#ugh when does jaskier show up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

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Title: Pleasures Remain Prompt: dirty talk & voice kink/loss of voice Pairing: game!Geralt x show!Jaskier, minor jask x original male sex worker Rating: explicit Warnings: inappropriate use of axii, coming untouched, sex with a sex worker, facefucking, hair pulling, dirty talk

@whataboutthebard

When Jaskier loses a bet, he's expecting to get fucked so hard he can't speak. He didn't think Geralt meant he was going to shut him up literally.

Jaskier is a sucker for a bet and it has gotten him into trouble in the past, but considering this is Geralt, he can't imagine anything going wrong. But they're arguing over what is killing villagers in Hagge and he knows Geralt is getting fed up with him, but he also knows it's less him and more the fact that Geralt doesn't know what he's hunting. And Jaskier has had one or two more drinks than he maybe should have so early in the morning.

"I'm telling you," Jaskier insists, "it's a kelpie."

Geralt just gives him a look, raises his tankard to his lips, and takes a long drink. Jaskier doesn't back down, holding his gaze until Geralt puts his mug down and sighs.

"Care to bet on it?"

"What are we wagering?" Jaskier asks, leaning over the table toward him.

"What do you want?"

"A kiss," Jaskier says with no hesitation. He regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, but he holds himself to it, keeps his eyes on Geralt's.

"Alright. You win, I'll kiss you-"

"And not just some wimpy kiss," Jaskier amends, "a proper kiss."

"Alright, you win and I'll give you a proper kiss. And if I win, I get to shut you up." Geralt grins, incredibly self-satisfied and a shudder of arousal goes through Jaskier.

Shut you up is very open to interpretation, especially considering he has been maybe a tiny bit annoying this morning, but now he can't help but run through a variety of ways Geralt could shut him up.

As soon as Geralt finishes his drink, he sets the tankard down and rises to his feet, heading for the door. When Jaskier doesn't immediately follow him, Geralt turns back to him, nodding encouragingly. Jaskier fumbles a little as he gets up and crosses the room to follow Geralt back to their little camp.

Jaskier sits down with his notebook and lute while Geralt prepares for the hunt, sharpening his swords and sorting through his potions to pick and choose what he'll need. Jaskier keeps his mouth shut as Geralt puts elemental oil into his pack and he's very proud of himself for not saying anything, but Geralt turns and lifts a slightly judgemental eyebrow at him. Evidently, he is not nearly as impressed.

When Geralt has finished, Jaskier graciously doesn't remind him that he should take thunderbolt with him in case of a kelpie. Geralt doesn't even notice.

"Stay here."

"Ugh," Jaskier whines, "then how will I know you're not cheating? How will I know you don't just say it's a sprite when really it's a kelpie, hm?"

"Suit yourself," Geralt shrugs, "don't get too close."

Jaskier does in fact, go with him and get too close. Close enough to know a water sprite when he sees one, although he does his best not to acknowledge it. He still offers his help pulling Geralt out of the stream when he's hauled into it (he doesn't laugh).

"Alright then," Geralt pants, "let's get back to camp so I can shut you up."

Jaskier thrills as Geralt picks the head up from the edge of the water and starts back toward their camp. He jumps up immediately after him, keeping pace with Geralt's quick strides until they reach their camp and Geralt drops the head and starts peeling off his armour.

Jaskier watches with wide eyes as Geralt removes the last of it and turns back to him, smiling smugly. He beckons for Jaskier to approach and when he does, scurrying up closer, Geralt rests a hand on one shoulder. Then raises his right hand in a sign and Jaskier's mind goes fuzzy. Axii, he realizes.

"You won't speak again until I give you explicit permission," Geralt says simply.

Jaskier opens his mouth to complain that this is very much not what he was expecting, but his lips don't move. He makes a face and his mouth moves, but not when he tries to speak. He frowns at Geralt, who just grins at him and turns to finish getting cleaned up.

Jaskier mutters soundlessly to himself, pleased at least that he can mock Geralt without him hearing. He's mostly clean and dry still, but he tidies himself up a little before they head down to the common area for lunch. He tries to be angry with Geralt (though truly he knows he lost the bet - and losing a monster guessing game to a Witcher is hardly a loss) but he can't. He watches him washing the remaining muck from his skin and smiles softly.

He hasn't been with this Geralt for a long time, although they've gotten along wonderfully since the beginning- though Jaskier has yet to get him to react to his advances. He had been hoping the threat to shut him up had been a reaction, but alas.

"Hungry?" Geralt asks, glancing over his shoulder. Jaskier sighs and nods and Gerlt grins at him. "Come on then."

They make their way down to the common area and Geralt finds them a seat near a window where he can look out and keep an eye on Roach while they eat. When a comely maid approaches their table, she bats her eyelashes at Jaskier and he opens his mouth to speak and… can't. He frowns at Geralt, who simply ignores him and turns to their server.

"Two mugs of ale," he says, "and the stew."

"Two?" she asks and Geralt turns to Jaskier, giving him a look before nodding and confirming.

"Two. And a loaf of bread for my friend," he adds.

Something warm and comfortable settles in Jaskier's chest and he pretends not to acknowledge it. But he's not used to Geralt knowing what he likes, much less ordering it for him without being asked - not that Jaskier could. The maid smiles, but as she looks between them her expression doesn't quite reach her eyes. She promises she'll be back shortly and ducks her head before turning away. Jaskier frowns, but it only takes him a moment to realize what her problem is - she thinks he and Geralt are together.

A shiver runs down his spine and Jaskier wants to ask Geralt if he realizes what he's doing, but he can't and he's getting frustrated.

The maid returns with their ale a few moments later, and shortly after with their food. They eat in companionable silence but are interrupted halfway through their meal by another maid, coming up and leaning on their table.

"Ahh, Master Dandelion," she beams and Jaskier flashes a quick, questioning look at Geralt who waves off his confusion. "Will you be gracing us with your musical prowess this afternoon?"

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak and doesn't.

"This is actually a dear friend of mine and Dandy's," Geralt explains, "Jaskier. Also a bard, but due to some unfortunate extracurricular activities, he's lost his voice."

Geralt looks far too pleased with himself when he says this and the maid casts a pitying glance at Jaskier.

"Sorry to hear it, master bard. I'm sure you're equally as talented as your friend and it's a shame we can't enjoy your talents." She gives him a particular look and Geralt clears his throat rather louder than necessary.

"Perhaps next time," Geralt says, bemused.

Jaskier keeps an eye on him as they finish their meal, Geralt seems just a little too annoyed for his own good and it amuses Jaskier to no end. The way Geralt side-eyes the maids when they pass by again, especially the one who leans in over their table to ask if they'd like more ale. Geralt says no, answering for them both and a little shiver goes up Jaskier's spine knowing Geralt has full control over him - can make whatever decisions he wants for him. And that's a little bit hot.

And it only gets worse as the day goes on. Without his words, Jaskier's usual method of singing as they go is not an option and he finds himself very much in his head. Though all of his thoughts revolve around Geralt.

He can't help but watch him, hanging back a few steps to watch the way Geralt's hips shift as he walks. He's slim, his waist tapered in a way that makes Jaskier want to wrap his arms around it, and he's always wearing this stupid armour that shows off his arms. Which is… well, Jaskier's spent more than half the day fantasizing about Geralt shoving him up against a wall or down onto a bed - anywhere he can be bracketed by those strong arms. And that's not to mention his ass. Fuck, Jaskier's always had a thing for a good ass, but Geralt is… something else. He wants to squeeze it, to drop to his knees and bite his ass, mark it up before diving in and eating him out, making Geralt come on his tongue.

Jaskier's cock gives a twitch in his trousers and he realizes how badly his thoughts are affecting him. He tries to redirect his train of thought, even hurrying to catch up and walk next to Geralt, but it's ineffective. Because now he can smell him. The sun is hot and Geralt smells of sweat and leather and a faint undercurrent of chamomile from the bath last night. It's a potent combination and Jaskier inhales deeply, sighing aloud as his eyes drop shut.

"Alright?" Geralt teases and Jaskier should be embarrassed to be caught sniffing him, but he can't be when Geralt is looking at him like that.

He's smiling, amused, his eyes lidded. Jaskier would pull him into a corner and ravish him if he thought it was an option. Although, the way Geralt looks at him now, he's not sure it isn't.

"I'll take that as a yes. Come on," Geralt says, "come with me."

Geralt takes a sharp detour and Jaskier follows him… all the way to the brothel. If he's to be left alone and speechless while Geralt goes and gets fucked, he will surely perish. But Geralt holds the door for him when they approach and Jaskier tentatively steps in ahead of him. The madame greets them at the door, smiling politely.

"What can I help you gentlemen with this afternoon?" she asks and Geralt returns her smile.

"Looking for a gentleman friend for my companion - someone who doesn't mind being watched."

Jaskier's skin prickles and he swallows back a question he knows he won't be able to voice anyway.

"Of course," the madame says, looking between Geralt and Jaskier, "I'm sure we can find someone to fit your tastes."

She does, in fact, find someone very much to Jaskier's taste. A young elf with dark skin and a wicked smile who is all too eager to take Jaskier to bed with him. And Jaskier is vibrating to get his hands on him - or vice versa.

Geralt takes a seat in the corner of the room, watching as the prostitute - Taran - gets his hands on Jaskier's waist and leads him back toward the bed. He sits him down and Jaskier looks up at him, ready to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss. But Geralt interrupts.

"My companion has been a little on edge today," Geralt explains, "I think he deserves something nice, hm? But first, Jask, you don't have your voice but there are… other things you can do with that mouth. I want to see you suck him off. Acceptable?"

Jaskier nods and Geralt turns his gaze on Taran.

"Yeah," Taran nods.

"Go on then," Geralt says and Jaskier doesn't hesitate.

He slips onto his knees on the floor, meeting Taran's eyes as he reaches up to the hem of his trousers. He tries to keep himself steady, slowly popping each button to keep either of his companions from realizing how eager he is. Already, his cock is filling out rather quickly, whether at the prospect of having a cock in his mouth or the fact that Geralt is in control of what he does. The way his cock throbs tells him it's very much the latter, although he's never one to turn down the opportunity to suck someone off.

Once Taran's trousers are undone Jaskier pulls them open and reaches in, pulling his prick out and stroking him slowly. He's already half-hard, but it doesn't take him long to firm up when Jaskier gets his mouth around him. He sinks onto him but Geralt hums across the room.

"So eager. Take it a little slower, not so deep. Let him feel it."

Taran shudders as Jaskier pulls back to the head, suckling softly and wrapping his tongue around him. His own cock throbs as Geralt hums thoughtfully at them and he raises a hand to slide up Taran's chest, smoothing around his side and back down to his hip. Taran's hips twitch forward and Jaskier hesitates, but Geralt allows it.

"Let him," he says, "let him use your mouth."

Jaskier sears with need and settles himself, returning his hands to his knees, palms down to keep himself from touching without permission. Taran rocks forward, testing Jaskier's limits before working up to proper thrusts. And when he does, Jaskier has to shut his eyes and focus on anything else to keep his cool. Because knowing that Geralt is sitting there watching, that he's probably getting off watching Jaskier have his mouth fucked? That's so much more than he's able to cope with - especially worked up as he is.

But Taran slips a hand into his hair, tugging gently and Jaskier whines around his cock as his own hips jerk forward. Fuck, he doesn't think he's ever been this close to coming untouched before and he's going to embarrass himself in front of Geralt if he's not careful. Then Taran tugs hard and groans.

"Gonna come if you keep that up," he mumbles and Jaskier hasn't realized he was doing anything, but he's suddenly aware of how tightly his lips are wrapped around Taran's cock.

He just sucks him down deeper and as Taran ruts against his lips, cock nearly inside his throat, Jaskier groans loudly and spills in his trousers. Taran's eyes go wide and he only gives a quick final thrust before he's coming too, burying his cock in Jaskier's throat and pulling his head against him.

Jaskier's mind is foggy with lust and he nearly thinks he's imagining it when Geralt pulls him off Taran's cock and presses an additional purse into Taran's hand.

"For your trouble," he says and he sounds wrecked.

Jaskier looks up at him, confused and looking for direction, but Geralt just tugs him upright and pushes him forward.

"We're leaving. Now."

They've barely entered their room at the inn before Geralt's crowding him up against the wall. The door isn't even shut and Geralt's pressed against his chest, hands on either side of his head against the wall. He's breathing hard and he tilts his head to one side, smiling devilishly.

"Still want that kiss?" he asks and Jaskier feels himself nodding even as all the breath goes out of his lungs.

Then Geralt's mouth is against his own, hot and wanting, and Jaskier leans into it immediately. Geralt's hands come down to cup his jaw, lightly drawing him forward and guiding him toward the other side of the room. Jaskier doesn't realize they're headed for the bed until Geralt drops down onto it, still stretching up to kiss him.

Jaskier moans softly against him, settling his hands on Geralt's shoulders as he climbs into his lap. And as soon as his knees hit the mattress, Geralt's arms are around his waist, holding him firmly and bringing him closer. His mouth slips from Jaskier's, mouthing down the side of his jaw and throat and Jaskier tips his head with a soft groan.

"You have no idea how crazy you make me," Geralt hums, "you know I can smell when you're aroused right? You've reeked of it all day. Very nearly pulled you into a dark alley earlier."

Jaskier wants to tell him off for making him wait so long, but all he can do is show his appreciation for the attention now with soft moans and gasps as Geralt kisses and nips at his skin.

They linger like that, Jaskier perched in his lap, until Geralt presses a firm hand to his lower back, pushing him forward so Jaskier can feel the full length of Geralt's erection through his trousers. And Geralt can feel his in return, especially with the way Jaskier's hips jump as they slot together a little more smoothly. Jaskier's thighs spread, pushing himself forward and up onto his knees. Like this, he's above Geralt and can take control more readily, sliding one hand up the back of his head and tangling it in Geralt's hair. He holds him steady like this, nipping at lips, and Geralt goes pliant beneath him, happy to moan softly into his mouth and run his hands up Jaskier's back.

But when Jaskier tries to slip away, to climb to his feet, Geralt's arms tighten around him and he finds himself flat on his back on the bed. Geralt crawls up over him, sliding one hand up and catching in his shirt to tug it out of his trousers. Jaskier leans up to look at him, but Geralt just presses a hand to his chest and pushes him back against the wall. He sits back on his heels, slowly undoing the few buttons on Jaskiers shirt before slipping his fingers into his shirt and pulling him up by it.

Jaskier spares half a second for the state of his shirt before it's being tugged over his head and tossed aside. Then Geralt's mouth is on his again and he doesn't care about anything else. Geralt's hands slide against his bare skin, running up his sides, and Jaskier groans softly, leaning into it.

"Mmm," Geralt hums, "you're so well behaved when you're quiet. So soft and willing."

Jaskier wants to tell him he'd be willing in any state, but then Geralt's hands are on his trousers, unlacing them and tugging them down without hesitation. Jaskier falls back against the bed, raising his hips as Geralt tugs his trousers down past them and when Geralt pulls his boots off one at a time, Jaskier squirms.

His cock is rock hard and fully on display now, giving away just how fucking badly he wants this - even after he's come once today. And Geralt just leaves him there, squirming soundlessly on the bed while he wants to beg Geralt to come back and touch him. And he probably knows that, the bastard.

Geralt undresses slowly, letting Jaskier watch him with mute impatience. He squirms as his eyes drag over Geralt's bare chest and down to where his trousers have been left open, but frustratingly still on his body. And Jaskier wants to reach out, to slide his hand inside and wrap around Geralt's cock, to get his mouth on him. Geralt doesn't want him to speak, he can prove to him that his mouth is good for other things.

Geralt seems to have the same idea because when he finally kicks his boots off and pushes his trousers to the floor, he strokes himself slowly, crossing back toward the bed. Jaskier can't keep his eyes off of him, thick and curved in his hand, and when Geralt reaches him, he slides his free hand through Jaskier's hair.

"What do you say we make better use of that mouth of yours, hm? Taran seemed to enjoy it."

Jaskier's already parting his lips before Geralt even shifts forward and as soon as Geralt's prick touches his lips, he's trying to push forward onto him. But Geralt holds him back, keeps him steady until Jaskier settles under his hand. Only then, Geralt slides forward again, pushing his cock between Jaskier's lips and along his tongue.

"Don't make me come," he breathes, but his voice is already shaky and Jaskier wants to prove how good he can be for him - even without his voice.

Geralt settles, unmoving, giving Jaskier full control and he sucks him quick and hard, taking Geralt's cock as deep as he can and holding him there. Geralt groans softly but remains still until Jaskier pulls back, teeth grazing along the full length of him.

"Fuck," Geralt moans.

He drops forward, both hands sinking into Jaskier's hair and rolling his hips forward slowly, gently, fucking himself between Jaskier's teeth. His thrusts are shaky, his breathing uneven and Jaskier isn't sure if he's just being careful or if it's too much. So he lets himself go limp, as he had with the prostitute, lets Geralt fuck into his mouth at his own pace, although he makes no attempt to speed up.

"Gonna come on my cock, too?" Geralt rumbles and Jaskier looks down to find himself dripping against the sheets and it's not unlikely he could come again if Geralt keeps up like this. "I know it's my cock you really want, isn't it? I saw the way you kept looking at me earlier- fuck - why didn't you just ask?"

