#my Witcher writing

[dat-carovieh]

I don't fear you, I fear for you

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Wordcount: 844

Tags: potions, misunderstanding, worried Jaskier, self hating Geralt, first kiss

Read on AO3

As Geralt was returning to his camp, he was covered in grime, potions still running hot through his veins. The Kikimore had been a tough one, in the end he had cut open it’s belly and had been showered with the dark red, nearly black blood that had splattered out. He knew he was looking gruesome. People had run away from him, screaming before when they had encountered him like that or even looking less horrible. The snow-white skin under the blood and the black eyes weren’t helping at all.

When he entered the clearing Jaskier turned around and stared at Geralt. Until now he had been unphased by everything he had seen, had sticked to Geralt, even told him he was a good person. Geralt didn’t believe a thing he said. He wouldn’t hide this gruesome side of himself from the bard, better to have him run off early on. Getting attached was not good for a Witcher. Obviously, he already was on his way to get way to attached.

And sure enough he smelled the sharp sting of fear. It hurt more then he expected. He had never smelled fear in the bard in the few weeks he had been following him around. Jaskier was standing frozen in place, staring at Geralt.

“You wanna run now?” he asked in a gravely voice. This seemed to snap Jaskier out of his stupor and he did run but not away but at Geralt. Geralt couldn’t do anything except staring at him, frozen in place.

“Shit Geralt, what happened? Have you been poisoned? Will you be alright?” His hands on Geralt, looking for injuries.

Geralt didn’t know what to say as Jaskier grabbed his hand and pulled him to their camp. Touching him while most people would not even get close to him when he looked like that. What was the bard doing? He was still reeking of fear. Why didn’t he run then? Why did he even touch him? Geralt’s mind wasn’t processing at all.

“Sit down Geralt, come on,” Jaskier said and pushed him down to sit on a log. Jaskier crouched down to stare into Geralt’s black eyes. “Please talk to me. I’m freaking out here, Geralt. What’s happened to you? How can I help?” And suddenly it became clear to Geralt, Jaskier wasn’t afraid of him he was afraid for him. Geralt had a hard time processing this, never had a human seen him like this and been afraid for him.

“’m fine,” he mumbled.

“Fine? You don’t look fine, Geralt. I didn’t even know a person’s skin could be so pale without them being dead and these black lines on your face look very much like you’ve been poisoned. Are you positive you haven’t been? You look like you’re dead.”

“It’s my potions. It passes. They’re toxic but my body can easily fight that off,” Geralt explained.

“You voluntarily drink something that is toxic? That’s fucked up,” Jaskier answered. “How can I help you?”

“Just some water and rest,” Geralt answered. Jaskier hurried off to bring Geralt some water and then actually left him alone. It didn’t take long for the potion to pass his system after that. He felt worn out like always after it had worn off, Jaskier probably wasn’t too wrong. Consuming something toxic voluntarily wasn’t the best thing. He had changed out of the ruined clothes and cleaned himself the best he could out here.

“You reeked of fear when you saw me, but you didn’t act scared,” Geralt said after a while. Jaskier looked up.

“I did act scared. You probably didn’t recognise since usually people are scared of you and not for you,” Jaskier explained. So, Jaskier really had not been scared of him. And he was right, Geralt didn’t know how it was.

Jaskier got up and knelt down in front of Geralt. He lifted a hand and gently stroked Geralt’s cheek.

“You always think I will run off screaming but I won’t, Geralt. I’m not scared of you; I know you won’t harm me. But it’s reasonable to fear that you might get killed with all the monster hunting,” Jaskier explained. His hand still on Geralt’s cheek. Without realizing Geralt had been leaning into the touch and Jaskier’s thumb was gently stroking his cheek.

Geralt felt overwhelmed. No one had ever genuinely cared about him. He grabbed Jaskier’s wrist but didn’t push it away, just let his hand linger there as he looks into Jaskier’s blue eyes.

“Your eyes are getting gold again,” Jaskier whispered.

“Potion’s wearing off,” Geralt explained. Their faces were impossible close, it only felt natural as they leaned forwards and their lips brushed against each other. Geralt’s senses still heightened from the potions, he felt nearly overwhelmed but didn’t want to pull back as he wrapped his arms around Jaskier. There was no resistance as he pulled the bard closer. Jaskier just leaned more into him.

[crispyliza]

I've got you all figured out fanartists

[rebrandedbard]

How does the great Sandpiper successfully smuggle 130 children out of the Nilfgaard-occupied territory of Hamm? With the power of a forgotten story, a traditional song, and a masterful lie.

A piece for my upcoming fic, The Piper of Hamm, based on The Pied Piper of Hamelin, next in my fairy tale series.

