would poke out. Jaskier can only assume Geralt went after Yennefer before him. As always. Jaskier isn't sure why it came as a surprise when he first figured it out. Or why it still hurt enough to make him bawl into a glass of alcohol. He should've known from the beginning. At least he'll be next, he thinks moments before passing out drunk. It's been six months. Jaskier is beginning to worry Geralt may have died. Surely he would've come by now. Jaskier's head still whips around to look at the door every time it opens. He still peeks into every stable and prays he'll see Roach. He still asks the blacksmith if he's done any work with swords recently. One especially mortifying moment was the time he asked a brothel if they had seen Geralt's description, only for the women to all tut sadly and tell him that if he had to look at brothels to try and find his missing husband, he must've not been good enough for Jaskier to begin with. Jaskier leaves without even clearing up the misconception, because it was still a no. Geralt was still not here.

It's been eight months. Jaskier has the same room, but has begun to dwindle in popularity. At least in the "giving money to" department. He thought he could at least expect Pietr, but he ran into him in the market the other day and Pietr had no idea who he was. Jaskier must really be that forgettable, despite all his attempts his whole life to not be. Jaskier must've just overexaggerated what he meant to someone again. Jaskier has scaled the mountain again, all by himself. Either he finds signs of Geralt, dead or alive, or he dies in some rockslide accident and nobody misses him. He finds no signs of Geralt, however. Not a thing. Geralt left the mountain, that was for sure. Jaskier sat on the very same rock, and cried thinking of the very same coast, but this time he was alone. It's been ten months. Jaskier spends his days and nights either drinking or crying. He's only written one new song, one about someone's love dying before they ever get to tell them how they feel. He's never sung it, though. For a performance or in private. He's stopped playing altogether. He has no idea what to do with the rest of his life. As sad and pitiful and pathetic as he thinks himself when he says it, his life was Geralt. Following him for twenty years, writing songs about him, spreading word about him, making a name for himself as "The White Wolf's bard." It's been a year. Jaskier bought himself a small hovel in the village. He'd been there far too long to keep using the inn. He has a small flower garden. He spends most of his time tending it. Jaskier heard a villager say their penpal's village was recently saved by the White Wolf himself, and Jaskier freezes, standing still and gaping at the two women chatting. They begin to realize Jaskier's eavesdropping and move to talk inside their home. Oh. So Geralt lived. He just truly didn't come for Jaskier. Jaskier throws the last song he wrote for Geralt into the fire. Geralt isn't dead. But Geralt probably wishes Jaskier was. Jaskier stays inside his home long enough for his garden to get overrun with weeds and pests. He only leaves his home when one day, there's incessant knocking on his door. He opens it to find Yennefer. Great. She grabs his arm, summons a portal behind her, and shOVES him in. She sits him down in a chair in a kitchen, comments on how terrible he looks, and then leaves upstairs. After a few moments, Yennefer drags Geralt in, even though Geralt is clearly trying his best not to enter the room. Lovely. As if Jaskier didn't already feel like the bane of Geralt's existence. Yennefer finally sits Geralt down, and explains to them that it was just as she thought. They were bespelled. Geralt has been having lapses of memory and odd sudden urges for about a year now. He'd forget people he spoke to, towns he'd go in, and suddenly go off his routes or paths with intense need to go on a detour he could never talk himself out of. Geralt can hardly listen to her, he's just stuck staring at Jaskier with awe. Jaskier's alive. Jaskier's alive. Ever since the mountain, Geralt has been visiting the towns around the mountain, praying to find his bard again, only for everybody in the towns to not have seen anyone meeting his description. It was only two months in that he combed the entire mountain, both hoping and dreading to find Jaskier's body. He found nothing. No signs of his bard. And with nobody ever seeing him enter the village, it's almost as if he just... disappeared. Yennefer explains that anytime Geralt asked someone of Jaskier, the person would forget everything they knew about him. Any time Geralt almost made contact with Jaskier, his mind would suddenly tug him into a new direction. it seems to have been born into existence the day they had their fight on the mountain. Specifically when Geralt asked for life to take Jaskier off his hands.

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