Jaskier flicks his eyes up and Geralt smiles wickedly at him.

"Oh, that's right, you couldn't. You would now though, wouldn't you? I could have you begging for my cock if I wanted to, I bet you beg so pretty don't you?"

Jaskier can feel a flush burn in his cheeks and he lowers his eyes again. He's not embarrassed about sex, hasn't been for as long as he can remember, but something about the way Geralt talks to him makes him feel small and timid and he kind of likes it.

"Truth be told though," Geralt muses. He chokes on a groan and his hips stutter forward a little rougher than before. "I miss your voice."

His cock nudges the back of Jaskier's throat and Jaskier wants to take him deeper, to swallow around him and bring him off and show him exactly how he feels about that last comment. But Geralt withdraws, pressing his thumb to Jaskier's lower lip and dipping down to kiss him.

It's quick and messy, but Jaskier wants it to last and when Gerlt draws away, Jaskier lets out a little whine.

"On your knees for me?"

Geralt asks and Jaskier turns over and pulls up onto his knees readily, looking back over his shoulder as Geralt climbs onto the bed behind him. Warm hands settle on his hips and Geralt leans over his shoulder, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing him hard.

He presses against him so his cock slides against the cleft of Jaskier's ass, spit-slick and hot and an incredible tease. Jaskier tries to rock back against him, but he can't get any friction with the way Geralt's cock bows with his weight. He whines in frustration, but then Geralt's hands slip to his thighs, sliding around so one can wrap around his cock, lightly brushing his fingertips from root to tip. Jaskier lurches into the touch and a spurt of pre-come coats Geralt's fingers as he reaches the head.

"Mm, needy?" Geralt asks, "don't worry, I won't make you wait." He pulls back, burying his face in JAskier's neck and sucking a mark into the skin there. "You've had me worked up all day. It's a wonder I've managed to hang on this long. Thought I was gonna come too when you spilled all over the floor back at the brothel. And fuck, Taran seemed to like it too, hm?"

He rocks his hips so that his cock slips between Jaskier's cheeks, pressing against the heat of his hole and catching on the rim of it. Jaskier slumps, held up only by Geralt's one arm around his waist and his head back on his shoulder. When Geralt pulls his arm back, Jaskier sinks forward into the mattress, resting on the bed with his ass in the air.

When Geralt's fingers slide over him, he moans softly, burying his face in the sheets bunches between his arms. He wants to cry out, wants to push Geralt forward, but he just lets his knees spread further apart, opening himself up for him. And when Geralt's fingers press against his hole, he whines but tries to keep steady. Geralt finds slick somewhere, spreading it over Jaskier's hole and impatiently pushing against him.

Jaskier wants to scream that he's not fragile, that he can take Geralt's fingers without prep and he just needs him, but he doubts Geralt would listen to him anyway, impatient even as he is. But Geralt surprises him. He gets one finger into him and finding him loose, he adds another shortly.

"Fuck you feel good," Geralt whispers. "And so well-behaved, so quiet." He hums thoughtfully, then adds, "but I do wish I could hear you now, could hear you moan my name as I sink into you- ridiculous," he chides himself, "because as soon as you can speak again, you'll just be driving me insane again."

Geralt's tone is light and he punctuates the teasing with a kiss to Jaskier's lower back, thumbs pressing into the dimples there. He leans up as far as he can, pressing kisses into Jaskier's spine before pulling out and pressing his cock between Jaskier's cheeks. He nudges against his hole, sliding his cockhead against him for a few moments before pressing in.

And Jaskier finds even with his voice, there are no words to describe the way he feels as Geralt sinks into him, the way they fit together in that moment. He's glad for the first time not to be able to speak because he knows whatever he might try to say would not be able to do this feeling justice. So he buries his face in the sheets, biting back tears as he rocks back onto Geralt's cock. He's only vaguely aware of Geralt's hands on him, lifting him and pulling him up into his lap.

He runs his hands up Jaskier's chest, holding him firmly as he rocks up into him and Jaskier moans with every thrust, choking back a sob as Geralt's hands slide down his arms to wind their fingers together. Jaskier clenches tightly, holding Geralt's hand over his chest as the other remains on his thigh to steady him.

"Shh," Geralt whispers, "are you alright?" Jaskier nods desperately, rocking his hips to assure him he's fine despite the tears in his eyes. "Okay," Geralt breathes, thrusting a little quicker.

It doesn't take much for Jaskier to tip over the edge and he sobs as he comes untouched, unable to cry Geralt's name or tell him he loves him. He buries his face in Geralt's neck and breathes hard, trying to catch his breath even as he's stretched further by Geralt's cock.

"So good," Geralt whispers, "just a little more, Jask, I'm so close-" he groans and Jaskier tips forward with the weight of Geralt's body against him.

Geralt kisses his neck, mumbling absently as he rocks into him and then his hands clench hard around Jaskeier's and his hips stutter. He comes with a loud moan, still nuzzling against the back of his neck as he grinds into him.

Jaskier loves the weight of his body against his own, bearing down on him and holding him still. He shudders as Geralt shifts inside him, but they find a way to lie together, limbs entangled and hands still linked tightly together.

When Geralt softens enough that he slips from Jaskier's body, he lets go, rolling over to give Jaskier space. But Jaskier just feels cold and alone without the weight of his body and he turns over to face him, tucking his chin under Geralt's chin. Geralt huffs a soft laugh and winds his arms around him, pulling him in close. Jaskier is nearly drifting off when Geralt finally speaks again.

"I… before I break the sign, I wanted to say something. I know things aren't always perfect, but I'm glad I have you. And you know I don't mean it when I tease you about your singing, right?"

Jaskier nods, though the rest of his body feels frozen in place, afraid Geralt is about to wrap all of this up in a very neat but - only he doesn't. He reaches down to tip Jaskier's head up and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

"I don't know what brought you to me, but I hope I get to keep you." Geralt draws away and hums lightly, a soft smile on his face. "You can speak again, Jask."

Nothing feels different, but when Jaskier opens his mouth, words do come out.

"Geralt-" is as far as he gets before he looks down at his companion, preferring to stumble over whatever response he can manage face-to-face, but instead a soft laugh bursts from his lips.

Geralt, smile still firmly in place, is fast asleep. Jaskier smiles to himself, shuffling closer to tuck himself in against Geralt's front again. That's alright, he thinks, maybe this is one of those times that words are unnecessary.

#geraskier #watb #rex writes

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hum-my-name · 3 years

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Seduction

For the @witcher-bows-and-arrows NSFW prompt: Seduction

4k words of Geraskefer smut! Yennefer and Jaskier compete for Geralt's affections; everyone wins.

Read on AO3 or continue below

Jaskier sighs, the tavern cold enough to mark his breath with fog when he and Yennefer enter. He doesn’t allow himself to shudder or shiver, though— not when Yennefer’s smirking at him in her fur-lined coat and he’s standing beside her with nothing more than his plain doublet and trousers.

“You can always stay at another inn, you know,” she says, pinching his sleeve between two delicate fingers. “You don’t have to spend every night at his side. It’d almost be sad if it wasn’t so amusing—”

Jaskier shuts her up with a withering glare, marching forward towards a table in the corner, his teeth gritting together when he pulls away from her touch. She huffs but says nothing more as she follows, a rather surprising reaction from the witch.

When they reach the table, Yennefer sits next to Jaskier on the bench, leaving just enough space for the cool air to make itself known upon his side.

“I don’t actually spend every night with him,” Jaskier gripes. “You’re rather good at claiming the majority of his evenings for yourself.”

“If Geralt wanted to stay with you, I wouldn’t stand in the way,” Yennefer says. It should be cruel but, more than anything, it only sounds like a promise. Her eyes, at least, fail to show any guilt or pity; Jaskier settles at the familiar teasing spark he spots instead.

“Well, if you have any tips on how to do that, feel free to share with the class,” Jaskier says, only half-joking. “I’ve tried everything on the man, and he hasn’t budged past the occasional friendly dick-sucking. I’m so much more than my dick-sucking, Yennefer.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow, leaning closer to Jaskier. “You know what your problem is? You give up whenever I’m around. You let him walk away.”

“It’s not like I’m going to compete with you,” Jaskier scoffs. He fiddles with his rings, though, as he says it. It’s easier to look at his own pretty things than to watch Yennefer and remember how inconsequential he can feel next to her sometimes.

Yennefer pays little attention to his moping, though she does move a hair’s width closer to him. “You could, though. If you wanted to. Just to keep things interesting, if nothing else.”

Jaskier’s face warms as he catches her meaning, and he feels half-dressed with the way her eyes drag from the toes of his boots to the top of his head. That violet gaze seems somewhere between appreciative and thoughtful as it sweeps across him. There’s barely anything to be seen, his doublet hanging from his shoulders, loose trousers draped across his legs.

Still, his cock twitches curiously beneath her gaze. There’s no way Yennefer could have seen it, but she smirks as though she knows.

“Gerlt has good taste, I’ll give him that,” Yennefer says. “I have a proposal— Geralt will return from his hunt in a matter of moments. Let’s meet in his room and play our parts at once. See who he chooses.”

Jaskier’s twisting of his rings grows almost manic.

“You want to see who can seduce him best?” Jaskier nearly chokes on the words. He can barely bring himself to meet Yennefer’s eyes. “At the same time? In the same place?”

“Precisely. Wouldn’t you get this done quickly rather than wait for him to force himself to choose?” Yennefer asks.

“He always chooses you,” Jaskier grumbles, but his self-pity’s interrupted by Yennefer dragging the back of her hand across his cheek.

“Give yourself more credit, bard,” she says. “I didn’t take you as one to give up so easily.”

Jaskier shudders at the touch of her hand, doing his best not to chase after her warmth when she draws away.

At that moment, the door opens. A familiar white-headed figure wanders in. Jaskier’s heart twinges.

“Ugh,” he says, watching as Geralt turns towards the corridor leading to the rooms. “Fine. You’re on, and all that.”

Yennefer smiles and says nothing, her fingers fitting around Jaskier’s wrist and tugging him from his seat.

Guiding him to Geralt.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Geralt’s… confused. He’s not quite certain yet if it’s a good or bad way.

Yennefer sprawls beside him on the bed, stretched out so her skirts hike up near her knees. She’d entered a few moments after he’d arrived, saying nothing as she laid beside him.

Jaskier had come in with her, smiling with the same silence about him. He didn’t lay beside Geralt; though, the way he perched on the other side of the bed after undoing the top buttons of his doublet didn’t feel any less mischievous.

Yennefer presses her hand to Geralt’s chest. “Stop thinking so much.”

Geralt does his best not to gulp. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing terrible,” Yennefer replies, slipping her hand up to stroke along his collarbone. Geralt’s breath hitches, and Yennefer smiles. “Always so sensitive, aren’t you? Not that I’m complaining.”

Jaskier makes a soft sound from the other side of the bed, something that could be a scoff if it was less endearing. Geralt turns his gaze towards him, pushing into a seated position. Jaskier’s eyes widen before he flashes him a smile, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip as he leans towards Geralt. His hand falls forward, fingers brushing Geralt’s thigh. The corner of his tongue still sticks out— distracting, tempting.

Geralt turns his gaze away.

“Don’t be shy.” It almost sounds like Jaskier’s teasing him— still, he sounds too fond, too playful. Geralt meets Yennefer’s eyes, eyebrows furrowed.

Jaskier’s other hand meets the small of Geralt’s back— rubbing, easing, soothing. Fingertips linger at the edge of his shirt. Yennefer’s touch matches on the front, delicate fingers toying with the hem.

In his mind, he hears her voice:

“We want you,” she answers his unspoken question. “But you need to tell us what you want.”

Jaskier’s smirk and his fingers dancing along his spine. Yennefer’s heated gaze and the warmth of her voice inside his head.

Geralt takes a breath and his cock fills at the implications of all they’re doing.

When he turns back to Jaskier, he can see it now— the dilation of his eyes, the slight flush of his cheeks. The near-desperation in his breaths when he sighs.

“Is this alright?” Jaskier whispers. “We can leave you alone if you want. Or I can go. Just—”

Geralt inhales deeply. Lilac and gooseberries stick to his senses; Jaskier’s plum and wine scent follows. It’s not a combination Geralt’s allowed himself to enjoy before and, now, it floods his mind with a buzzing sound, a need that he can’t quite bring himself to reach for.

Yennefer said they wanted him. She asked what he wants. And, Geralt knows, he’s supposed to say a name— he’s supposed to look at her or grab him.

He shouldn’t want both. He’s lucky to even have one — how selfish would it be to plead for two?

Yennefer’s hair tickles his neck as she rests her head against his shoulder. She hums and slips her hand beneath his shirt; her fingers are a bit too cold for his liking but, then again, maybe that’s just because he feels so damned hot right now. Her pulse pounds against his body, a steady beat that he tries to follow. Somehow, he forces his mind to clear.

Gods, but it’s so obvious what these two are doing. If they’re offering, what’s the harm in asking?

Jaskier moves to sit in front of him, eyes wide with expectation. He shifts just that bit closer, and Geralt’s hesitations melt away. These two know him better than he knows himself; on some level, they must already know what he’ll say.

“You two are ridiculous,” he says, easing a smile onto his face at Jaskier’s offended gasp and Yennefer’s humored huff. “Yen, you’re more likely to come across as plotting a murder than a seduction. And, Jaskier, I’ve no idea how you gain your reputation as a heartbreaker if you go around looking like you’re the one grieving a lost love.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” Jaskier says at the same time that Yennefer flicks Geralt’s arm with another pouty sigh. “There are easier ways to say no, you know, and—”

Geralt grips Jaskier’s wrist with one hand; he clings to Yennefer’s knee with the other.

“I’m not saying no,” he says, “to either of you.”

The room goes dark and quiet as his words sink in. Then, Yennefer breathes a breath that sounds like amusement.

“You make it almost too easy,” she sighs against his ear— hot, damp. Jaskier doesn’t seem to hear her, too caught up in watching the two of them move together, Yennefer twisting her body to crawl to Geralt’s front. “Making me tie with the bard— how unbecoming.”

But her breasts lift and fall in her dress with each heavy breath, excitement flushing her cheeks. Geralt knows her warmth, her taste, the sounds he can make Yennefer make. He reaches for the ties of her bodice— but she stops him with a look.

“Jaskier,” she says, and Geralt’s breath catches in his throat.

He watches, stuck, as Yennefer guides Jaskier’s hands to her chest, forever grinning as his palms cup her breasts through the thin fabric.

“Yennefer,” Jaskier says— or, perhaps, he whimpers. He turns, facing her, and Geralt can see the hardness in Jaskier’s trousers as he undoes the delicate knots of Yennefer’s dress.

“Have you two done this before?” Geralt asks, just barely keeping the rasp from his voice. He rests a hand on Yennefer’s shoulder, stroking with his thumb.

“Gods, fuck, no,” Jaskier says. His eyes flicker from Yennefer to Geralt, something within his gaze sharpening. “With you bouncing back and forth between us, we’d hardly have had the time, don’t you think?”

Yennefer scoffs. “Bouncing between us— now there’s an inspiring image. Wouldn’t you like that, Geralt?”

Geralt’s body heats and— fuck , now that Yen’s said it, of course it’s a pleasant thought. He says nothing, lips pressed tight as he watches Jaskier share an unspoken dialogue with Yennefer— their eyes matching, their expressions shifting. It’s not that she’s reading his mind, Geralt decides; they’re simply too similar, too chaotically mischievous.

When Yennefer turns and tugs Geralt into a kiss, all he can do is give in.

“You know what to do,” she breathes, shoving lightly at the back of his head. Geralt groans, tracing her jaw and neck with scattered kisses— her collarbone and her shoulders.

He reaches her breasts and, when he kisses those, it’s with the gentlest touch yet.

Yennefer keeps her hands in his hair, pushing him deeper against her. Jaskier had mostly removed her from her dress, and Geralt bites and licks at her chest, tasting her sweat and want.

“He’s perfect,” Yennefer says, and Geralt only barely registers that she’s talking about him— talking to Jaskier as though Geralt’s hardly there. “So good. So attentive.”

Her fingers tighten in his hair. Geralt gasps and shuts his eyes against her lilac and gooseberries, her overwhelming scent. He pulls back only to tug at the rest of her clothing, to pull at her skirts and lay her back, fitting himself between her legs. Yennefer spreads herself slowly once fully nude, laughing at the hoarse swearing Jaskier gives at the sight. Geralt only just dips his head but, already, he groans at the scent of her dampness.

Yennefer laughs again, breathily this time.

“Come on, then,” she says, and Geralt descends upon her. His tongue presses into her cunt, plunging and twisting, his mouth sealed around her in that way that makes her knees shake. Gods, but he could exist only here, live off only this. To hear Yennefer’s sighs and gasps, to feel her thighs beneath his hands, to taste her arousal across his mouth—

And, with her hand still in his hair, she pulls him away, blinking. He catches sight of shining violet eyes. Her fingers twist through pale strands but—

But, then, suddenly, they’re not her fingers anymore. Calloused but gentler, bigger but slower—

Jaskier tugs at Geralt’s hair and pulls him back, drawing him close enough for a kiss. It’s a messy thing, sloppy and wet— but Geralt burns at the thought of Jaskier tasting Yennefer from Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier licks into his mouth like he wants to take the flavor from him.