[copypastus]

A gift for @witch-and-her-witcher loosely based on her lovely tamsand fanfic 'Lay Me on the Cold Dark Earth'.

With a little bonus Eris, not loving what they got up to on his cape.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 119

The problem with having a human bard follow you around is that bad food can make them sick. Geralt could and would happily eat undercooked or overcooked food. Food was food. Stale food was food. Food. Was. Food. But his bard is more delicate than him. He could get sick, or could even possibly die if he so much as eats something wrong. Thus Geralt begins paying a kind older woman in a town to teach him how to cook. She assures him that with enough practice and recipes from her, he'll be a perfect spouse for his Jaskier. Geralt goes to correct her and say they're just friends, but when she mentions telling him a special recipe because of it, Geralt decides there's no harm in going along with the lie. Jaskier meanwhile is surprised, when he gets to the town where Geralt and him have agreed upon meeting each other that spring, only to run into a woman who very loudly exclaims "Oh! Geralt's husband!" Geralt's what?

[adastra121]

Touchstarved Vere x Reader headcanons:

Vere eventually learns your heartbeat to the point where he can easily recognize it in a crowded room. He can pick up on slight changes, hear when you’re feeling happy, nervous, angry, etc.

Really, he can listen for changes in anyone’s heartbeat (it comes in handy for parsing out whether someone's lying) but as you two grow closer, he finds himself subconsciously tuning in on yours whenever you’re together. Wherever you are.

In the crowded Amaryllis District, in the raucous Wet Wick. When you two are alone and everything’s quiet save for the light scratching of his charcoal on paper, he finds himself just…listening to the soft rhythm of your heart.

He focuses on your heartbeat on bad days when he feels more easily overstimulated by the endless racket around him.

The sound of your heart beating becomes comforting to him. Grounding.

Vere also grows familiar with your scent, the way it changes ever so subtly with your emotions. When he smells the sour scent of your fear, that’s his cue to be on guard. Whatever instilled that fear in you will find no mercy from his fangs.

Also this means he 100% knows when you’re having horny thoughts about him.

"Oh? Really, darling? Now?" His teasing comment comes out of nowhere as you get lost in thought. It takes you a moment to realize what he's talking about but when you do…well, I guess it depends on how shameless you are. XD

He gets almost unbearably smug about it, lips pulled into a sultry smile, eyes shamelessly roving over your body, dropping unsubtle innuendoes no matter where you two are — actually, the whole thing is rather unsubtle. You might get a dirty look from Mhin.

He has a sensitive nose, so he can get headaches from very strong scents. He is quietly touched if you make efforts to avoid any scents that are too overwhelming for him, like changing your soaps and perfumes to something he can better tolerate or even foregoing it whenever you decide to spend a day together.

Vere knows what your blood smells like. It's intoxicating to him (this bitch has a blood kink, I just know it) and makes for some fun in the bedroom if you're into that sort of thing but on the flip side…

It's fucking terrifying when he's on a Soulless hunt and he catches it.

The sharp scent of your blood.

And he's made to instill fear in the living, but as soon as he smells it — the scent of your spilled blood, too fresh and too close to where he is tracking down Soulless — for the first time in centuries…Vere freezes during a hunt.

His fear doesn't paralyze him for long. He is a hunter, after all. He kills the Soulless he is ordered to with a frantic and desperate kind of viciousness — he doesn't even toy with his prey as he usually does, he is messy and violent, a living, breathing massacre with the singular goal of finding you.

The scent of blood and gore clings to him and still, yours is sharper than the rest, because all of his senses, every part of him, just instinctively hones in on you, automatically seeking you out as naturally as breathing.

You're fine, by the way. You're alive. You just got a little nicked, but with Kuras's help, you're looking at a speedy recovery. And Vere, begrudgingly, does feel the slightest bit of gratitude toward the doctor for it.

Vere doesn't tell you how relieved he is (the most honest man you'll meet if you don't listen to a word he says). But he does get more affectionate than usual. You have more cuddle sessions with his face just buried in your neck, his whole tail wrapped around you like another hug. You're not really sure why he stays like that for several minutes at a time. You figure it's a fox thing. Or maybe a uniquely Vere thing.

(Vere likes your neck, you're very warm and your scent is stronger there. It's comforting. And he can feel and hear your pulse underneath him, it's soothing to him.)

[hannibard]

In almost all yennskier fics there's an element of geraskier, them being exes or Jaskier having unrequited feelings for Geralt, and while that's fine and all, I'm desperate for some fics WITHOUT geraskier, with Jaskier having to deal with all the angst that comes with being in love with your best friend's girlfriend/ex bc even if Yennefer loved him back, Jaskier is too loyal to Geralt to ever do anything about it.

Imagine them all traveling together post Voleth Meir and Jaskier and Yennefer desperately trying to hide their feelings while failing a bit more each day.

Imagine the secret lingering looks and gentle touches and maybe a kiss or two when they're left alone and can't hold back.

Imagine Jaskier writting song after song about her and having to lie when Geralt and Ciri ask who it's about. Yennefer would pretend not to know.

Imagine Jaskier going back to his usual manwhore self, sleeping with any willing person around except Yennefer and imagine Yennefer slowly giving in to Geralt's attempts to get back together, hoping her feelings for him will rekindle one day. Imagine the jealousy!

[ammarettu]

Writing prompt: Curse breaking, true hate's kiss.

It's been two weeks since that horrible wretch of a mage falsely seduced him. Wandering hands on his chest and muttered words of adoration had distracted him from that distinct crackle and the faint scent of ozone.

He should have known better.

Should have seen it, or sensed it. He knows mages. Knows what they're capable of, their temperaments and egos. It wasn't until she was uttering about how he needed to learn to be humble, not to try and worm his way into everyone's good graces. Had to accept that people - no one - wanted him, that he noticed what she was.

So, instead of getting laid, he'd gotten cursed.

At least, mercifully, she'd told him the means to breaking the curse, which left him unable to speak, sing, or write.

True hate's kiss. Kiss someone who well and truely hates him. Perfect.

Which is how he now finds himself trudging through the overgrown wilderness, chasing rumors of a white-haired Witcher despite promising on the top of that fucking mountain that he would never bother him again.

He's still angry. Still hurt. His heart aches with every step closer, feels flayed open like bass being salted for dinner - and now he's hungry on top of it all!

He knows Geralt is going to be angry, annoyed at having to see him again even after the six months that have passed, but it can't be helped.

Jaskier's boots are caked in mud, the soles worn thin - he's pretty sure he's more blister than man at this point, despite his feet being used to years of walking, he's spent quite a bit of time in one place recently. He's gone soft rather quickly, it seems. (That tends to happen when you drink yourself stupid almost every night.)

He's close now.

He can see the smoke of a fire rising from above the trees, just past a village that told him the White Wolf had been staying nearby for the past several weeks, slaying mosntsers, refusing coin and only coming into town to sell the parts.

The woods here are dense, he'd curse at the branches smacking him in the face if he could, nature can eat his entire ass, thank you very much.

So maybe he's in a bit of a bad mood. Usually, the dense foliage, verdant and towering, letting through faint rays of sun that glitter on the moss and stones of the ground would inspire him to compose. Today he can only feel anger, because if he lets himself feel anything else he'll remember how heartbroken he is and start weeping like a small child.

So he's angry.

Angry at the branches. Angry at the Witcher.

Geralt hears him approach, of course he does. He's a Witcher, and an extra special one at that. The thought irks something in him that wants to taunt, "Ooh, so special, such a special boy," but again, that would be childish. And he can't talk.

When he reaches the clearing Geralt is there, sitting on a log facing away from him, hunched over as though trying to make himself smaller. Jaskier is half expecting him to growl or threaten him. Instead, he gets a quiet, "Bard?"

It's a question, and Geralt doesn't even bother to look at him or use his name. It makes Jaskier seethe.

He rounds the log the Witcher is sitting on, stands glaring down at him with his hands on his hips. Geralt keeps his eyes locked on the fire. Doesn't lift his gaze. It would hurt, would break his heart if there was anything of it left to break. He hates that Geralt hates him so much he can't even bear to look at him, or say his name.

He might as well get this over with. Might as well bite the rapier, so to speak, and get out of Geralt's hair before the Witcher decides to tear him a new set of holes.

He steps forward, into Geralt's space, winds his fingers into that glorious white hair, which is looking and feeling worse for wear - all of Geralt is, really. He's dirty, unshaven, looks ragged and worn and disheveled. He ignores that observation and yanks back on his silver locks until his head is tilted the way he wants it to be, leans down, and kisses him.

Jaskier normally isn't the type to kiss people who don't want it. Consent is important and he'll cut the balls off anyone who says otherwise, but this is important. Geralt won't forgive him, but he already hates the bard so there really isn't much lost there.

Then, hands are on his waist tugging him closer and a tongue is in his mouth and - Geralt is kissing him back. He's confused as all hell but not complaining, he's not an idiot!

Well, not that kind anyways.

When they break apart Geralt is looking up at him with furrowed brows, confused. Not angry.

"Mm, not... that I don't... why?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak - nothing. No sound. All that effort wasted. Geralt doesn't even hate him enough to break a fucking curse.

"Jaskier?"

He shakes his head, fighting back tears, unsure how to explain to a man who hates him but doesn't hate him enough why he's just assaulted him.