“Fuck,” Geralt says, gasps, and Jaskier— bastard that he is— laughs in a way that’s far too similar to Yennefer.

The corners of Jaskier’s lips turn up. “Yeah. I know.”

The way Jaskier watches him burns straight to Geralt’s cock, the familiar teasing light hidden in those blue depths. There’s something more, though, something greater than just a shared evening or a quick fuck. It’s—

“Don’t walk away after this,” Geralt says before he can lose his nerve. “Don’t make me choose.”

Just this once , he thinks , let me be selfish.

Jaskier shoves Geralt back onto the bed, replacing the spot Yennefer’s left, the sorceress rolling to the other side. He drowns in Jaskier’s touch, his hands and mouth claiming every place that they can reach, bringing Geralt to him as though he can mold them into one.

Yennefer faces the two of them, kneeling beside them with messy dark waves and flushed cheeks. Jaskier pulls back as Yennefer’s hands undo the buttons of his shirt, her eyes on Geralt’s as she undresses their bard. She slips the shirt from his shoulders like she’s revealing a present, and she reaches for his trousers like this one’s a gift laid out for her.

Geralt’s hands brush against hers, and the two of them fuss clumsily with the rest of Jaskier’s clothes as he kicks his trousers and smallclothes away. Geralt removes his shirt, practically tearing the sleeves in the process; when he reaches for his own pants, though, Jaskier’s already there.

He has one moment— one blessed breath in and out where he can meet Jaskier’s eyes and understand with perfect clarity what’s going to happen. One moment of Jaskier reaching for Geralt’s cock, pulling it free from beneath his clothing.

One moment, and then Jaskier’s mouth upon him, sinking to the base in one fell swoop.

“So much more than your dick-sucking, indeed,” Yennefer says, running her fingers across Jaskier’s cheekbone. “I suppose the night’s still young and you may yet prove me wrong. Still, look how eager you are.”

Though the words aren’t for him, Geralt thrusts into Jaskier’s mouth with a new franticness. His cock brushes the back of Jaskier’s throat, and Geralt whines helplessly when Jaskier moans around him.

“None of that, now,” Yennefer says, placing her hands on Geralt’s hips. “Show some patience, Geralt. You can be good, can’t you?”

Fucking hell . Her words scratch some hidden place in Geralt’s mind, some secret want that has his vision blurring with a sudden rush of desire. Be good , she had said— and, gods, please, he wants to.

He wants anything and everything these two can give him. He wants Yennefer’s amusement and her control, her vulnerabilities and all the things only he’s able to see. And he wants Jaskier’s affection and his eagerness, his playful manner and his devoted gaze.

And he wants them to want him— all of him. His gruffness and his silence, his desires and his fears. He wants them to see every evil thing a witcher is supposed to be and— fuck — he wants them to still say he’s good .

Something hot burns beneath his skin and he blames it on the way Jaskier licks and sucks at his cock. His pretty mouth stretches over Geralt’s length, and it almost looks like he might be smiling when he looks up and finds Geralt’s eyes on him.

“Jask—” Geralt groans— and the fucking bastard winks before relaxing his throat, allowing Geralt to slide fully inside him. A string of swears leaves Geralt’s lips, and only Yennefer’s warning touch at his hip keeps him from thrusting into that heat.

“That’s it,” Yennefer says, and Geralt doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or Jaskier. “So pretty like this.”

Heat coils in Geralt’s groin, rushing and pulsing, and he reaches for Jaskier’s hair— to pull him off or pull him closer, he hasn’t decided; Yennefer, though, beats him to it, tapping the back of Jaskier’s neck and drawing him away. Jaskier gasps for air as Geralt grits his teeth, his climax falling back at the last second. He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose.

“You’re right,” Jaskier says. When Geralt opens his eyes again, Jaskier’s looking at Yennefer, his hand stroking his own cock with an almost thoughtless action. “He is pretty.”

Good. Pretty. The words press into Geralt’s skin and he groans at their touch.

“I’ll follow your lead on this one, witch,” Jaskier says. “Just this once.”

“Already thinking you’ll have another chance after tonight? You’re getting bold, bard.” Yennefer shares a look with Geralt— a look that, despite her words, promises this is more than a one-time thing. She bends, kissing Geralt’s shoulder, and slips her legs apart to make room for his hand between them. Her kiss tightens into a bite as he sinks his fingers into her, his thumb flicking over her clit. His other hand reaches for her chest, shaking as he runs a nipple between two fingers. “That’s right. So good, Geralt.”

Her words shudder into moans and, at last, her bit of control slips. Her arousal coats Geralt’s fingers and, when he knows she’s close, he pulls out and brings his hand to his mouth, savoring the taste.

“Beautiful,” Yennefer says, licking her own dampness from his bottom lip and biting softly when he groans. She’s still smiling as she pulls away, eyes dancing with delight. “Do you want to fuck me, or do you want Jaskier to do it?”

“Fuck,” Geralt says, tipping his head against Yennefer’s as he thinks. He shuts his eyes— on the inhale, he imagines Yennefer around him and Jaskier within him— the obvious choice, the easy answer. On the exhale, though—

Yennefer and Jaskier as close as they can be, Yennefer’s nails raking down Jaskier’s back as she bounces in his lap. Their beauty combined, their bodies nearly one. Geralt watching, burning, wanting —

“Jaskier,” he says, looking into Jaskier’s eyes— pupils blown so wide the blue’s barely visible. “Will you—”

“Don’t even pretend that’s a question,” Jaskier says, scrambling closer. “You already know the answer’s yes.”

Yennefer turns from Geralt, laying back on the bed with Jaskier’s hands to steady her. Their eyes meet, and Jaskier kneels between her legs. She lifts her hips, Jaskier kisses her neck— he whispers something that could be another fond insult or a plea for mercy—

And then he sheathes himself inside her, his hands on her sides as he pulls her close. Yennefer cries out in that way she only does when she truly feels safe, ecstatic and pleased and wanted. Her hands tug at Jaskier’s shoulders, his hair, his back, anywhere she can touch— and Geralt can’t help the way he joins her, running his hand through Jaskier’s hair as he meets Yennefer in a desperate kiss.

“Fuck him,” Yennefer gasps as Jaskier begins to move inside her. “Fuck him while he fucks me.”

Oh. Oh.

“Yeah,” Geralt says into her mouth. “Okay.”

Geralt moves so he’s kneeling behind Jaskier, hands on his arse as he spreads his cheeks. Jaskier slows, shallowly thrusting into Yennefer. There’s oil in their packs, Geralt knows, but that’s too far— and it’s far less fun.

Instead, Geralt presses his tongue to Jaskier’s hole and grins at the sharp cry Jaskier gives. He licks into him as Jaskier tries to keep his pace steady, hips twitching and hands tearing at the sheets beside Yennefer’s head as Geralt nips and slides a finger alongside his tongue. Yennefer teases Jaskier endearingly, and Geralt wonders just how red Jaskier must be right now.

Another finger into that warmth. Another whimpering sound from Jaskier’s throat.

He works Jaskier open with more care than he needs to, drawing as many pretty sounds out as he can. He’s three fingers in when Jaskier starts swearing, stilling on top of Yennefer as Yennefer giggles beneath him.

“If you’re quite ready,” Jaskier gasps— and Geralt pulls away, lines himself up, and pushes inside. Jaskier’s words break into a low moan, and his body mimics Geralt’s slow thrust, pushing him deeper into Yennefer.

“Good?” Geralt asks, stilling only when he’s fully seated within Jaskier.

Jaskier grunts, hips twitching forward and back as though he doesn’t know which way he’s meant to go. “Great. Just— Just don’t stop .”

And, so, Geralt doesn’t.

He bends over Jaskier’s back, breath against the bard’s neck as he begins to fuck into him in earnest. He sets the pace for how Jaskier fucks Yennefer— harder, quicker— and she whines happily beneath them, twisting her hands into the pillows and sheets. Dark hair spilled across white blankets, Jaskier’s sweat dripping from his body to Yennefer’s— Geralt can’t close his eyes, can’t take a moment to blink in fear he’ll miss a detail. Yennefer pulls Jaskier into a messy kiss— she must bite his lip as she’s so fond of doing, and Geralt feels how Jaskier clenches around him at the sting.

“Fuck,” Geralt groans, speeding up. “Fuck, fuck —”

“Eloquent,” Yennefer gasps. “As always.”

Jaskier chokes on his laughter and Geralt recognizes the sound; the only time Jaskier fails to speak is when he’s so caught up in his pleasure, so gagged by his own ecstasy.

Geralt, though— he finds his words.

“You’re both so unfucking fair.” They fall from his lips as he grips Jaskier’s side with one hand, and presses to Yennefer’s palm with the other. “You think you know, but you don’t. You don’t understand.”

Yennefer bites her lip, hips swiveling beneath Jaskier to meet each thrust. “Then show us, Geralt.”

Gods—

Geralt thrusts harder into Jaskier, losing all patience and sense of control as heat swells within his groin. Jaskier and Yennefer yell out as one, shuddering as Geralt fucks them both— fucks Yennefer through Jaskier, fucks Jaskier on his cock. When Jaskier’s thighs begin to tremble, Geralt knows he should slow down— knows he should take his time, draw this out, appreciate the moment while it’s in his grasp, but—

Yennefer reaches for his face, fingers slipping past his lips into his mouth, against his tongue. He sucks, making pleased noises as her eyes darken with the telltale signs of her falling apart.

Jaskier fucks back and forth between them, high-pitched breaths matching Yennefer’s drawn-out moans. And Geralt knows— he knows— they’re close. He knows, soon, this will all be over.

And, blinded by his own pleasure and lust, he doesn’t really care.

Geralt meets Yennefer’s eyes from over Jaskier’s shoulder— bright and damp and so, so knowing— and he forgets how to breathe as she looks back at him. It’s an awkward angle but, somehow, he presses closer— he presses them together, kissing as Geralt finally comes inside Jaskier with a rushing wave of want and love within his skin.

Jaskier and Yennefer follow with their own crashing climaxes, breathless and aching as Geralt gasps above them. Yennefer's nails dig deep indents into Jaskier’s shoulders, and Jaskier cries out like a dying man, sobbing against her skin when she pulls him down into her neck. The room fills with their shared pleasure, their shared joy— their shared feelings, unspoken, for one another.

They roll apart as they come down but, somehow, stay tangled within one another’s limbs. Yennefer tugs at Geralt until he’s in the middle, cradled in Jaskier’s arms with his head on Yennefer’s stomach, simply breathing as the two of them touch him with gentle caresses— tender taps against his skin, keeping him anchored and in place.

Geralt lets out a groan that nearly sounds like a purr, rumbling through his chest. Jaskier laughs beside him, a quiet huff of amused breath.

“I do hope that’s a happy sound and not a regretful one?” He asks.

Geralt turns his head to look at him, to sink into hopeful blue eyes.

“I have nothing to regret,” Geralt says. After a pause, he shifts so he can see the two of them at once. “Would you do it again? Without the theatrics beforehand?”

“Of course,” Jaskier answers quickly. Though he continues in a teasing tone, his eyes remain fond. “Well, I can’t promise the second half— I do still have to beat Yennefer at something, you know.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, fingers scratching pleasantly at Geralt’s scalp. “You couldn’t beat me at a pillow fight, bardling.”

“We’ll put that to the test next time,” Jaskier says, settling closer against Geralt’s side.

“Next time,” Yennefer says, her eyes on Geralt now. “Yes. Of course.”

Such a lovely promise.

Geralt smiles as the two continue to tease back and forth.

He shuts his eyes and allows himself to dream of all the things that ‘next time’ can bring.

#jaskier #yennefer #geralt #geraskefer #the witcher #geraskeir #witcher bows and arrows

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julek · 3 years

Text

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jeff buckley lyrics my beloved

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yennefairr · 3 years

Text

So that happened. God. Okay so my thoughts are going to be jumbled and probably will miss some stuff but here it goes...

Lauren, what the fuck? What was that?? This show started out so promising and then s2 came along and ruined so much.

Let me just say that I did enjoy some of s2. Papa Geralt and Ciri scenes made me very happy. They were so good. And honestly better than I expected. Kaer Morhen not so much. I actually thought they show the Witchers just bonding or anything to show how close they all are. Instead we got naked women and gross men.. not a likable Witcher in sight. They wrote them all so badly and ooc. ESKEL??? WHY? that was so bullshit. I'm sorry I can't even call that person Eskel because it wasn't.

Mama Tissaia. I adored Yennefer with her mom moments. Tissaia is a mama bear. Loved the interaction between Geralt and Tissaia. Was it worth it line gives me chills.

Vesemir. I wanted to like him. He really pissed me off. Most of the time and the whole going behind Geralt's back to turn an emotionally wrought Ciri made him even worse. I know grayness. But that was low. And he wants to make more witchers?? UM how about no.... bad idea.... like we know Geralt still struggles with what he became. Ugh. I didn't like anything about Kaer Morhen. The way they portrayed the witchers to be bullies and just not very honorable.....yikes

Okay Triss. Her whole arc was a mess. I love her but she was weird. Then making Ciri feel even worse about herself in the end... which is the opposite of book Triss.

I really did enjoy Jaskier and Yennefer. They really brought the Yennskier vibes. Honestly one of the better ships and they're not even canon. Yenn saving him was so badass. All their scenes were perfect. Jaskier checking on Yen in the end(the only one too actually, honestly Geralt, fuck you) I love them. Glad at least one of my ships was well done.

Yennefer my beloved. You were treated so badly.... I want to fight everyone. Whoever thought that Yen could betray Ciri for even a moment deserves to be taken out and beaten. Idc. It was horrible. Book Yen would NEVER. SHE LOVED Ciri and immediately adopts her. So what the fuck, again Lauren. I'm so mad. Yennefer and Ciri's bond deserved to be untainted. She never betrays her even when Geralt thinks she does and then he finds out she didn't. So it was so ooc. Not my Book Yen. Yennefer then has to grovel after Geralt and while I don't blame tv geralt for being mad, come one(even Jaskier sticks up for her) Yennefer has no magic because plot. She is the hero of Sodden but no one knows... She has to prove herself constantly yet it's never enough.

Also how does it make sense that Yennefer tries to save an innocent baby, saves Cahir, saves Jaskier, but then she's willing to sacrifice Ciri even though she knows Ciri is Geralt's daughter. How? What. No. That makes no sense. She wouldn't she values life. Period. It doesn't work. And they ruined Yenralt. They literally have a complicated love as it is then they have Yennefer taking Ciri to Cintra.... when we should've got them actually bonding.... I was shocked at Geralt holding a sword to Yen's neck.... No, book Geralt wouldn't ever. The writing is so bad. I don't see how they can fix this.

Then Yennefer saves Ciri and nothing. Geralt never thanks her or sees if Yen is okay? Also how tf are the Witchers so weak? You're telling me they couldn't take those basilisk monsters out? Yeah right.

Ciri should've been wrecked at killing all her Witcher friends. The girl who is caring guilt from always getting people killed or hurt unintentionally because of who she is. She should've broken down. Even though she was possessed, Ciri would be wracked with more guilt. Bad writing.

I'm going to do a part two because this is way too long.

#the witcher #the witcher spoilers #jj.txt #sorry this was too long #im feeling things and not good feelings #i wanted to like s2 while i do like certain things about it #its sooo bad #like horrible #im not trying to be a debbie downer #i am really uspet

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years

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Interviews - Henry Cavill x wife/actress reader

Summary: You and Henry have been married for a couple years now, and when you’re both part of the Witcher cast, fun interviews are to be had.

Warning: nothing but a good time, btw I’ve never written anything like this so I hope it’s good enough that I might feel motivated to write more

-Readers Witcher character is loosely based off my Geralt fic from here (just a little self promotion), but in this case you play a full vampire in this Witcher universe

The days have been long and grueling, filming hours upon hours of stunts and regular acting had taken its toll. Not to mention the countless times in hair and make up paired with costume changes and traveling to film on certain locations.

To say being apart of Netflix’s The Witcher was full of tiring days and some accidental bruises would be a huge understatement. But none of that mattered, nor did you bother to complain when through the thick and thin of it all did you have Henry with you along the way. And your favorite big slobbery bear, Kal whenever he was allowed on set.

Fortunately for you in the beginning of all the craziness, the casting and writers had wanted you specifically for the part of Y/C/N in the new series before Henry even auditioned for the role of Geralt, that was soon given to him after you accepted your fresh role of vampiric heroine.

It was ironically strange in a good way, you had watched your dork of a husband play the Witcher: Wild Hunt a few times before, eventually learning of what Geralt of Rivia was, who Y/C/N was in the story, who Yennefer and Ciri were, Tris and even Jaskier.

Who would have thought that you’d finally get to snag a role side by side with Henry in quite literally one of the most fantastic shows you’ve ever heard of. You didn’t even need to see the show yet to know how well it was most likely to be reviewed. Being a key character in the grand storyline was enough to convince you of how amazing it would most certainly turn out in the finished product.

And after all was said and done, you couldn’t believe how well loved and popular the show truly became in the following months after shooting and its eventual release onto Netflix. The after parties and cast celebrations truly made you blessedly grateful for pulling through to the vary end.

Then again you had your mans Henry by your side every step of the way. He was your rock and you were most definitely his. You know life on set would have been far less entertaining and dreadfully long if not for the lovely company of your dear Witcher, Henry. And so far after the fact, you and a good portion of the cast have been placed in random interviews for the majority of the day.