Jaskier flops onto the log next to Geralt and gestures vaguely, makes a talking motion with his hand, then an X with his arms.

"Can't talk?"

At least Geralt is smart, most Witchers are, in Jaskier's experience. They solve murders, chase monsters. They have to be good at reading between the lines, but only if those lines aren't emotions.

"Mm," Geralt looks him over, pulls his pendant from his neck and holds it up to Jaskier, "Magic. Curse?" Jaskier nods. Geralt swallows, "The cure is... a kiss?"

Jaskier nods again, sighs.

"From... what? Usually it's true love." He sounds oddly hopeful. Fidgets in a way that Jaskier has never seen. Jaskier shakes his head, ponders how to explain this absolute clusterfuck.

If Geralt didn't work there's only one other option anyways.

Valdo Marx.

((Now with part 2 ))

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geralt x Jaskier Geraskier First kiss, friends to lovers

Geraskier Dancing

When Geralt of Rivia was a child, he begged Vesemir to teach him the kind of dances they performed at court. The answer was always no, but he kept trying.

After the trials, when Vesemir seemed so affected by his eyes, Geralt would widen them and look up at his tutor, pleading.

After all, Geralt thought, what if he rescued a fair maiden, and she demanded that he accompany her to a party? Perhaps she would drag him, giggling and flushed, onto the dance floor. He would be her noble savior, and she would be his grateful maiden.

He didn’t tell Vesemir his reasoning of course. He said that it might be important for royal courts, with kings in them. Wouldn’t it be best if he could fit in? Fencing was similar to dance, so surely Vesemir could handle teaching it.

Vesemir sighed and gave him the same speech he always gave.

"Geralt. You are not training to be a knight. Put that out of your mind. You are a professional. A working man.

Further, you are a mutant now. You will not be greeted with gratitude. You will be lucky to be greeted with the cash that you are promised."

Geralt felt stubborn. Furious. But he knew when to drop the subject.

Vesemir would pat his shoulder and offer him a sweet bread. His eyes always held regret.

Geralt understood him now. After years of hard lessons, he understood. When he thought back on his youth, he felt like a dolt.

The women he saved were traumatized. He was meeting them during the most terrified, violent moments of their lives. They screamed, bled, and threw up. And they all ran. With his bloody sword and ashen skin, he looked little different from the monsters he fought.

At least to them.

And yet?

He still learned how to dance, despite having given up the dream.

It started with Jaskier of course, like most misadventures and novel undertakings. The young bard had just shown up in his life one day and sort of just...never left.

His enthusiasm, energy, and optimism infected Geralt's life, as did the handsome twinkle in his eyes.

One night, after several glasses of wine they shared their most ridiculous childhood dreams. Jaskier admitted that he wanted to publicly rub his success in his family's face, to make their rejection sting less. So Geralt admitted that he'd always stupidly wanted to woo a grateful damsel on a dance floor.

He thought they were just talking nonsense, so he was startled when suddenly, Jaskier was on his feet, woozy and holding out a hand.

"C'mon. Lesgo." Jaskier jerked his curly, disheveled head towards an empty spot on the tavern large enough maybe for one large man.

Geralt refused at first. It was silly. Besides, They were both men. Who would lead?

But Jaskier simply grabbed his hand. When they touched, Geralt found that all of his resistance dissipated like a magic spell. He found himself standing and allowing himself to be dragged. And after they moved a few tables, he found himself touching the small of Jaskier's back and swaying with him.

Why didn't it feel odd? It should have felt odd.

It probably felt fine because they were alone.

They always danced alone.

They would be in a bar that was emptying out, the last drunkards stumbling home. Jaskier would be inviting, leaning against him, words slightly slurring.

Geralt selfishly loved him like that, not because Jaskier would lose his inhibitions, but because Geralt would. Plausible deniability.

"No one is here, Geralt. You won't ruin your fearsome rep--rep--pox on it. People won't see you." Jaskier waved dismissively as he dragged him.

The bard's lips grew pinker when he drank, and his cheeks flushed when they danced.

So Geralt let himself be led into the middle of empty bars, dance halls, and sometimes even just under the stars near a campfire.

"Y'need this for" *hiccup* "d'plomacy." Jaskier tugged him this way and that.

Despite the slurring, Jaskier always moved gracefully, like a swan. He'd sing to himself, lost in the music, touching Geralt with surety, guiding him. His body would be warm and little puffs of his wine soaked breath would drift towards Geralt. The witcher would inhale and try to control the surge of something primal in him awakening from a terribly long slumber.

Jaskier always led.

"I thought you were teaching me to dance with ladies," Geralt complained playfully one night. Jaskier was leading him in a lazy circle under some street lanterns on an abandoned street. Trash and litter was everywhere, left over from the spring festival. Their feet crunched on discarded candy wrappers as they moved.

"I am," Jaskier huffed indignantly, eyes hazy. "You must charm these noble ladies. It's not easy, you know. You must practice."

Geralt bit the side of his mouth trying not to smile. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He was so close to Jaskier, the closest he ever got to stand. "But I'm not learning to lead."

"Oh, s'fine. You'll just," Jaskier gestured, twirling his hand in a circle, "turn it all round." Then it was a rolling motion. "Flip it. Change it backwards. You know what I mean. They'll love it."

It was quiet for a moment, Geralt turned his head and crept closer, so he could secretly smile to himself.

"You already complain they simper around me," he murmured near his friend's ear. "You want to make it worse?"

Jaskier snorted loudly. "They're just trying to get to me, Geralt, you know that. Price of fame!!"

Then he spun Geralt, and all the while, Geralt grumbled, purposely moving stubbornly. "I don't twirl, Jaskier."

Jaskier was wobbly and dismissive. "Y'doing great."

Geralt really did learn during those nights. But they never spoke of it in the morning. Those nights were sacred and untouchable lest they shattered in the light of day.

But one day, they finally, truly paid off.

Geralt wanted to run and tell Vesemir. He'd been right. He had needed to learn the skill after all.

Because one spring day he rescued a beautiful young woman, and she was grateful. She was lovely, truly. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back, caressing her delicate waist.

She had been menaced by a werewolf and run screaming into Geralt's arms, invitation to a ball at the ready. It was just like in his youthful dreams.

The werewolf wasn't such a bad guy to be honest. His name was Gil. And he wasn't so much menacing her as he was trying to say hello and simultaneously coughing. But it was an unpleasant sound to be sure. It was a hacking cough.

Geralt had intervened, having been sent there on an errand by Jaskier. The witcher took Gil aside to speak to him. The werewolf was moving on, anyway. He'd just come to see a picnic of beautiful women that Jaskier had told him about, thinking he would say hello.

Geralt wanted to shake Jaskier. Gently of course. To tell his friend that yes, he had needed help with dancing, but certainly did not need help with finding ladies to rescue. They were lying about everywhere there were monsters. Jaskier wasn't around though, he was nervously flitting around at fittings and lute tunings, preparing anxiously for the dance.

It was silly of course.

And to be honest, the young woman hadn't needed much rescuing. Gil's nose was still sore where she had hit him with her bag.

But nonetheless, when she'd seen Geralt she'd sighed and pretended to be quite helpless.

Geralt carried her to safety on Roach, and she had invited him to a dance that night. They were in Lettenhove, and the dance would be packed with nobles. It was the perfect setup.

Geralt got ready with trembling fingers. He laced on his best armor and slicked down his hair. His stomach was weak just to think of it.

When Geralt arrived, the maiden was there in a stunning gown. She arrived breathlessly, ready for her dance. She batted her eyes and curtseyed.

Geralt bowed slightly, and led her onto the dance floor. After a few moments, her raptured attention began to cool. She was well educated and polite, but Geralt caught her regretful glances towards the handsome young nobles in the corner.

He didn't blame her. He was not a small man, and he was stepping on her toes.

The bloom was very quickly off the rose for the young maiden.

"I'm sorry. My mistake." Geralt muttered at every wrong turn.

If you had asked Geralt as a child, whether the disappointment of a maiden would sting, he would have imagined so.

But it didn't. This was not what he had come for. This was not why his stomach had done somersaults as he had laced on his armor. It was because this party was not just packed with nobles, but very particular nobles from a very specific family.

Geralt glanced up to find him.

Jaskier stood off to the side, close by, clutching a glass of wine, and staring daggers at his cousin across the room. His cousin was a handsome man, if you went in for that kind of thing, though not as handsome as Jaskier. But he was holding court with several ladies.

Geralt excused himself with the relieved young lady who tried to look as though she were not fleeing.

Geralt came up behind Jaskier, and touched his back.

Jaskier did not jump or startle. He must have known Geralt's touch and scent by now. He simply turned and smiled.

"You're here!" Jaskier looked behind him. "And Juliet?"

Geralt shrugged. "I never actually learned to lead."

Jaskier's face fell. "I'm sorry, I-" he looked mortified, "-I don't actually know how to teach dance. I only know how to dance. I was just-"

Geralt cut him off by pulling him into his arms with an 'oof'.

Jaskier startled, leaning eagerly into the embrace. But then he remembered himself and looked around cautiously.

"I don't care if they see," Geralt whispered. "I want them to. Let the miserable bastards gossip until their throats are sore."

The widest, brightest grin he had ever seen blossomed on his handsome bard's face. "Well then." Jaskier straightened his shoulders and cleared a catch in his throat. Let me do this properly."