Reason being, The Witcher has at long last finally premiered and as per usual the people and media live for those cast interviews that always reveal some interesting events. So far this morning you’ve done some interviews with Anya that have gone perfectly fine since the two of you seem to click so well.

Also it helps ease the anxiety of your fellow newer cast mates to the world of continuous interviews with an experienced veteran actor like yourself, who’s gone round the ring more times then you can count. Though you can’t help but wonder how Henry’s doing, considering you’ve been separated since the sessions began at 10am, you’ve had lunch and now it’s about 1 in the afternoon with more hours to go.

Luckily for you, you’ve just been informed of another interview with the man of the hour himself. Saying your goodbyes and well wishes to your fellow cast mates, you stand and follow the guide into the advised place. Aka some really nice hotel room that’s been done up real nice for efficient interviewing, complete with the Witcher insignia on a large background poster and three chairs that happen to look rather comfy.

The camera and sound people nod in acknowledgment as you walk in, you nod back no doubt making their day with your friendliness and adorable smile that quite literally lights up a room. Soon you spot the bubbly yet nervous interviewee who instantly welcomes you into her space like you’re an old friend.

You sit, a bit confused as to where your partner happens to be at the moment, the interviewer, Lauren makes small talk before a door opens and her big bright doe eyes go wide in nervous excitement. A telling smile upon her face as she shifts in her chair before looking back to you again with a happy grin.

Henry says a quick hello to the behind the scenes crew before waving to Lauren, you smirk while watching him get comfortable next to you, “Well, well, well. Get lost on your way up, you know they have guides for a reason.” You tease as he chuckles at your humorous jab, relieved to see you again after a couple hours apart.

“Traffic.” He quips with a shrug.

“Uh huh.” You mutter with a shake of your head before drawing your attention back to Laura, “Can’t take him anywhere I swear, he does this all the time.”

She laughs as Henry pretends to gasp at your teasing, you chuckle along with them before she finally collects herself, “Well, welcome back to London. It’s fantastic to have you both in town once again, and your big beautiful faces all over Leicester Square.”

You both laugh, “Right.” Says Henry, “I guess we do look pretty cool.”

“Hell yeah, I mean where else can I see myself with a giant sword on a building? And anyways look at this beautiful mug,” You say gently squeezing Henry’s cheeks in your hand, “he’s literally killing it out there.” They laugh as you give Hen another playful squeeze before letting go and setting your arm against the chairs cushioned armrest.

“Alight let’s start.” She says enthusiastically before glancing down at her cards then back up to you and Henry. Then into one of the two the cameras, “Hi I’m Lauren from Entertainment Weekly and today we’re here with the two stars of Netflix’s The Witcher.” She says enthusiastically while giving a nod to you two, indicating that the camera is now focused on you both, “Henry Cavill and Y/N Cavill.”

You both smile in acknowledgment as Henry gives a slight nod, “How you doing?”

“I’m great,” She beams, “So, I’ll get right into it, what do you like most about the story? What really drew you into the script that made you say, yes this is going to be awesome?”

Slapping a hand against Henry’s muscular leg, you hum, “I’ll let Hen take this one he’s a real expert on the linguistics of the whole show.”

“Thanks Y/N/N.” Replies Henry, bemused that you’re making him take the first question.

You nod to him knowingly with a smirk, “Of course.” Knowing how much he loves to talk about the show and also because you’d rather have him use his energy to talk about it then do that yourself. Priorities, right, though in your defense it’s been a long day.

“Well I absolutely love the games and the books themselves are phenomenal works of literature.” He explains, his face glowing with that usual glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “The story and the world of the Witcher is just so rich and full of potential that when I signed on for the show, I immediately knew it would be amazing, no doubt.”

You lean into the arm of you chair, “And of course I was there so that’s always a bonus.”

“That too.” He smiles adorably, “That too of course.”

Lauren smiles, “Great. So, what was it like working together, how was it having your characters interact with one another?”

You smile, setting a hand against Henry’s forearm, “This guy right here.” You deadpan before waving him off dramatically, “So annoying, my god he whined all the time and he was such a drama queen dear lord so ugh....” You start cackling before you can even finish the sentence causing Henry to loose it as well and with that the interviewer.

Shaking your head you rest your hand against his shoulder, “I joke, he was a gem to work with as usual...I mean I feel incredibly blessed to be able to act alongside my husband for months and months every single day. It’s a rarity in this line of work and I’m grateful to have shared this experience...and I guess more so this whole adventure with him as well.”

The interviewer aww’s as Henry tilts his head to lean into your hand that’s still resting atop his shoulder before pulling away just as quickly, the intimate sentiment not going unnoticed by you or Lauren who looks to be enjoying your loving yet calm energy with one another. “That’s so sweet, what about you Henry?”

“Oh yes absolutely,” Agrees Henry to your recent statement, “not only did I have her by my side through it all but the dynamic of our characters interacting together was so fun to shoot. I think the audience will really be able to see their relationship grow on screen into something strong and beautiful like in the books.”

Slow clapping you give him a curt nod of approval, “Well said.”

Lauren smirks, “Seems like it. Well, I was able to catch the premier yesterday and I gotta say...it was fantastic! I couldn’t believe how diffident the two of you looked from how you are now.” She gushes enthusiastically.

The corners of Henry’s lips curl into a proud smile for the fellow crew of the Witcher’s, “Oh that’s great then, honestly we gotta give all the props to the costume and makeup team, they’re so talented and know how to make us look like real badasses.” He adds.

You nod in agreement before grinning at a positive memory of your first interaction with Henry as Geralt, “Oh for sure, I remember during the early stages of production when our characters met each other for the first time, before this we came to set together but went separate ways to shoot our own stuff in the meantime so I never got a real look at him.” You recall with a bright smile as Henry watches your every move, beaming just the same.

“It was so funny, I was in the tent with Freya Allen, the wonderful girl who plays Ciri, and then suddenly her eyes got all big and nervous and I was like, that’s not me right? Something weird didn’t just happen with my costume? And then I turned around to find this man, wig on, face a mess, and his eyes looked so fearsome and different...it was a bit startling.” You say with a chuckle, “I clearly wasn’t expecting to see Geralt right then and there. He just looked so unlike Henry.”

“Yeah, I was almost hurt.” Laughs Henry, “She had to like squint and make sure it was me.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug, “He had some real creepy looking colored contacts, yunno?”

Henry fake scoffs, “You’re one to talk, I mean when I first say her, Y/N’s eyes were red and she had fake blood spattered all over her face and shirt. Oh, and not to mention those fangs they put on your teeth...we probably traumatized poor Freya that day.”

“Oh shit you’re right!” You exclaim with a snort of concealed laughter, “God I completely forgot about how I looked...now since I think about it, I did that a lot too. I would just walk up to people and be completely oblivious as to what kind of nightmare I looked like, honestly I might have scared one of our producers a couple of times.” You add with a half nervous laugh, it’s true, you did scare some of the crew unintentionally. Most of the time.

Lauren lightly chuckles, “That sounds like you were quite the sight to see then.” She says before glancing back down at her notes, “Alright I have’ta ask, is there anything that you two took home with you from set?”

“Besides Henry every night,” He holds back a laugh while covering his mouth as you nonchalantly continue, “Uh, yes actually I got to take home Y/C/N’s wolf ring that I loved so much and just thought was the coolist thing ever and....uh, I might have stolen some socks too.”

“So that’s why after filming the amount of socks of yours I had to fold increased?” Wonders Henry with a surprised snort of realization.

Turning your head to give him a “no shit” kinda look, you look back at Lauren, pointing your thumb at Henry, “Master sleuth right here, but hey, he folds my laundry.”

“Aw that’s great.” Adds Lauren with a smile before turning her attention to Henry, “What about you Henry? Take anything from set?”

“More then Y/N did actually...”

“He just about took the whole makeup trailer most nights, I swear.”

Henry chuckles, “That. Is true.” He agrees with a nod, “Interesting enough, at home I’ve got Geralt’s armor hung up in our living room and a multitude of other nicknacks that I’ve collected during filming.” He adds, glancing over to you, “So uh, yeah, we were fairly lucky to be able to snag what we could.”

Lauren smiles, absentmindedly shuffling her cards, “That’s awesome to have such special memorabilia, you guys really are fortunate.” She adds before reading off from another card, “Alright you two, care to play a game called guess the image? Witcher style.”

Your face perks up at this, you’re a sucker for interview games and Henry knows it, “Are you reading my mind or something, I have been waiting all day for someone to ask about playing a game.” You gush rather enthusiastically.

He smiles at your adorableness and how excited you’ve just become, Lauren grins, happy that her suggestion has been so well received, “Okay so how it works is, I’ll show you an image on my iPad and then you have to guess who or what I’m showing you.”

“Oh, cool I’ve heard of this,” You reply, turning to Henry with a smirk, “Loser has to clean Kal’s yard poop for a week.”

Rolling his gorgeous blue eyes he chuckles, “You’re on.”

“Alright, the stakes are high, you two ready?” Beams Lauren, holding her iPad to her chest as she awaits an answer.

“Yes, I’m ready to kick his ass.” You quip, leaning an arm against your chair while Henry does about the same, though he does his best to contain his laughter.

“Okay, first image.” She holds up the device to show some sort of weird golden thing, it’s shiny and hard, worst part is that you’re not entirely sure what the hell it could be.

Sensing your confusion Henry nudges your shoulder, though you ignore it before he smartly answers, “Oh, is that...Renfri’s brooch?” Little shit knows exactly what that is, of course he does.

Lauren claps, “Correct.” Zooming out of the image to show the full picture of the golden brooch, “Right on, that’s one point for Mr. Cavill.”

You scoff playfully, “Beginners luck.” While Henry side eyes you with a humorous grin upon his plush lips, he nudges your arm, “I’m going to really enjoy not cleaning up Kal’s grass turds for awhile.” He mutters lightheartedly, though you know deep down he’s being serious, no way is he going to win this, you think. You won’t have it, hopefully the next few pictures aren’t as difficult, Kal duty is not fun by any means.

“Shut up.” You grumble with a dismissive wave of your hand, though just teasing of course.

“Okay next image.” This time the blurred photo looks much more familiar, soon it clicks as to what the obscured blurriness actually is, yes!

“Got it! Anya’s er I guess Yennefer’s dress from the fight at Sodden.” Lauren giggles, zooming the image out to reveal Yennefer in her tasseled blue and purple dress from the battle at Sodden Hill. “I’m amazing I know.” You boast at Henry with a casual little bow in your seat.

“It’s the second question.” He deadpans, eyes crinkling in amusement as you shake your head at him.

“Pffff get outta here.” You mutter back, gently pushing his arm off of your chairs armrest and setting yours in its place while he gives you a fake shocked expression.

In turn you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, so instead of saying some sassy remark that would no doubt get a reaction out of him, you turn your attention back over to Lauren who’s looking over her notes again.

“Fantastic,” She says, glancing back up at you and Henry, “you’re both tied with one point each. Alright, anyone know what this is?” She asks showing something red and fuzzy, a bit of dirty skin showing from one corner but with The Witcher this bloody image could literally be anything.

The both of you squint, puzzled as to what this could be, “Y/N you got any ideas.” Wonders Henry, brows furrowed as his face contorts into deep concentrated thought.

Raising a brow, you hum, “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair point.” He chuckles.

Lauren smiles, “Any guesses?”

After a few concentrated moments, Henry shrugs in defeat, “I’m stumped.” He admits as you study the image harder, mind racing to put the pieces together as to what the hell you’re looking at.

“No, I think I might know this....erm is it...me?” You wonder, voice raising in question, hoping to be correct about this or face the teasing of Henry.

Lauren quickly zooms out of the obscured image, “It is!” She says excitedly, revealing the picture of you from your characters debut in episode 2 where you save a girl from a werewolf, your mouth is covered in blood and so is most of your costumes chest area and left arm from the struggle. Not to mention the make-up teams fun 20 minutes of throwing fake sticky blood all over you to get the right look for the taxing scene.

You grimace a bit, “Oh god that was quite the day on set,” You recall with a half smile, “I was doing stunts all day covered in that red syrupy dye, I think it took a week to get out of my skin.”

Henry suddenly snorts with laughter, “Right! That reminds me, I thought Kal had gotten cut or something, it was just Y/N who had hugged him not realizing she still had some fake blood on her arm.”

“Jeez that’s right, I felt so bad, but I couldn’t stop laughing once we realized it was just me.”

Lauren grins, excited to hear some hidden information about little things that happens behind the scenes, “Oh wow that must have been a sight, alright Henry, Y/N’s taken the lead with a two to one score.” She says as you playfully nudge his strong shoulder. “Second to last image, what is this?”

Without missing a single beat Henry replies, “Jaskier.”

Squinting at the image you lean closer to the iPad, “How the hell do you see Jaskier?”

Smiling the interviewer zooms out to reveal the bards full outfit from the banquet scene, though he’s in the background of a fight between Geralt and some Cintran knights. “Right on!” She exclaims as you lean back into your seat dumbfounded, shoulder flush against Henry’s as he clutches your arm and squeezes it affectionately.

Ignoring his silent show of victory you shrug, “And they say he’s just another pretty face,” Earning a laugh from Lauren and some of the crew as you smirk at the camera, face them shifting to apologetic, “also I’m so sorry Joey you beautiful bastard apparently I’m blind. Uh, we don’t have to dwell on it, Lauren whatcha got?”

“You guys are both tied with two points each, last chance to win.” She replies before glancing down at her iPad, “Alright, what is this?” She asks, her iPad showing that of fuzzy bright colors, with a small corner smear of dull white that clearly wouldn’t make much sense to the untrained eye.

Smirking you glance at a puzzled Henry before sitting up in your seat, feeling rather good about yourself, “Would that happen to be, Hen in Stregobor’s illusion?” You answer with, though sounding a bit as a question considering you aren’t entirely confident as to what image this is.

Lauren’s brows raise in surprise, “Henry, looks like we have a winner. Y/N you are correct.” She beams, enlarging the image to reveal Geralt’s side profile as he talks to the old wizard while the background stays colorful and shrouded in various arrays of sunlight..

Shaking your fist victoriously in the air you give a couple enthusiastic whoop whoops while Henry simply takes it like a champ, “Have fun cleaning up Karl’s monster turds, cause this lucky lady doesn’t have to.” You boast as Henry and the crew laugh.

“Well that was something,” Beams Lauren, “I’m so glad to have chatted for a bit about your guys’ amazing new series, and maybe ended a relationship in the process.” She says jokingly as both you and Henry chuckle.

Patting his thigh affectionately, you smirk, “He’s a tough old bear, but yeah, it was awesome having you talk to us.”

“Yes, take care now.” Adds Henry while the interviewer Lauren stands, saying her goodbyes as she goes to exit the room.

The camera crew take a small break to adjust things and whatnot as you and Henry wait patiently for the next interviewer. He turns, an adorable smile pulling at his lips while you pretend to ignore his fiery gaze. “Well that went pretty well, minus the fact that I’m on Kal poop duty for a week...but uh...” He leans in close to you now, “I missed you all morning.”

Breaking out into a smile you raise a brow, “Boring without me huh?”

“Always.”

You casually shrug, “I figured as much. Don’t worry, we have a hotel all to ourselves tonight.” Your brows wiggle suggestively causing your blue eyed lover to shake his head with amusement.

“Say it louder next time.” He jokes.

Side eyeing the oblivious crew you begin to speak a couple octaves louder, “Henry I can’t wait to fu..” Suddenly his hand presses against your mouth before you’re able to call any attention to yourself. He gives you a warning look before slowly pulling his hand from your mouth.

You grin mischievously, “I wasn’t gonna say that...”

“Sure Y/N,” He mutters in your ear as a new interviewer walks into the room and finds their chair, “and I’m wasn’t going to make you scream tonight.”

Your brows raise in surprise and admittedly slight arousal at his choice of wording in this room of all places. Eyeing him up, face still showing surprise, you finally break out into a satisfied smirk. “You know what? I think you should consider changing your offer.”

He thinks deeply for a moment, though you know he’s only pretending to get you riled up, “Hrmm...maybe, possibly, should I? Should we? You are my co-star after all, that wouldn’t be very professional now would it Y/N?” He states with a shit eating grin, all done while the crew and interviewer get ready, minding their business and completely unaware to yourself and Henry’s teasing.

Scoffing playfully you lightly swat his arm, “We are way past being professional.”

He chuckles, looking from you to the rest of the room, “Oh, they have no idea.”

#the witcher x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill

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wyvernsandwitches · 3 years

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What The Water Gave Me

Finally posting my first fic and obv it's gotta be a mermaid!Jaskier and it really was not meant to be this long but these idiots got away from me.

“They don’t exist,” Geralt of Rivia says, expressionless. “The creatures in your song. And the one before about the merfolk. They can’t mate with humans. There are no half mermaids.” “Ah, you’re wrong there, my friend. I myself am part merfolk,” Jaskier answers with a smile.

Or: Five times Jaskier tells Geralt the truth about his heritage and one time he shows him.

Destiny is a funny old thing, Jaskier thinks when he stumbles across Geralt of Rivia in Posada. He’d left Lettenhove behind with ease, relishing the look he imagined must have been on his father’s face when he found his dresser empty and his lute gone. There is nothing for him there. He needs adventure. And oh boy, does Geralt of Rivia positively reek of adventure.

“They don’t exist,” Geralt of Rivia says, expressionless. “The creatures in your song. And the one before about the merfolk. They can’t mate with humans. There are no half mermaids.”

“Ah, you’re wrong there, my friend. I myself am part merfolk,” Jaskier answers with a smile.

The witcher rolls his eyes and stands, leaving a coin behind on the table which Jaskier quickly pockets. He makes a quick decision and packs up his lute, following the man out of the tavern.

It takes almost no time at all for Jaskier to fall head over his heels for him.

Geralt is wrenched from sleep by a pounding on his door. The fire in the hearth is down to embers and the almost full moon shines in through the threadbare curtains, casting the room in an eerie glow.

He recognises Jaskier’s heartbeat outside his door a moment before Jaskier hisses his name.

Geralt sighs and gets out of bed. He throws another log on the fire and casts a quick igni to relight it, before he pulls open the door and Jaskier falls in.

“Oh Geralt, thank the gods! Shut the door, quickly!” he whispers.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls.

“Shh! They’ll hear you!”

“Who?”

Jaskier’s answer is interrupted by a fist at the door.

“I’m not here, okay? You haven’t seen me since dinner. And for goodness’ sake make it believable, Geralt, please!” he whispers again and darts under the bed.

Geralt rolls his eyes and opens the door again.

“You, witcher. You were with the bard that was here this evening, weren’t you?” A middle-aged man with a ruddy face hidden behind a large curly brown beard stands outside the door. His breath stinks of ale and his knuckles are cluttered with scabs. Geralt recognises him as the landlord of the tavern across the street they’d been in earlier.

Geralt hms.

“You seen ‘im?”

“We parted ways after dinner. He’s on to the next village as far as I know.”

The man grunts. “If you sees ‘im, there’s a pretty reward in it for you if you turn ‘im over to us. Man’s barred from this establishment from here on out. And the tavern over yonder. Give us a shout if he comes back.”

Geralt nods and closes the door. Jaskier crawls out from beneath the bed and stands. His doublet is nowhere to be seen and his shirt is undone almost to his navel, exposing an ample amount of chest hair. In the low light, with his hair mussed and cheeks pink, Geralt can’t help but think how attractive he is. He shakes his head at the thought. Those thoughts have been coming a lot more frequently lately and he needs to put a stop to it.

“Let me guess. You stuck your prick in his wife?”

“How dare you!” Jaskier points a finger at Geralt. Geralt just crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

Jaskier deflates and falls into the rickety wooden chair by the hearth. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Although it wasn’t his wife.”

Geralt makes a non-committal noise and moves the logs around in the fire.

“If you must know,” Jaskier begins. I didn’t ask, Geralt thinks, but he knows from experience it is pointless trying to stop Jaskier talking. “The man’s sister walked in on me and her husband in rather a delicate position.”

Her… husband? Geralt has always thought Jaskier prefers women. Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s never really paid attention to who Jaskier takes to bed. Lately, he’s had to start making a conscious effort not to think about it, lest he start imagining Jaskier with those partners, and that train of thought only ends with Geralt frustrated and searching out the nearest brothel.

“What do you mean delicate position?” Geralt asks, making sure he’s understood correctly. He can’t quite process this yet.

“What do I mea– sex obviously Geralt, as you so insightfully guessed when I came in here! Or were you asking for specifics?” Jaskier grins and taps his chin. “Let’s see, he was on his elbows and knees and I was beh-”

“No, I do not need details, Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s grin widens. If Geralt could blush he knows he’d be blushing right now. This new information that Jaskier also enjoys the company of men sends his heart fluttering. The mental image of him with the other man sends heat pooling to his face and his groin. That settles it. The next village they stop in needs to have a brothel, so he can rid himself of these intrusive thoughts.

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt scowls and moves to the bed. “Fine, but you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Ohh, but your bed is so big! And I’m all bruised from climbing out of the window.” Jaskier whines.

“Floor,” Geralt repeats and throws one of the blankets on the bed at Jaskier.

Jaskier pouts. Geralt gets back into bed and sighs as Jaskier makes a fuss of arranging himself on the floor.

After a few moments, Geralt throws him a spare pillow. “Take this and shut up.”

“Thank you, dear. You know, you could just–”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine. Mean old witcher.”

He’s blessedly silent for a moment.

“I knew I should have gone for the woodcutter’s son. He had better arms. But the sailor kept talking about the sea and-”

“Sailor?” Geralt can’t help but ask. They are nowhere near a coastline.

“He was saying how much he loves the sea and how he’d been a sailor when he was a young man but then his family married him off and now he’s stuck with a wife he never wanted and a tavern to look after that isn’t even his. And you know I’m a sucker for a tragic ‘my family doesn’t care about my happiness’ backstory. And then when I told him I was part merfolk he barely hesitated before he stuck his tongue down my throat. Shame our little tryst got cut short. He had a really good arse as well and they’re hard to come by round here.”

Geralt mostly ignores Jaskier as he talks about the other man. He focuses his attention on the sounds he can hear, in order to stop those images of Jaskier coming back into his mind. The fire crackling. The wind through the branches outside. Jaskier’s slowing heart rate. A few long, quiet moments pass. And then something Jaskier said snags on his thoughts.

“You told him you were part merfolk?” Why Geralt continually lets himself be dragged into these conversations is beyond him.

“Mm-hm,” Jaskier answers, his voice slow and sleepy.

“And why would you do that?”

“’Cause I am.”

“Jaskier.”

“Told you when we met, Geralt. I’m part merfolk.” Jaskier yawns.

“That’s not possible.”

“Is. I’m it. Mum was part mermaid. So am I.”

“You can’t be part merfolk. You’re either merfolk or you’re human. There is no in between.”

“Whatever you say. G’night, dear.”

Jaskier really could talk out of his ass sometimes. Honestly, part merfolk! Has he come up with that lie himself or is it a childhood tale he’d been told that he still believes?

Geralt ponders on this for a while when Jaskier’s soft voice breaks the quiet, laced with sleep.

“Had nice eyes too, like a storm.”

Geralt takes a breath and tries to tamp down the jealous feeling rising in his chest.

“Not s’nice as yours though. Yours’re like honey.”

Geralt spends most of the night trying to sort through the multitude of implications that that comment leaves him with.

Read the rest on AO3!

#geraskier #geraskier fic #mermaid!jaskier #5+1 fic #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #my writing

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thearvariblues · 4 years

Text

A Valentine’s Day Non-Date (AKA Lambert Was Fucking Right)

Because it’s Valentine’s Day and even though I definitely don’t celebrate it, I still got this funny little idea that simply refused to go away until I write it down. So... Yeah. Enjoy the Witcher boys and their Valentine’s Day non-date!

“It’s just… So unfair!” Jaskier whines, downing his glass of wine and holding it out to be refilled.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” Geralt murmurs, turns the bottle upside down and frowns confusedly when only a drop falls out. “Fuck. Are we out again?”

“Looks like it,” Jaskier nods solemnly. “Ugh, it’s probably for the best. I think I’m a little drunk, Geralt.”

“No shit,” Geralt chuckles.

“You don’t understand. I’m just… I’m a very romantic person, you know?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it romantic–”

“But I am! And it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow and I’m not gonna have a date for the first time in years!”

“Good. Valentine’s Day is bullshit, anyway,” Geralt mutters. “That’s your biggest problem?”

“Is it not enough?!”

“Boo fucking hoo. Look at me. I’m single too, you know?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Good. Because I am! I’m almost forty, I got a divorce last year, and I’m so fucking broke I can’t even get my own apartment and have to have a thirty-year-old–”

“Excuse me? I’m twenty-nine, you asshole, I’m nowhere near being a coffin dodger like you, thank you very much!”

“Yeah, whatever. When’s your birthday again? I’ll buy you a cane.”

“See? I’m single and old! I’ll spend the rest of my life all alone, die alone and then I’m gonna be eaten by my cats.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“I will. Because I’m gonna turn into a little old cat lady!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, because I won’t be able to afford an apartment on my own anytime soon,” Geralt laughs. “I’m just gonna keep living with a twenty-nine-year-old roommate who plays in a semi-famous local band, fucks everything that moves, steals my gaming laptop to play Sims and serenades my ass when he’s bored.”

“It’s a gorgeous ass,” Jaskier smiles dreamily. “So perfectly round and firm…”

“Oh, fuck off, Jask,” Geralt chuckles.

“You know what we should do tomorrow?” Jaskier frowns, thinking. “We should go on a non-date together!”

“Non-what?”

“Non-date! Like a date, but like… as friends. Because we are. Friends.”

“You wanna go on a date that’s not a date… On Valentine’s Day.”

“You said it was bullshit, didn’t you? So what’s a bigger fuck you to the day than going for a friendly dinner with your roommate slash friend?”

Geralt sighs, closing his eyes. The world is beginning to spin a little.

“Just for the record, if I refuse to go,” he mutters, “are you gonna spend the whole evening drinking, crying, listening to terrible pop love songs and, well, being all miserable?”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Oh, whatever. I’m in.”

Geralt opens is eyes just in time to see Jaskier grinning at him.

“Are you? Oh, Geralt! I promise it’s gonna be the best non-date you’ve ever been on!”

And then Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt and kisses him on the cheek and Geralt knows he’s just made a horrible mistake.

“You,” Lambert says when he finally stops laughing, “are a fucking idiot, Wolf.”

“I know,” Geralt sighs, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s a horrible idea.”

“What, to go on a date–”

“A non-date.”

“Even worse. To go on a non-date with a roommate you’ve been madly in love with for the past eight months, on a fucking Valentine’s, knowing he’s not even gonna fuck you when you get back home – because, let’s face it, getting laid is the reason why people really go to those pretentious dinners… That’s incredibly stupid even for you!”

“You’re right. I’ll just cancel it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s stupid!”

“It is, but you can’t do that to poor Jaskier, can you? And who knows, maybe you will get laid in the end.”

“That’s bullshit, Lambert,” Geralt sighs.

“Is it? I don’t know. He likes sex, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s my roommate, for fuck’s sake!” Geralt shakes his head. “What about you? How are you spending Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh, we’re gonna stay at home. Aiden’s bought a new strap and he refuses to show me, so there’s no way in hell I’m gonna wait for a whole fucking dinner.”

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” Geralt chuckles just as Lambert’s boyfriend places two cups of coffee on the coffee table in front of them. “Thanks, Aiden.”

“You’re welcome,” Aiden smiles. “And don’t listen to the asshole. He’s the one who started it. He said he bought me something special for Valentine’s Day and then he refused to tell me what it was. This is just a little revenge.”

“What did you buy?” Geralt asks, turning to Lambert.

“An engagement ring,” Lambert shrugs, smiling.

“See?” Aiden smirks. “Every time I ask him, he just thinks of another stupid thing he could give me. I’ve heard like fifty of those already, from lace lingerie to a puppy. This one’s probably the best yet, though. As if you’d ever propose, you bitch.”

He slaps Lambert on the head playfully and returns to the kitchen.

Geralt raises an eyebrow questioningly and taps his left ring finger.

Lambert smiles and nods.

For real? Geralt mouths silently.

Lambert just nods again.

“Well, fuck,” Geralt chuckles.

“Yeah, well. At least one of us is gonna get laid tonight, right?” Lambert laughs.

“What are you wearing, anyway?” Aiden asks, coming back with his own cup of coffee.

“Oh, you know, the usual. It’s not a date, remember?” Geralt shrugs.

“So, black jeans, black shirt, that wolf medallion of yours… Poor Jaskier,” Aiden nods.

“More like poor me,” Geralt sighs. “I don’t even want to know what he is going to wear…”

The answer is purple jeans, white shirt, a dark grey waistcoat, an excessive amount of silver rings… and dark red lipstick.

Geralt nearly faints when he sees Jaskier for the first time, and then every single time he looks at him.

Jaskier looks simply beautiful, more beautiful than Geralt has ever seen him, and Geralt simply cannot take it. It wasn’t just a stupid idea, it was a completely idiotic idea, and the only thing that keeps him from running away is the fact that he’s doing it to keep Jaskier from being sad.

He’s near oblivious to everything that happens during the dinner except the parts which directly involve Jaskier. That’s why he, when asked later, has no idea what he was even eating but can easily describe the way a stray drop of red wine stained Jaskier’s lower lip.

No matter what he tries to tell himself, it’s not a dinner between two friends – at least for him it isn’t. It’s a date. The only date he will ever have with Jaskier, probably.

And perhaps that’s the reason why, when the door of their apartment closes behind them and Jaskier smiles at him and thanks him for the dinner and says that it was the loveliest evening he’s had in months, Geralt does the one unthinkable thing he just can’t stop thinking of – he grabs the back of Jaskier neck to bring him closer and then simply kisses him.

He feels Jaskier hesitate and he’s nearly sure he’s royally fucked up just now, but then Jaskier sighs and wraps his arms around Geralt and kisses him back…

And that’s the point when Geralt stops thinking at all.

“Well, that was… unexpected,” Jaskier chuckles into Geralt’s hair.

“Mhm,” Geralt smiles and snuggles up closer to him. He feels light-headed, perfectly fucked out, content… happy.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Jaskier continues, his fingers drawing lazy circles on Geralt’s skin. “Melitele’s tits, it was even better than I imagined.”

That makes Geralt lift his head and look into Jaskier’s eyes.

“You imagined it?” he asks.

“You really have no idea how hot you are, do you?” Jaskier laughs. “Oh, Geralt. The serenades to your ass were no joke. I just never thought you’d be interested.”

“Interested? Jaskier, I’ve been in love with you since… Fuck,” Geralt whines and buries his head in Jaskier’s shoulder. “Forget I said that. Please, forget I said that.”

“Never,” Jaskier says, wrapping his arms around Geralt. “I love you too, you big moron.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Jaskier murmurs as Geralt lifts his head again.

“So…” Geralt says, licking his lips. “I guess it’s safe to say the non-date didn’t go very well, did it?”

“Quite the opposite, dear heart,” Jaskier grins. “I’d say it went splendidly.”

“I thought the point of a non-date was to have a nice dinner and stay… friends.”

“But you are still my friend, Geralt. My best friend,” Jaskier smiles and runs his fingers through Geralt’s white hair. “You just happen to be my lover now, too.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna be serenading me much more often from now on?”

“Absolutely.”

Geralt chuckles, pressing his lips against Jaskier’s.

“All right. I guess I can live with that…”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #lambden #lambert x aiden #yeah they just sneaked into another fic #also why can't I fucking stop writing trans!aiden?#fluff #tooth-rotting fluff #mutual pining #idiots in love #friends to lovers #oh my god they were roommates

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jacks-wylan · 4 years

Text

Follow me home

Here’s my @thewitchersecretsanta for @itsmajel. Sorry for the late, darling! I hope you like it, even if it’s not what I had in mind at first and rushed a bit at the end (life got in the way sobs). Still, i hope you appreciate geralt and jaskier being horse girls, the almost-not-fake-marriage and a little cameo of Valdo Marx that does nothing at all (but come on, everyone wants Valdo to be present at Jaskier’s wedding right?)

❀

The missive is delivered right in his hand one fine morning, at the start of spring. Geralt is minding his own business, sipping a piss–tasting ale in the darkest corner of a tavern in Oxenfurt, and he's waiting for his bard to deign him of his flamboyant presence as he has done for almost twenty years now.

Jaskier is late, though, and Geralt can't help but frown, worried, when a boy – a young boy, dressed in a rich uniform – bows to him and calls him Sir Witcher, handing him the letter. To be honest, the whole gesture scares him: no one ever bowed to him before.

When he opens the missive, Geralt sighs, recognizing immediately Jaskier's flourish handwriting.

“My dearest friend,” he reads, and that is not a good sign. “If I only try to write the real reason of my absence there by your side in Oxenfurt, a single parchment would not be enough, and I am quite sure you would not even read the whole ordeal, ignoring my request of aid. Once you reach for me here in my birthplace, I will explain everything. Please, my friend, I beg you to come here in Lettenhove as soon as possible. I don't have much time left.” Geralt blinks, “What the fuck.”

Geralt feels his heart dropping down in his stomach, dread pooling there as he scrambles up from the chair, grabs his swords, leaves some coins on the table, and runs outside. He doesn't even mind the next words written in the missive, the gentle, “Yours always, Jaskier.”

He just puts the already crumpled piece of parchment in Roach's saddlebag, hops on the horse, and heads towards Lettenhove – ignoring the shouts of the same boy that has delivered the missive. He knows the way, he doesn't fucking need company, and also, whoever he was he would just slow him down.

And Jaskier hasn't much time left.

He rides for a day and a half, avoiding inns and taverns, sleeping just when needed. He follows the seashore, remembering from conversation that Geralt pretended to ignore that Jaskier passed his childhood bathing in salty waters, breathing fish–smelling air. He remembers that whenever he played in Kerack courts, he always said that it felt like home.

Jaskier never once mentioned Lettenhove, though.

Geralt arrives in Lettenhove by twilight. It's a cheerful city, decorated for a festivity he has no knowledge of. There is a bonfire in the middle of the marketplace, already lit, with some people dancing and drinking wine around it, children laughing and screaming as they play catch. He watches around, in search of a familiar colorful figure, but he sees nothing of importance, so he heads toward the nearest tavern, set on asking every single soul if they know anything of Jaskier the Bard.