The bard gently detangled himself from Geralt's arms. Then he bowed at the waist and held out a hand. "Geralt of Rivia? May I have this dance?"

Geralt nodded and straightened his jacket. "You may, Viscount Julian of Lettenhove."

Jaskier held his hand with both of his, but he shook his head and whispered. "No. Viscount Julian is theirs. I am Jaskier. I am yours."

Geralt's heart melted. He did not know how to cope with that, so he just nodded.

The music fell silent, and a new song began.

The witcher and the bard were the first couple out on the floor. It may have started as a way to help Jaskier rub his success in his family's eyes. But almost instantly they forgot all about that. They lost themselves in the movement, the laughter, they only saw each other.

But Jaskier's family saw. His mother. His father. His envious cousins. They all saw that he was loved. That he was talented, famous, and loved.

Geralt didn't think a whole lot about Vesemir that night.

He simply danced. And when the last note on the last song died out, he touched Jaskier's chin. His love's eyes lit up with hope. Geralt didn't want to draw out the suspense, so he pulled him in for a kiss. It was tender and they were sweaty, their hearts beating in their chests.

It felt right. And not because they were alone. It was because they loved each other.

When Geralt visited Vesemir during the winter, he brought up his childhood dream. He would tell the old witcher that he understood now.

Love wasn't something you earned through daring acts. It wasn't something you extracted from terrified women as the price for their safety.

Love was a bard who tried his damndest to fulfill your dreams at the expense of his own.

Love was taking him in your arms and fulfilling his.

Well, Geralt tried to say all that. Perhaps it didn't come out the way he meant. Perhaps he stumbled over his words and grunted some.

But when he pulled Jaskier into the room to introduce him to Vesemir, the old witcher understood.

[aramblingjay]

GERASKIER + LOVE LANGUAGES Words of Affirmation Aggravation

[dat-carovieh]

Bite me cat

Ship: Lambert/Aiden

Rating: T

Wordcount: 685k

Tags: Fighting, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Biting, Getting Together, First Kiss

Read on AO3

“What the fuck where you thinking, Lambert? You can’t say that to our contractors,” Aiden yelled while he threw his bag on the ground, on the clearing they had just arrived on to make camp.

“They where fuckin assholes, so yes I can say that,” Lambert yelled back, still furious from the encounter earlier.

“Yes, I know, you can say fucking everything you want and don’t care that they don’t pay us, but then you complain, when we have to sleep in the woods again and have nothing to eat. And I have to put up with you being irritate! If you could just shut your mouth and leave the talking to me.” He was mad about his friend but even more about the stupid villagers who wanted to trick them and pay only half of what was agreed upon. And then Lambert had lost his temper with them so Aiden had to drag him away as the villagers had started throwing stones at them. That way they had ended up without any pay.

“Ugh, bite me, cat,” Lambert said annoyed and rolled his eyes. With two quick steps Aiden was up in his space, pulled him closer and actually sank his teeth in Lambert’s neck. His hand moved in his hair and grabbed hold there, pulling Lambert’s head to the side.

“Fuck… that… that was not what I meant,” Lambert breathed. He grabbed Aiden’s shoulder to hold himself up, because his knees had suddenly gone weak.

“Oh not? Sorry,” Aiden answered with a smirk.

“That doesn’t mean you should stop,” Lambert growled.

Aiden wrapped his arms around Lambert’s hip and pulled his whole body against him and sank his teeth in the smaller man’s neck again. Lambert tried to conceal his little moan but Aiden still heard it and Lambert could feel the lip curl against his neck in a wicked smirk. Damn cat. The stubble from days on the road was scratching over the soft skin, making him shiver.

Aiden let go of his neck and only with difficulty, Lambert was able to suppress a disappointed sound. A second later he was pushed back until he hit a tree and Aiden’s body was pressed against his, the golden eyes, that where so similar to his own staring at him.

“I’m going to kiss you now, at least if you don’t have any objections,” Aiden said cheeky. Lambert’s thoughts spun. Yes, he wanted Aiden to kiss him and he wanted him to never let go. This was to much for him right now, he felt frozen, no idea how to deal with that kind of affection. He wanted it, he wanted Aiden to touch him, he wanted to touch Aiden, everything at once and somehow, he was scared. No one had ever looked at him like that… with so much want, with so much… love?

Now his knees really gave up under him and he slid down the tree, out of Aiden’s grip, his knees hitting the ground. Aiden followed him quickly with a concerned look.

“Lambert? I’m sorry, if I misinterpreted, I didn’t mean to…,” he started. Lambert grabbed his shoulders.