He growls at the stableboy, when he takes Roach's reins from his hands. “You know of a bard around here?” he asks the boy, helping him take the saddle off Roach.

The boy nods, guarded, “Well, yes! A bard is going to play tomorrow, for the wedding!”

“Wedding?”

“Don't you know, sir?” the boy cocks his head to the side, watching him from the other side of Roach. Another one that calls him sir, that's kind of creepy. “The long lost Viscount is finally going to marry tomorrow! That's why we are all celebrating.”

Geralt hums. Jaskier probably has been called to play at his birthplace court, and he needs assistance for this. Maybe one of the many ladies he loves is the future bride of the Viscount, who probably Jaskier hates for no reason at all, and for this Jaskier has brought misfortune upon his head: what if he's imprisoned? What if tomorrow, instead of his performance, Jaskier will be hanged beside the bonfire because he fucked the wrong maiden?

Damn him and his cock, “And this bard, you remember his name?”

“No, sir. I'm just a stableboy.” the boy shrugs, “Don't know who're the lord's hosts. But I got a glimpse of him when he came the other day, and he's really...” he scrunches his young face, “Excessive.”

Gods, yes. That's definitively Jaskier.

Geralt nods as a thanks, trying not to think about the the worst, and heads towards the inn. It's not the first time Geralt has to pay for Jaskier's debt in order to take him out of prison, and it's definitely not the first time he has to help Jaskier escape from imprisonment, and yet, now something seems... off. Geralt can't quite pinpoint what, though.

He eats soup, and drinks water. No one is looking at him feed himself alone at a table, too busy in the wedding's arrangements to pay attention to a lonely Witcher – as weird as it is. He takes a room, and the innkeeper doesn't grimace nor make him pay more while handing him the key, and it's probably the merry time around that makes all this people happy and all, but it still feels so damn strange.

“We will tell the Viscount of your arrival!” says the innkeeper, as he goes upstairs. Geralt just shrugs: he doesn't know why, and he doesn't care. If they have a job for him, he can ask Jaskier's freedom as a payment, at least.

For now, he just drops his belongings on the floor next to his bed, and lays on it to try gaining some sleep. Tomorrow, whatever happens, surely Geralt has to fight against something – be it a drowner or two, or a regiment of soldiers.

The next day, Geralt wakes up with someone stomping as they run up the stairs, stopping in front of his door and knocking loudly, too loudly. He groans, and glancing at the window he left open the night before, he notices that it's barely dawn – he has a half mind to just ignore the nuisance and go back to sleep, but he suddenly remember why he finds himself in Lettenhove in the first place and thinks better of it.

Slowly, he gets up, passing a hand on his eyes to wipe the sleep away, and the person on the other side of the door hasn't enough patience nor time, this morning, because they knock again and shout: “Geralt! Open up, I know you're awake, you oaf!”

Geralt blinks. That voice is definitely Jaskier's.

He walks to the door and unlocks it. Immediately, Jaskier pushes the handle, and if Geralt wasn't a fucking Witcher with quite good reflexes, the angle of the door would have definitely hit his forehead. Not a great start, for the day, it would be. “Geralt! My darling friend! You are here just in time!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, calmly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What does it mean, what the fuck I am doing here?” Jaskier passes under his raised arm to enter inside his room, in his hand a heavy bag from where a mouth–watering smell comes. “That was I that called you here, remember? I believe you got my letter. I brought breakfast!”

Geralt grits his teeth, following him as he makes himself at home. “Yes, that's why I don't understand why you aren't in prison.”

Jaskier frowns, as he puts fruits and sweet rolls out of the bag. “I totally have no idea why you think I should be in prison right now.”

“You little– here, look.” Geralt grabs his satchel and takes out Jaskier's letter, showing him the peculiar words he'd chosen. “Please, my friend, I beg you to come here in Lettenhove as soon as possible. I don't have much time left.” he reads with a growl. Gods, seeing him here safe and sound is a relief, but he feels like he's been mocked, and it irritates him. “I though you were in danger, Jaskier, so I came here– wait, why you signed it...? Yours always...?”

Jaskier tears the letter off his hands, a panicked expression twisting his face, “It was in the heat of the moment, alright? I though I was gonna die any day without you – I mean, without your help to take me out of this mess. Don't mind it!” he folds the letter and puts it in his silk trouser's pocket. “Anyway, I think that explanations are in order.”

“You think?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. Then, he motions at the food he's served on the bed, “In the meantime, eat. The tale is long, and kinda boring.” Once Geralt is seated on the floor by the bed, a sweet roll in his mouth, Jaskier seems to be enough satisfied to start explaining. He does it with a huff, blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes – and Geralt no, he has totally not followed the motion with barely concealed awe, “My friend, before your arrival, I really thought this would have been the end for me. You are my only hope to make it out alive.”

“What have you done?” Geralt asks, flatly.

“Absolutely nothing – apart being born. You see, my darling Witcher, there are things that are... expected from me. My father actually pretends those things that I, no, I totally refuse to do. One of those things, is marring a completely unknown rich woman just for the sake of... you know, I really don't know why. Perhaps is because people will now stop spreading rumors about me, or worse yet because my father expects an, ugh, an heir. From me! My sister gave birth last summer, and he still expects me to have an heir! Isn't one enough, I wonder? How many heirs a Count needs, to be in peace with himself? It's really beyond my comprehension.”

“Jaskier, wait.” Geralt almost chokes on the sweet roll he is swallowing at Jaskier's words. Did he hear it right? Is he talking about marriage and children? Is he really Jaskier the man in front of him, or he's a doppler trying to fuck up with him? “The wedding is yours?” he asks, and that was really the last of his worries, but evidently all his mind and mouth were able to elaborate is just that.

“Unfortunately, yes. Thank all the Gods that you are here just in time, Geralt! One more day, and it would have been one day too late.” Jaskier walks towards the window, and looks down at the decorations with a dreadful grimace pulling his mouth. “Can you believe that hateful man how far is gone with this farce? With this charade? Hell, he even called the worst bard of the entire Continent to play during the banquet!” he sniffs, outraged. “But you're here! I shouldn't have doubted you! I have a plan to make all of this blown up, and you are the centerpiece of it.”

“The stableboy mentioned this bard. I thought it was you, by his description.”

Jaskier gapes, widening his big, blue eyes in a comical way, “Sad that he's gonna lose his job for this! Gods, how dares he compare me to that... that scoundrel–”

Geralt shakes his head, an amused smile tugging his lips. He's gonna admit it, he feels mostly confused by the stream of words coming out of Jaskier, as always. He just understands that he has an important role in his plan to not get married, and he guesses that he will help him regardless of his motives. Jaskier is... a free spirit. Geralt can't see him married off with someone, unless his wife–to–be is alright in never see him again because he'll be too busy walk the Path with him.

Hm. That is why the thought of Jaskier married is so foreign, so strange, so unbelievable? Because that would mean Geralt will never have him around again, in that case?

Geralt frowns, and raises his eyes to look how the bard is still muttering offenses against the young stableboy, “Isn't the Viscount the one who's gonna get married?”

“Yes, 'tis I, Julian Alfred Pankratz, the willingly estranged Viscount that has finally returned home to his so boring obligations and blah blah blah.” Jaskier motions in the air with his hand. Then, he blinks, looking down at Geralt, “I did never tell you this, didn't I?”

“That you were a fucking Viscount? No, Jaskier.” says Geralt, and he knows that he's able to conceal the bitterness in his voice – and yet, considering the guilty faces Jaskier is making, he probably didn't do it right this time.

“I beg for your forgiveness, my friend. I never told you this not because I don't trust you, because I do. You know that, and never doubt it again.” Jaskier sighs, and finally he walks away from the window to sit next to him on the floor, “It's just that... I always run away from this life, even in my mind it's always been like I've never lived here before, never borne here, that there weren't people waiting for me to stop being egoistical and take my responsibilities. This is the reason I never mentioned it before, you have nothing to do with that.”

Geralt can understands this, and he'd be too hypocritical of him to say that he doesn't do the same – he, too, runs away from unwanted, from scaring, responsibilities. So he just nods, and Jaskier smiles, relieved.

“I bet you are wondering why I am here, then. Why I don't run away from here once again.”

“I bet you're gonna tell me anyway.”

Jaskier gasps, a hand dramatically posed on his lips, “That I'll do! How did you know that?” he chuckles, then gets quiet. “Mhh, well, it's for another egoistical reason. I'm just tired to run away from... from what is my home, after all, I hate it or not, it still is. My mother died this summer, and I wasn't here to give her one last kiss. Actually, I don't ever remember the last time I've seen her, and now all I have is a grave.” he shrugs, as if he doesn't even care. Geralt can smell, though, in his scent, a touch of sadness, and regret. “My sister gave birth to the chubbiest baby I've ever met in my entire life, and I wasn't here for her. I wasn't here for her for her wedding either. What I'm trying to say, Geralt, is that I want too much to be free to also come here, just once in a while, to bring present to my nephew and lay flowers on my mother's tomb.”

Geralt clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable, “I'm sorry for your mother.”

“Don't be. Last time I've seen her, I was eighteen. My sister almost didn't remember my face, when I came here a couple of months ago.”

Geralt hums, and grabs an apple. “So, this plan?”

“Yes, the plan.” Jaskier claps his hands, and absentmindedly accepts the apple Geralt is handing him. “Today is the wedding day, and I'm going to meet the lovely lady my father has chosen for me, but! Listen this, because you will totally praise my brilliant mind this time.” he takes a bite at the apple, munching with fervor as he tries to gather the words to explain his so brilliant plan, and Geralt feels a smile tugging at his lips at the sight. He's ridiculous. Geralt is, too, obviously. “I organized a horse race.”

Geralt frowns, “Good.”

“It'll make sense, hear me out. I somehow convinced my father to accept this my... caprice. He thinks that it is just to entertain the guests, but I made very clear that it will be the winner who's gonna marry me! At this point, I guess my father doesn't really care who will be my bride, as long as I'll be married once and for all. And, and,” he stops Geralt before he could ask clarifications with a finger closing his lips, “I will participate. You will do in my behalf, of course, you know I can't ride a horse for shit, and I am so sure that Roach will make the other horses eat her dust! I will win the race, and I'm gonna marry myself.”

“That's...”

“Brilliant?”

“Stupid. It will never work.”

“Whaaat?” Jaskier pouts, crossing his arms against his chest, “Why? It has to work!”

Geralt knows that nobles gets embarrassingly excited by these kind of things – the scoops, the scandals, and whatever they comports – but he doesn't think that a scam like this will work. Not that Geralt knows his father at all, in what way he's going to react at Jaskier's, hm, trap, but if he really wants Jaskier married and soon–to–be–father, he won't surely accept the whole 'I won at a game so I will marry myself' thing.

Hence, this is stupid. But looking at the sad pout on Jaskier's face, Geralt can't find in himself the power to tell him that his plan has all kinds of holes in it. So, he mutters, “If... if you're sure about it.”

“I am! So, you're on?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Jaskier rolls his eyes, fondly, as he does every time Geralt says something uncalled for. “You always have a choice, my dear. After all, there will be a lot of nobles, a lot of meaningless chatters, a lot of stabbing behind the backs, a lot of songs from a terribly bard. I wouldn't wish it even to my worst enemy. Well, sure, without your help I'd die within the day, slicing my own throat with a cutlery out of desperation and boredom, but this is not a forcing towards you by any means.”

Geralt smacks his shoulder, and Jaskier shrieks an amused ouch, massaging the hit spot. Put like this, he no, he really doesn't have a choice. How could he leave him be, when Jaskier is looking at him with those puppy eyes, with his lower lip slightly protruding, with those desperate words about his demise?

Well, he knew that he wouldn't have any choice since he received his letter back in Oxenfurt.

“Fine.” he sighs, then, “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing too complicated, darling. You just have to be faster than my... fiance's horse. Actually, I think Roach would do most the work. Never joined a horse race before?”

“Have you ever seen me in one?” he asks, rhetorically. No one would challenge him in anything, nor offer him to join a competition that, usually, is for noble's entertainment, so it's naive of Jaskier to ask something like this. But Geralt knows that Jaskier, most of the time, doesn't fully comprehend how people take Geralt at arm's length, and gets mad when he witnesses the – maybe deserved, maybe not – cruelty they have towards him.

“No, but maybe you have in my absence. Who knows what you do when I'm not around!”

“I do what I always do, Jaskier. I walk the Path, I fight, and I try to survive. I have no time for games.”

Jaskier scrunches his face, clearly discontent of his words, “So unfair.”

It doesn't matter if it's fair or unfair, it's still Geralt's life, and Jaskier needs to understand that nothing will ever change, no matter the fact that he doesn't like it and he deems it humanly wrong.

So Geralt doesn't respond, and a quiet silence falls on them whilst they finish their breakfast. Jaskier wipes away the apple juice from his mouth with the hem of his luxurious chemise, and the gesture is so little nobility that Geralt still doesn't believe the fact that in front of him there is a Viscount. That the bard that followed him for almost two decades is a Viscount – and he had no clue at all.

Jaskier winces and grimaces, when people start to shout and sing and claps from the roads outside. “We need to go. My wife–to–be is probably arrived.” he rolls his eyes, raising from the floor and reaching out to help him do the same. “I bet my precious lute that she is as unhappy as me about this arrangement. Gods, I don't even know her name! She probably doesn't know mine either! This is bullshit.”

Grabbing his stretched hand, Geralt prepares himself to what's about to happen.

He doesn't have a good feeling about this.

Jaskier's fiance is flawless, with a curved body and straight blond hair. She's not a teenager as Pavetta was during her wedding – the only banquet Geralt has ever participated, and he's for the first time in all his long life praying that this won't end like hers ended – and she walks with her chin held high, an expressionless stare pointed in front of her. Maybe it's her face, but Geralt thinks that Jaskier is probably right, and she's as unhappy as he is in this whole situation. After all, a lot of years passed since Jaskier was twenty and ready – for his father, at least – to get married: she has probably found someone else to love in Jaskier's absence, because her brown, stricken eyes resemble so much Pavetta's.

Well, Geralt thinks. Maybe Jaskier's plans will work, if he has his fiance's support.

Geralt watches as Jaskier and his fiance's meet for the first time in the farthest corner of the main square, with Roach neighing quietly next to him. Jaskier's eyes are full of pity, as he, with a sweet, small smile, kisses the back of her hand, so lightly that his lips doesn't even touch her sun–kissed skin. They don't exchange words apart for empty pleasantries, and Geralt feels an hollow inside of him at the sight.

He doesn't want a meaningless, unloved marriage for Jaskier.

He nudges Roach forward as the cheerful crowd follows the soon–to–be–wed couple to the magnificent palace at the end of the main road. He doesn't think Geralt will be welcomed there inside, no matter what Jaskier wants – he is too busy with his father and fiance, right now, to mind his comfort – but he thinks that, at least, he can go in the Pankratz's stables, considering that Roach will be one of the horses that will compete.

He is surprised, though, to find a servant in there that shows him the way inside the palace, indicating him where to go to the chambers allocated to him. He's too confused to try asking for explanations, and too stunned to growl at the stableman as he takes Roach's reins from his hands.

Maids prepare him a bath, and new, perfumed clothes are brought to him. Geralt doesn't feel enough relaxed to take off his armor and stay only with the clothes Jaskier – obviously – sent to him, so when he heads to the stables again, he tries to ignores the confused stares from servants and maids as he walks the corridors with frilly, clean clothes under his stained, clearly old armor.

In the stable, he finds himself to be surprised again, when he sees Jaskier nuzzling Roach's nose, hugging her neck from time to time as he murmurs sweet nothings in her flicking ears. “You will be my forever heroin, Roach, if you win this race. I know, I know, it's child's play for you, my horses – or, everyone's horses, don't get so offended, Gods – are snails compared to you, my girl. Still, you have to give all your might, regardless of the incompetence of others.”

Roach snorts, and tries to bite Jaskier's fingers. Geralt suffocates a laugh just to not interrupt whatever is going on between her and Jaskier.

Jaskier gasps, but the idiot doesn't take his hands off the horse, “You're so touchy! I didn't say that you are incompetent! Gods, sometimes you are worst than your owner. Ohw! I said sometimes!” his words are followed by a couple of kisses on her muzzle that she tries to shy away from – with not much force, though. Geralt knows that Roach is totally able to headbutt Jaskier out of her way, if she really wants to. “Anyway, what I meant, you prickly horse, is that mistakes are not allowed. Not if you still want me run after you throughout the Continent! And I know you want me. Who else is gonna give you this, if not me?” he asks, taking a small sugar cube from his pocket.

Roach stops stomping her foot on the ground, suddenly very docile.

“Yeah, I know. If you help me, dear girl, I will give you a whole bag full of your favorite treats. All for you, to eat all at once if you wish!”

“Are you done spoiling my horse?”

Jaskier jumps and a bunch of sugar cubes falls from his closed palm, “Holy shit, Geralt, do you perhaps want me to have a heart attack? You almost succeeded here!”

“Dramatic.”

“I'm serious, Gods.” Jaskier leans on Roach hugging her with an arm, and she doesn't mind at all, too busy eating all the treats fallen on the dusty ground. His other hands is posed against his chest, at the height of the heart. “That's why Roach is my favorite: she at least huffs and snorts to make her presence known.”

Geralt caresses Roach's neck, and her ears flick in acknowledgment. “Trying to bribe her won't work.”

Jaskier pouts, and frowns at the now clean ground where just second before the treats he brought for Roach laid, “It was working before you interrupted so rudely. By the way, did you rest? I see you changed with the clothes I had sent to you. They are really nice on you, I have to admit, but, dear, you don't need your armor in a horse race.”

“You will never know.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him, “Aaand that's why you are the wise one between us. Uhm, I'm gonna buy you a new armor, though. This one is falling to pieces.”

“You don't have to buy me anything, Jaskier.” Geralt sighs, and drops his eyes off Jaskier to pay attention to Roach, distract himself in adjusting her saddle and controlling her shoes. If she has to race, she has to have all the needed comforts – in no way Geralt would ride her with a broken shoe or a loose saddle.

“But I want to! Whatever. You are saving my life, it's the least I can do. Money won't be a problem at all, on the contrary: for the first time, my father's money – also mine, I'd like to stress – would be finally used for something useful. He spends all our wealth in women and wine, the old fucker!”

Geralt almost says that put it like this, Jaskier isn't so different from his father, but he thinks better of it. So he just hums, letting him continue blabbing about the disgraceful ways his father lives even before his mother's death.

He really has a lot to say regarding this argument. Distractedly, Geralt wonders if Jaskier will remember that they have a horse race to win before it's too late, or if he'll be too preoccupied in blaming his father for all his bad habits to notice the hours pass. He will probably find himself already married the moment he'll finally stop talking.

Suddenly, Jaskier claps his hands, “Now, Geralt, we have to go, we wasted enough time in chitchats. I already talked to my father, and he knows that you will be the other participant. You are competing against the best knight serving my fiance's family – I didn't even bother learning his name.”

“Do you at least know your fiance's name, now?”

“Yes, but I want to forget, as she wants to forget mine. We want absolutely nothing do to with each other, and believe me, for the first time in my entire life, I'm relieved to know that someone hates me.” Jaskier shrugs, and takes his hand in his, tightening slightly his long fingers around his much larger palm. For a second, he gets distracted by the casual gesture: he will never comprehend how a man's touch can be so warm, how can it make his skin tingle so strangely and yet so pleasurably. “Let's go now, I want to show you where the racecourse is located. It's a circular racetrack, really, the horses have to run around the stands where my family and my fiance's family will be to watch the... the challenge, and the first one that reaches the starting point is the winner.” he sniffs, “I feel strange, Gods, I'm starting to feel anxious. Don't get me wrong, I know you are going to win without any doubt, but I can't get out of my mind the feeling that something will go irremediably wrong.”

Geralt has the same feeling since the very beginning, but he just follows Jaskier silently out of the stable after giving Roach a see–you–later kiss on her muzzle. He doesn't add anything more to Jaskier's worries, and he mostly ignores the townsfolk that stop them on their way to the racetrack, giving Jaskier gifts as small bouquets of wildflowers and flower crowns.

A young girl tries to give him one too, and Geralt almost panicked as he crouches before her and she puts the too small crown on his head. Her mother doesn't even try to snatch her away from him, and Geralt supposes that it's thanks to Jaskier's influence. The whole town is acting as he is just one of the many guests came here for the wedding.

Thankfully, Jaskier doesn't comment Geralt awkwardness.

Jaskier shows the racecourse when they finally reach it, situated in a dusty clearing just out of town. Geralt doesn't care as Jaskier starts telling him how the workers have built this in no more than a week time, but he is particularly aware of Jaskier's hand still closed tight around his.

Jaskier stops midsentence when a sudden strum of a lute echoes around the empty racecourse, and the disturbing scent of anger and disgust coming off Jaskier imbues his senses. They both raise they stares and up on the stands, seated there with no care at all with a lute posed on his lap, there is a bard, apparently.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Jaskier fumes, and if only stares could kill, the bard would be dust on the ground. “Hey! What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Practicing for you wedding, Julian.” the bard answers, throwing them an amused grin, “There's chaos out there, and talent needs tranquility to reach its peak. Speaking of, why are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back in your chambers to get ready for your grand day?”

Jaskier stomps a foot on the ground, petulantly, “There will be no grand day! Get out of my way!”

“I won't be so sure of myself in your place, Julian. I am sure that someone has distorted your request about this race, and all of this is going to blow out in your funny face. But I am your servant today, so, as the lord commands.” the bard bows with a hand posed against his chest, then hops down the stands and disappears back towards town, as Jaskier's face becomes purple with anger.

Geralt asks, “Who is he?”

“My worst enemy, my recurrent nightmare, my crux and disgrace.” Jaskier passes a hand through his hair, “So, no one you needed to meet, no one important to know.” with a frown, he looks up the sky, a hand shadowing his eyes against the shining sun. “It's almost midday. It's a matter of time for the guests to start to arrive. Geralt, my friend.” Jaskier turns to him and, sadly, his hand leaves the grip on his. “I need to go. Win this race, and I'll be forever yours.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Forever in your debt, I meant!” Jaskier shrieks, red in face, as he runs away the same way the bard disappeared, a cloud of dust raising from his feet in the haste of it.

With a resigned snort, Geralt turns around to go to Roach and get her ready for the race.

But the bard's words keep swirling inside his head, amplifying the bad feeling about Jaskier's plan: I am sure that someone has distorted your request about this race, and all of this is going to blow out in your funny face.

Well.

The stands are full the moment Geralt comes back at the racecourse with Roach trotting happily next to him. Jaskier is there with his family, seated at the center of it, at one of his side an older man that is his spitting image if not for the gray hair and serious expression, the other his fiance.

A young lady with a chubby baby sits beside his father, and even if she doesn't resemble Jaskier a lot, Geralt thinks that she's the sister he talked about.

Geralt is welcomed with a grand applause, followed by another when a knight in a white armor, riding a equally white stallion – the irony – takes place next to him at the starting point. They give him a thumbs up as Jaskier's father is shouting the rules and the motives of this sudden, at his saying uncalled for, race from his position.

As he talks, Geralt looks at Jaskier. He has a stricken expression twisting the usually smooth lines of his face, a vein popping on his forehead as the same bard they met before sings and strums behind him. He's not relaxed at all, even though he said that he is not afraid of Geralt to lose the race. So, why so tense?

The bed feeling intensifies.

Geralt caresses Roach's neck as she snorts, a bit annoyed by the cheerful crowd around them. He murmurs words of comfort, not dissimilar to the ones Jaskier told her in the stables whilst trying to bribe her – that is, until Jaskier's father shouts to them to get ready and in position.

There is a short countdown, and Roach tenses.

When the “Go!” is shouted, Roach runs. It's blurry after that, all Geralt can see – even with his enhanced senses – is just the road in front of them, all his – theirs – attention is to win this competition and get over with all of this.

He hears the stallion behind him, and Roach cleverly, with his guidance, gets in front of it to block its way, so it can't go past her and it's forced to slow down like this.

Clever, clever girl. A wave of pride overwhelms him, and he's sure that also Jaskier, up where he is enjoying the show, is feeling the same way.

Obviously, he and Roach are the first to cross the finish line, and everyone around them shout and scream and cheer the winner – and considering that it's Geralt the winner, it feels so strange. He drops off Roach and she seems to balks at the praises the people are shouting at her and at her clever talent, stomping her feet at the ground and neighing happily. She even trots around herself, in a very funny dance. Somewhere behind him, Jaskier's laugh trills, louder than any cheer.

The knight drops down their stallion too and gets closer to him. They takes off their helmet and Geralt is surprised to see that his challenger is a beautiful woman, with cropped short hair and a satisfied grin on her sweaty face. She stretches an arm towards him to shake their hands, before going.

“Father!” Geralt hears Jaskier say out loud. Raising his eyes, Geralt sees him standing in front of his father, excitement written on his face. Next to him, his fiance has finally lost her stricken face, and she seems so relieved that she just stays seated there, with eyes closed, and a hand against her heart. “My challenger has won. So it means I won!”

“Yes, my son. The Witcher has won.” repeats his father, calmly.

“Exactly. So I can marry my–”

“Your Witcher. You can marry him. It's what you were after since the beginning, weren't you?”

Jaskier inhales sharply, dropping his mouth wide open. “W–Wh–w–whha–”

The bard bursts out laughing, almost falling down on his butt.

Geralt panics, and hopes he did hear wrong for the first time in his life. He looks at Jaskier, waiting for something, anything that would hint him their next move, but Jaskier seems to be turned into a stone, eyes growing distant.

“I won, father.” he says, in the end, with a thin voice. “I've got to chose, now.”

“No, the Witcher has won, Julian. And you did chose: it was you that organized all of this and let the Witcher participate.” his father says, candidly. Then, he turns towards Geralt, the blue eyes that so much resembles his son's looking down at him with no particular emotion hidden behind them, “So, Witcher. Will you merry my son?”

Geralt is still panicking, sadly. That's why he says, “Yes..?” right before biting his tongue.

Jaskier winces as if slapped. His ex–fiance is looking at the scene with a curious gaze.

The bard is still laughing his arse off somewhere on the ground.

When Jaskier's father claps his hands and orders his servant to take Geralt back to the palace so he can get ready for tonight ceremony, it all clicks in Geralt's mind.

He's fucked.

Three hours later, the sun is almost setting down over the horizon, and Geralt finds himself in his chambers, in front of a mirror, trying to close the white doublet the maids brought to him.

He's angry, and not just because the buttons have no intentions to stay put. He's angry because he doesn't like at all the situation he's finding himself in, and he's even banned from going to see Jaskier wherever he is right now, to ask for explanations, to at least know how is he supposed to do to take them both out of this mess.

He feels like relaxing a bit, though, when he hears familiar steps approaching his door. “Come in,” he says even before Jaskier tries to knock.

Geralt hears a sigh, then opens his door with the utmost care as if scared to make even the smallest of the noises. When the door clicks shut behind him, Jaskier finally raises his eyes to meet his stare on the mirror. “Geralt, I–” he blinks, “Wow. You are quite a sight in white.”

Geralt just snorts, fuming. He gives up trying to close the buttons of the doublet to turn toward Jaskier with a dark glare, arms crossed against his chest, and the strange twinkling inside Jaskier's eyes dim, walking closer to him with a subdued posture. “Geralt... uh, are you mad at me?”

Geralt sighs. And, as always happens, he can't stay mad at him for too long: especially if he looks at him with those puppy eyes, so expressive that they seem to beg more than his mouth could ever do. “No.”

“Oh thank the Gods. I am so, so sorry, Geralt, it wasn't supposed to go like this! I mean, I am actually really surprised that you said yes to my father when he asked you if you wanted to marry me, but–”

“I didn't know what to say!”

“I know, calm down! It's okay, really, I already made up a new plan.” Jaskier says, excited.

“This doesn't make me feel better.”

“Miscreant!” Jaskier huffs, the gets closer and starts ruffling with his clothes, closing the buttons of his doublet and straightening the wrinkles, “I understand that the simpler plan is the most effective. You just have to say I don't, when the Melitele's priestess will tell the vows and ask you again if you want to marry me. The ceremony will be very brief, you don't have to worry about this, considering the little time we had, so you don't even have to prepare a speech. Aren't you happy? All you have to say is I don't!”

“That's it?” Geralt doubts it very much.

“That's it!”

Geralt grunts, unconvinced. “And your father will leave you alone, even if you don't get married?”

“I talked to my sister before coming here. Apparently, being left at the altar is a scandal. No one wants a groom or a bride that another disavowed, no matter the reasons.” Jaskier shrugs, “Gods forbid if an abandoned person gets a second chance.” he adds, sarcastically.

“And you're okay with it?”

Jaskier looks at him incredulously, “You're kidding? I'm more than okay. I don't want to marry anybody, Geralt, not now, nor ever. My life is perfectly fine as it is.”

Geralt finds himself frowning at the ground, something akin at nervousness churning his stomach at Jaskier's words. He should not care, after all, what Jaskier wants to do with his life, it's nothing of his business – and yet, he doesn't like the thought that Jaskier will never want someone stable to love for the rest of his life.

Is he starting to think like Jaskier's father?

Shit.

Jaskier probably notices his face darkens, because he gets even closer and grabs one of his shoulders, tightening slightly his grip when no reaction comes from Geralt, “Are you fine, Geralt? Believe me, I am truly, truly sorry for throwing all my family's mess onto you. But fret not, my friend! This will be the end, at least I can assure you this.”

Geralt looks at him. He has a plain robe on, clearly he was also preparing for the ceremony before sneaking out to come here, to him; his face is blotched red, maybe for embarrassment, maybe nervousness, Geralt can't say; his scent is mostly covered by some sweet perfume he used while bathing. He still is making puppy eyes at him, hoping to soften him as he begs for forgiveness.

But in the end, there's no motive for him to ask for forgiveness: it was Geralt who panicked and said that yes, he wanted to marry him. Thank fuck that it's all going to end soon, because this whole situation is becoming ridiculous.

There's a lot of ridiculous things he's done for Jaskier, after all.

But this? This beats them all.

“Whatever, I have a little gift for you.” Jaskier says, searching inside the pocket of his robe and taking out of there a silk, blue hair ribbon. “I know that I've already broken traditions by coming here, because one should see the bride – in this case, the groom – right on the altar, not before. But,” he says, showing him the ribbon. Geralt touches it with a knuckle, and it's as smooth as it looks. “this one is nice. They say that we need something old, something new, and something blue. You are what we have of old,” he laughs at this, and Geralt just smiles at him, “and our clothes are relatively new. What we missed is something blue, and all I've found is this. May I comb your hair?”

Geralt looks at him, then at the ribbon. At last, he sighs, “Sure.”

Actually, he feels a bit in trepidation as Jaskier commands him to sit at the vanity and settles behind him. His long fingers starts, slowly, almost carefully, to separate the white strands in three parts. Geralt watches as he combs his hair with care and confidence – it's not the first time he does that after all – but somehow this time it feels... different. Sacred, he would say, if only he was a poet.

Jaskier's hums under his breath does help the moment, making it even more intimate. He makes a plain braid, not too complicated, but taking his time nonetheless. Geralt definitely doesn't shivers when Jaskier's fingers brush against the skin of his neck, and no, he's definitely not too aware of Jaskier's breath too close to his ear when he leans to catch loose strands of hair.

Definitely not.

“Here you go!” Jaskier concludes, as he makes a flourish bow with the ribbon at the end of the braid. “Perfection.”

Geralt tells himself that he doesn't notice Jaskier's fingers lingering a bit more than necessary on his hair.

“I should go, now. I hope no one notices my absence.”

Geralt nods, “Hm. Go then.”

“Yeah, I–” Jaskier bites his lower lip, as he poses his hands on his shoulder. Their eyes meet through the mirror, and Jaskier seems to almost be saying something, but then thinks better of it. He smiles at him, with an healthy glow on his cheeks. “Thank you again, Geralt. What you're doing really means a lot to me.”

Said that, Jaskier leans towards him and leaves a smooch on his cheek, loud and a bit wet.

Then, he literally runs. “Ta!” he shouts as the door closes behind him.

Geralt freezes on the spot, a hand pressed on his cheek, where the ghost of that brief kiss still lingers there. His head completely shuts down. What the fuck was that?!

His mind can't make a coherent thought for the rest of the evening, finding himself by the altar without knowing how and when it happened. Jaskier is slightly late – if he understood well, they were supposed to reach the altar together – but Geralt knows why he isn't here yet, and in his altered mind he still can't get over that kiss.

Not that Jaskier never touched him before, being so tactical and friendly even with complete strangers – but, but kisses were always off limits. Combing hair? Yes, sure. It happened plenty of times. Massages? Also okay. Geralt still remembers fondly when Jaskier helped with his very uncomfortable problem on his bottom. Sleeping together and finding their limbs tangled together the morning after? Nothing wrong with that at all, it always happens when friends sleep together.

Right?

Hm. Put it like this, the kiss – on the cheek, mind you – seems to be the less intimate thing they've ever shared.

Then why..? Why does it bother him so much?!

Jaskier appears next to him on thin air, apparently, because Geralt didn't acknowledge his arrival at all, not until his tense laughter trills beside him as he almost trips on the last step of the altar. When he motions at him to try and steady him, Geralt's mind shut down again as his eyes finally fall on him.

Jaskier is also dressed in white like him, with golden embroidery running through his doublet and trousers, and he has an ephemeral aura around him that almost blinds his eyes. Jaskier returns his gaze with a sheepish smile, a blush on his cheeks and a quick shrug, as if to say Sorry for the late. Even if it's all a farce, I had to be on top regardless.

And on top he is, fucking hell.

Geralt can't quite take his eyes off Jaskier, as the Melitele's priestess starts talking out loud for all the guests to hear. Every time Jaskier notices his gaze, Geralt lowers his eyes as if caught doing something prohibited. Gods, he feels like a teenager. He feels like a real groom on his real wedding day – maybe? He doesn't really know what a groom may feel during a wedding.

This exchange of stares happens three times more. At last, Jaskier chuckles and the priestess looks at him oddly.

Suddenly, Jaskier takes his hands in his, raising them at heart length. They both turn towards each other, staring into each other faces. Geralt panics slightly, having heard not a single word that came out of the priestess' mouth. Jaskier is biting his lips, red in faces – he's probably trying to suppress one of his usual loud laughs. He's laughing at him!