“No, please, kiss me,” he pressed out. It had always been hard for him to ask for something he wanted and now more then ever but he could not risk Aiden leaving him now. Aiden carefully touched his cheek and he instinctively leaned against the hand, his thumb brushed over Lambert’s lip before he finally leaned in and captured Lambert’s mouth with his. Lambert’s arms moved around Aiden, his fingers tangling up in the shoulder length hair. He felt like he was drowning and holding on to Aiden was the only way to stay safe.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” Lambert whispered against Aiden’s lips.

“Oh, look the wolf can actually apologize,” Aiden teased.

“Don’t go there now. Just kiss me.” And Aiden did.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you,” Aiden said between kisses.

“Whatever,” Lambert answered. They could talk about this later.

[valdomarx]

"Does the witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

Jaskier flashes an enigmatic grin, as if such concerns are immaterial to a famous, Continent-trotting bard.

But Radovid looks back at him earnestly, like it's a question that's supposed to have an answer.

-

"Never have I ever seen you have a crush." Vespula laughs, bright and teasing. "Except for the obvious one."

Jaskier pretends he has no idea who she's talking about.

"My dearest lady, my heart is a wild beast, roaming free, and it could not possibly be constrained by such a petty tie as a crush."

She purses her lips and says again, "Except for the obvious one."

-

"Pankratz."

"Witch."

Yennefer doesn't smile, but her eyes soften a fraction into an expression that could almost -- almost -- be called fond.

"Still traipsing around after Geralt, I see."

"Excuse me, I do not traipse! I frolic."

She snorts with amusement at that. Then a crinkle forms between her brows, like she's looking straight through him. "He is trying, you know. Trying to be better. More reciprocal."

Jaskier deflates. "I know he is."

-

"So he hunted monsters for twenty years." Ciri raises an eyebrow at him. "And you followed him around singing songs about it."

"Yeeeees." Jaskier waits for the other shoe to drop.

But Ciri just nods, far too perceptive for her young age. "I see."

-

"I do appreciate it, Jask." Geralt's hand on his shoulder is warm and so, so heavy. "I know this life can't be easy for you."

Geralt's eyes are sincere and his lips curl in the smallest suggestion of a smile, and Jaskier is gone, gone, gone.

Jaskier shrugs it off with a laugh. "Oh, I'm tougher than I look. A few ravenous monsters and sleepless nights aren't enough to put me off."

Geralt tilts his head.

Jaskier's mouth can't stop moving. "You should know by now, you're stuck with me."

"Hmm." The suggestion of a smile blooms into something undeniable. "Guess I am."

[l13]

i love all the writing you’ve done on jonathan ohnn/the spot ITS AMAZING

but i just know that pre-collider spot is such a pervert towards reader like stalking her on social media legit screenshotting her posts and saving them to his phone… you post one picture of you in a bikini AND HES CUMMING IN HIS PANTS that man would do anything for you just to go out on one date with him or even notice him. (which i mean reader can clearly notice him by the way he always stares at her while at work, she just knows him as the “weird guy” at alchemax)

i'm gonna lose my miiiiiiiind

tw: LAZY WRITINGGG, f!reader, pervert!jonathan, m!masturbation, not proofread (it's 2am pls)

Not only is he stalking your socials daily, he's surprised when you greet him one day at work. He waves at you, but it's so awkward that he cringes.

He only goes at work outings just to see you all dressed up. He's glad that the places they go to are always packed, and that his blatant staring isn't obvious. He's literally sitting at the bar, alone, watching as you dance- a shy grin on his face as he sees you laugh with your head thrown back. Fuck, you were gorgeous.

If you guys ever worked on the same project while at the lab, he'd absolutely be losing his shit internally. He's seriously PANICKING.

Keeps side eyeing you as he pretends to work, but he really can't concentrate with you being in arms-reach at all times. Your perfume is clouding his brain, and he thinks that he needs to find out what brand it is and buy it, IMMEDIATELY. You say his name suddenly and his head snaps up to you as you start talking to him about smth work-related. Jonathan is nodding along to your words even though he's not hearing a single thing that's coming out of your mouth. He's too busy staring at the way your lips move as you talk.

"-but I don't know if that would be a good idea. What do you think?"

"Huh- 'm sorry what?" he's swallowing around nothing as he watches you chuckle softly, shaking your head, and he's scrambling to find something to say- throwing up a lame excuse of having a headache, anything to justify him acting like a caveman.

Literally replays the whole 3 second of this interaction in his head when he's home, and curses himself for being so pathetic.

The next day when he's still stuck working alongside you, (not that he minds in the slightest, it's just really, really hard for him to get any work done) you're invading his personal space, wanting to grab some papers that were left on his desk, and instead of going around him, you stretch and grab them from right next to him, and he swears he felt your tits brush against his arm-

that night he, once again, replays that day's interaction in his head, but this time he's whimpering while thinking about it, trying to remember the way you felt pressed against his arm even if it was for mere seconds.

He can't help but lower his briefs guiltily, biting his lip at the sight of his painfully hard cock. He wraps a hand around himself, closing his eyes shut, his mind immediately conjuring an image of you naked and panting for him-

"Fuh-fuck. Please fuck me, baby. Want y'so bad, shit-"

❥ weeks later ->

this might sound dumb BUT what if he's showing you smth on his phone and he goes to close the app, but when he does his social media is pulled up right next to that, your profile on display. Cold dread washes over him in a MILLISECOND, and he's yanking his hand back and away from you, closing all apps in lightning speed.

You're stunned, obviously. You wouldn't have thought anything of it, i mean checking someone's social media is not weird after all- but the way he reacted? That spoke volumes. And satisfaction pulls at your belly when you watch this man literally fight for his life. He's stuttering, readjusting his glasses constantly, even when he doesn't need to. And you're just sitting there watching him, trying to hide your smile by biting your lip softly.

"Jonathan.. d'you have anything to say to me?"

"What? N-no! Why would I?"

you shrug, "I dunno. You tell me,"

"Just, y'know.. I thought about following you since we work together 'n all..."

you hum, looking at him through your eyelashes, not believing him for a second, "Did you like my pictures?"

"What?!"

"You heard me,"

"Uh.. y-yeah. They were really nice."

Jonathan freezes when you scoot closer to him, one hand falling to his thigh "Yeah? S that what you do for fun, Jonathan? Stalk my profile?"

"No!-"

you click your tongue, leaning in to graze his ear with your teeth and he's shivering "Tell me the truth."

"Fuck... I.." his pretty lashes flutter when you squeeze his plush thigh, your hand inching dangerously close to his bulge-

You wait four more seconds, and when he still doesn't answer, your hand falls on the outline of his cock, and you're squeezing him over his pants. He moans, and you have to clamp a hand over his mouth to silence him bc of how loud he was. You were still at work, after all.

"Answer me, baby." you mutter against his jaw, and his eyes roll back as he whimpers, the sound muffled by your palm.

"Mffyesh- I do, fuck, I look at you all the damn time-"

You coo at that, starting to rub him over his pants "Yeah? I bet you touch yourself to my pictures too.. God, you're disgusting."

he nearly sobs, "I am, I am-! M sorry, just want you so bad- Please, I'm sorry- You're perfect, I couldn't help it,"

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 117

Jaskier's head often hurts. He doesn't always tell Geralt, but Geralt catches him putting a hand to his forehead and wincing in pain. Jaskier will sometimes lose days of songwriting inspiration, or time for hobbies, because when he and Geralt aren't moving down the path, Jaskier will lay in his bedroll writhing in pain and groaning at how unfair life is. Geralt at first thought Jaskier was exaggerating his pain, as Jaskier tended to be dramatic. When Geralt hinted at this though, Jaskier looked at him with such a hurt expression that Geralt panicked his way into somehow saving the conversation. The very next winter, Geralt asks Lambert, who is much better with potions and the like, to help him make some sort of pain remedy. They test and experiment all winter, before they finally make on they're both happy enough with to send off that spring. Geralt and Jaskier have been reunited for two weeks when Jaskier reaches a hand up and rubs one side of his face, with particular amounts of pressure and care given to his eye and brow. Geralt fishes around in his bags before holding it out to Jaskier. "...What is this?" "The only potion I have safe for humans. Ask me for it, never dig it out yourself, it looks similar to some of the others." "What does it do, Geralt?" "It should help. With... With the pain." Jaskier shoots out sad scents. That wasn't what Geralt expected from his gift. "I'm sorry, Geralt! I didn't mean to slow us down so much! I can work through it! i can keep walking!" Geralt explains he doesn't want Jaskier to "work through it", he wants Jaskier to not be in pain and to be happy. Jaskier, growing up as a busy young viscount, apparently was told to push through and continue with his schoolwork and duties, no matter how bad the migraine. Geralt assures his bard that all Geralt wants is Jaskier's happiness, and Jaskier drinks the potion. Merely twenty minutes later and Jaskier was bouncing around and singing again. He liked seeing his bard not be in pain.

[inexplicifics]

A bored Jaskier is a very, very dangerous thing. Really, his father should have thought about that before sending him out to this extremely boring rural barony.

Even his father probably wasn't expecting Jaskier to find this much trouble, though.

(I wrote flash fic!)

[hannibard]

I want a fic where Jaskier is dying from hanahaki disease and Geralt finds out and confesses to save his life but Jaskier is like:

Jaskier: Um, I appreciate your feelings Geralt but I'm sorry, I stopped loving you like that a while ago...

Geralt: If not me then who?!

Jaskier: ...Yennefer