He doesn't matter that at the moment Jaskier is the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his pitiful long life, he's ridiculing him and now he's mad. Kinda.

“I do.” says Jaskier, solemnly.

Geralt frowns. What was the question?

The priestess nods, then turns her pretty face towards Geralt, “And you, Geralt of Rivia?”

Shit. Fuck. What was the question?!

“I...” he asks Jaskier for help with a begging look, but Jaskier just tilts his head to the side. “I... do.”

The priestess nods again, but Jaskier blinks, “What?” he mouths.

“Was that..?” Geralt panics, because oh Gods, he now understands that the question was the question, the only question he needed to answer, the question Jaskier clearly has told him to say I don't. “Shit, no. I don't. I... don't.” The priestess jerks as he tries to mend his terrible mistake, “I don't want to marry, you heard me? I don't.”

Chaos erupts around them as Jaskier's father shrieks a “What?!”; the bard laughs his arse off again somewhere, hidden in the middle of the crowd; Jaskier's sister has a hand on her lips, feigning a surprise she doesn't really feel.

Jaskier is, instead, looking at him with a curious expression. Their hands are still tangled together in a firm grip, and Jaskier tightens slightly the grip to bring his attention on him and him only – not that Geralt had attention on anyone or anything, or else this mess wouldn't have happened in the first place, but still. Jaskier's thumbs are caressing the back of his hands, and the gesture is making him so aware of him and totally not of their surrounding.

“You said...” Jaskier prompts, after a minute passed just looking at each other.

“I panicked.”

Jaskier chuckles, “I noticed. Why?”

Geralt pursues his lips. Fuck, Jaskier is mocking him again, “I was distracted, and I haven't heard what the priestess said, so–”

Jaskier says, “You were looking at me, I know this. I distracted you?” Jaskier gets closer, almost a breath away from Geralt's face. Geralt feels trapped. “Tell me, I distracted you? Were you enough inebriated by my presence that the thought of marry me crossed your mind, and you weren't against it at all?”

Geralt says nothing.

“Geralt?”

“Will you marry me?” he blurts out, regretting it the second after. Yes, alright? He was thinking since that blasted kiss in his chambers that he would mind being Jaskier's husband, and being kissed again, and maybe meet his nephew and accompany him to bring flowers to his mother's tomb. So? Sue him for living in a fantasy for once in his life.

“No, darling.”

Of course not. How could he? He didn't want to marry that beautiful lady, surely he has no intention to marry a blasted, stinky, grumpy Witcher. “Alright.” he swallows down the bitterness of rejection, even if he shouldn't really feel so bad. He knew the response the second he asked, so.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, though. He actually feels really surprised when Jaskier leans on him and kisses him. Not a smooch on his cheek, no, a kiss on his lips. His head, obviously, shuts down again so he doesn't reciprocate, just enjoys the soft lips moving on him, and finally his scent, under the layers of sweet perfume, reaching his nose. “Silly Witcher. No, I don't want to marry you, or anyone really. I believe that I needn't to demonstrate to no one my love: not to my father, and not to Melitele herself. So I needn't a frivolous ceremony and a signed contract, a white doublet and a hundreds of testimonies to love you 'til death do us part.”

“Okay.” says Geralt, even if nothing is okay, because surely he got something wrong? He doesn't think he fully understands what Jaskier means.

“You marvelous, silly, naive man.” Jaskier sighs, fondly, “Did you know that we can make love even without a marriage contract? Let's leave everyone to their scandal. My sister is having the time of her life, she'll take care of everything.”

“Make what?” Geralt's almost afraid to ask, but Jaskier's expression is soft and fond – he seems in love. More than he's ever been, that is.

Jaskier winks, “I'm gladly going to show you, love.”

What happens next is a blur, Geralt notices just Jaskier's kisses, hugs, and soft, naked skin under his fingertips.

This time he understands the whole situation very, very clear.

#geraskier #thewitchersecretsanta #the witcher secret santa #mine:fyccina

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queenxxxsupreme · 3 years

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OKAY. I watched the latest season of The Witcher and.. WHAT THE FUCK. Excuse me, but I will cry for years over it. HOW DID THEY DARE. HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO ME.

The Witcher series are my childhood books! I grew up with those stories, with Geralt and rest of Wolves. I was waiting for this season! And what did I get I am asking??! A freaking sci-fi series without any logic.

Kacey, I don’t know what to say.. Geralt? Okay, I liked him way more than in the first season. I loved Vesemir, because he was like he should be. But Lambert and Eskel? WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM?? Where is my asshole Lambert? Where is my sweet and gentle Eskel? I mean.. netflix!Lambert and netflix!Eskel were good, I liked them. But not as Lambert and Eskel but as totally different characters. I liked Eskel’s aggressiveness and boldness, not gonna lie. I also liked Lambert’s sarcasm, I liked how he trained Ciri.

I loved Jaskier's character and his relationship with Yennefer. However I didn’t like what scenario they prepared for her.

My heart and soul hurt and I dont know what to do with myself now. I am looking forward to your stories with their netflix!personalities, but I think it will be really hard to change their personalities and behavior. What do you think?

Sorry for chaotic message, but I ended watching this yesterday and I cant get over it so I am not able to think and write properly.

🌻

Hi babe!! So glad to hear from you<3

I'm going to put a keep reading thing here cause this is a long post and has some spoilers for season 2 of the Witcher :)

This season..... I am still very, very upset with how Eskel was portrayed. But I have tried to keep to the positive side of things.

I do think that Lambert didn't get enough show time so therefore we didn't get to truly see him. What we did see was good in my opinion. Was it the jerk with a soft side that we know and love here? Of course not, but I do think we got to see him being their version of Lambert and it wasn't terrible. It is managable and I, as a writer, can definitely work with it and make netflix!Lambert content easily without (hopefully) changing too much of his persona that we see on the show.

I think Vesemir was done pretty good! And Jaskier and Yennefer's friendship was the absolute highlight of the entire season. I love them so much!!! They're such a power couple but not even in a romantic way! Just ugh they're perfect. I'm still undecided if I ship them romantically or just platonically.

Geralt.... I have some issues with him. While I do whole heartedly love how he is with Ciri and this season he was everything my dad!Geralt writing self could ever want, I would have liked to see more conflict between him and Ciri. I haven't read the books, but from what I have heard and seen and done some research on, they don't get along perfectly at first and that makes sense! Just because they are bound by destiny does not mean they need to get along 24/7. I would have preferred to see conflict in their relationship and to see Geralt struggle to make the right decision, and even to see him make the wrong decision at times because I absolutely love the angst. But in the end, I do love dad!Geralt so much and I love how he is with Ciri.

And that brings me to Tree Man. I had this gut feeling that they were going to fuck Eskel's character up the second I saw that Basil was going to be the new actor. And that isn't because of Basil at all! I know he most likely had nothing to do with how Eskel was written as a character and he just did what he was told. I am in no way shitting on Basil. But I knew from the moment Thue was no longer Eskel that we were going to lose any potential of a good Netflix!Eskel. Thue was perfect for the role. Absolutely perfect. And call me dramatic but it breaks my heart when I look back at Eskel fan art made with Thue's face.

I do agree with you that I do like Basil's aggressiveness but that's another story for another post. I think that there was potential for Basil!Eskel but they shattered that with shitty writing. I've seriously started to think of Netflix!Eskel and game/book!Eskel as two different characters so that I can begin to write for Netflix!Eskel because I do feel that there's potential for him. He just needs to have some.... alterations done to his character.

As a character across the entire board, Eskel deserved better than what he got. I intend on making Netflix Eskel better.

#eskel is my favorite witcher #hissrich and co can fucking fight me #the witcher s2 #twn s2 spoilers #kacey answers #🌻anon

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dapandapod · 4 years

Note

Hey honey! I'm so glad for your 400 followers, you deserve the world. For the prompt... You know that pouty/grumpy face of Joey's, well, Geralt just happens to adore when Jaskier does that. He stares at him and at his lips trying not to get caught by the Bard, and his heart melts in a puddle of love because ugh, he's so cute. I hope you're well bb, yours Idiot syndrome anon™ 🖤

Oh my gosh how sweet are you!!! So I said I would do something small right? I tried, ok? It accidently became a little longer, because you have the greatest ideas!

So here, please enjoy 1/4 prompts for my 400 follower celebration! Feel free to send an ask, comment or messege me if you have something you wish me to write!

Geralt being soft for pouty Jaskier! As a treat! On Ao3 here!

Geralt has a secret, a soft spot.

Jaskier pouts when he gets annoyed. There is a slight chance that Geralt finds that absolutely adorable. So he might be annoying on purpose. Maybe. Possibly. Totally.

Jaskier sits on a log, it’s old and a little little rotten. Geralt told him not to sit on that log, that his (nice) pants will get wet, but did he listen? No.

And now there is a very stubborn bard still sitting on that log. Trying very hard not to look displeased in his wet pants, but honestly, he is failing very hard.

In his efforts to hide his discomfort he is pursing his lips together, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, staring into the fire with some rarely seen concentration.

He uses a long stick (also damp, because fuck you Geralt) to poke around in the burning logs, eliciting some very satisfying crackling.

On the actually less damp ground sits Geralt, legs crossed in a pose that would make a less flexible man cringe.

He is supposed to meditate but there is this very good feeling in his chest.

This is the safest I-told-you-so he has had with Jaskier in a long time, and the cutest. He is holding back a smile, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching, betraying him.

Jaskier notices, of course. He sends Geralt a glare, his bottom lip pushing up just a little, fighting off a pout.

“What.” Jaskier says, daring Geralt to say something. But Geralt has been around for a long, long time and he knows a trap when he sees one.

If you want to keep your tender parts attached to your body, you don’t say “I told you so.” You just feel it.

“Don’t start a forest fire.” He says instead.

Now there is the pout for real. Three dwarves in a frock, that is adorable.

Swooning is not something witchers do, but melting he can do just fine.

“Fuck off.” Jaskier says, as predicted, turning back to the flames and poking some more just to be contradictory.

Geralt allows himself a smile, feeling very much at peace, and closes his eyes again.

“Noticed something new about me?” Jaskier asks, making a ridiculous little turn showin off his new doublet.

Geralt of course noticed, but it’s too good not to poke fun at him.

"Uuhh… did you gain weight?”

The outrage. The indignation. Imagine all the offended noises you can think of, and make them come out of Jaskiers mouth.

Jaskier doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. And Geralt just can’t stop smiling at that adorable little pout, so it was absolutely worth it.

"You don’t think I see you smiling?!” Jaskier says accusingly to Geralt, his hair is sticking up in odd angles and he is pacing back and forth in Geralt's room at the inn in Oxenfurt.

For once they had coin enough not to share (and Geralt will never admit how much he dislikes that) but Jaskier came storming through his door anyway, ranting away like no tomorrow.

“You think it’s funny?! Geralt, this is serious!”

It is not. It’s just Valdo Marx again, managing to start a show before Jaskier had the chance himself, and thus stealing the show for tonight.

But Jaskier of course takes it as a personal insult, and with as much dignity as he could muster left to rant at Geralt instead.

Not that Geralt complains. He is glad that Jaskier is there, and to be honest he expected this.

He heard Valdos nasal voice taking tone downstairs and unlatched his door so that Jaskier could come in and (pout) vent.

It is probably a little weird, but it makes Geralt happy. A little warm feeling in his chest that Jaskier chose to come to him.

“No.” Geralt says, because that is the safest, but also the truth.

It’s not funny, but it’s very cute.

Jaskier sighs dramatically and sits down next to Geralt on the bed.

“I guess you will never understand the woes of an artist.” he sighs, and produces the most excellent pout Geralt has seen in weeks.

He can’t stop staring. His eyes are fixed to Jaskiers mouth, that lower lip sticking out and giving his lips a perfectly kissable shape.

This is not good.

Geralt tenses, taking control over his hands before they can do something dumb.

Like stroking that lip with his thumb. Pushing at it to make it open up, to give him a puff of warm breath. Like leaning in and capturing it with his teeth.

That would be very dumb.

He is so focused on not doing that, that he doesn’t pay attention to Jaskier turning towards him.

Those very kissable lips fully turned towards him, giving him a perfect view.

He stares for another second before he catches himself and looks up. Realizing Jaskier hasn't said anything for a while, which is a little odd.

“What?” Geralt asks, but more like croaks really. Embarrassing.

Jaskier looks at him curiously, tilting his head. Geralt's eyes betray him and shoot down to the bard's lips and back up again.

The pout and the little frown with it is gone, but damn it makes him weak.

Is he closer than before? It feels like Jaskier is closer. And when did it get warmer? It definitely feels like it’s warmer in here.

“What are you looking at?” Jaskier asks him, like he doesn’t know, the little shit. The corner of his mouth is curling upwards in a satisfied little smirk.

“Nothing.” Geralt says, staring at Jaskiers eyes to make himself not look at his lips.

It’s a little awkward but he is holding on for dear life here, be nice.

Jaskier is not nice.

Because he is leaning forward, head still tilted and lips parted, looking somewhere below Geralt's nose.

“You sure?” He asks, the absolute bastard. His lashes are long and dark, his hair is still sticking up in odd angles.

Geralt wants to kiss him so bad. His brain is not listening to what Jaskier just said, he is too focused on those lips so close to his.

“What?” He breathes, and then he loses the fight.

He leans forward and closes the distance. Capturing that lower lip between his, finally. Jaskiers arms immediately circle his neck, one hand clenching in his hair.

Geralt's hand wants to touch, wants to feel that lip, but his own mouth is in the way, so it settles on Jaskiers slightly stubbled cheek.

Jaskier obviously isn’t satisfied with the one kiss, so there are two, and then three. And then Jaskier is the one licking Geralt's lip and he short circuits, breaks in at least five tiny pieces, forgets how to breathe, and then he lets him in.

When Jaskier finally pulls back he makes a face. Geralt's stomach plummets, but it’s alright.

“I can’t believe Valdo Marx got to sing to our first kiss.”

Geralt smiles and leans forward, stealing another one.

“And second.” He smirks at Jaskier, who pouts. Ah, two trolls in a skirt, that is adorable.

He feels his face doing something, his eyebrows moving and his lips pulling into something sappy.

Jaskiers mouth opens and then closes, eyebrows shooting up.

“That’s the expression you have been hiding from me?! How dare you!” Jaskier accuses, and then throws himself at Geralt again, who just chuckles.

A high, nasally and slightly sour note from downstairs and Jaskier pulls back again.

“Ugh. No. I can’t. Marx totally kills the mood.” Jaskier says, draping himself over Geralt's lap.

“Want me to go down and steal his lute?” Jaskier smiles and kisses Geralt's nose.

“Sweet of you. But that would ruin all of my hard work and we can’t have that.”

It is entirely possible that Jaskier now has found out about this secret little soft spot. It is entirely possible that Jaskier is abusing this power against his witcher.

And they both love it.

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

A Great Treasure

(Jaskier just constantly getting kidnapped by dragons and dressed real pretty? Yeah. I’m into it.)

tw: gratuitous, almost My Immortal levels of outfit description because I am A Ho For The Look, dragons being horny, Geralt being soft as fuck but also kinda horny

---

The next dragon that took Jaskier wasn’t nearly as sneaky. Nor was it green. The great, sapphire-blue reptile swooped down above the road in broad daylight and plucked the surprised bard up with its great talons, disappearing over the tops of the trees before Geralt could so much as think to pull his sword. The Witcher heard Jaskier’s startled cry echo out over the forest and urged Roach into a canter. He departed from the beaten path and took off in the same general direction the creature had been headed. “It hasn’t even been three full fucking weeks yet. Fuck.”

Hello, Jaskier! I’m a friend of Etheid’s, the dragon introduced herself. The draconic method of telepathic communication still bothered the bard a little but the blue dragon’s voice seemed more sing-song than Etheid’s had been. Certainly more feminine. Call me Lythos, or Lyth for short.

“Nice to meet you, Lythos,” Jaskier muttered, clenching his eyes shut tightly. “Let’s talk more when we’re on solid ground, yeah?”

Afraid of heights, bardling?

“Just a smidgen of a little bit.”

Worry not, we’re nearly to my tower.

“Another tower?”

Whatever happened to talking on solid ground?

“I’ve been kidnapped by two dragons in one month. I’m curious.”

I doubt this will be the last time you’re kidnapped by a dragon, either. Not until one of my brethren gives up during their turn or loses the bet.

“Their turn? What bet?! What are you talking about?”

I will explain the situation to you more fully when we land. There is much to be discussed. Many things to plan. Many rules to be determined and recorded for the others.

Jaskier sighed, glad he’d left his lute tied to Roach’s saddlebags today, and let himself be carried off to yet another strange adventure. “So you guys are just going to keep swooping in and stealing me away like this because it’s fun?”

Yes. And because Borch said that you and Geralt are kind-hearted and friendly mortals. We dragons don’t meet many such humans in our travels; we’d like to reward you somehow.

“So you’re rewarding me by kidnapping me?”

That’s why we included the second part of the deal, with the elaborately designed outfits. It’s not just because we enjoy collecting treasures from all over the Continent and squirreling them away to play with later; it’s also our form of payment to you. If you’re dressed from head to toe in silk and gold when Geralt rescues you then there’s no time to stop and take those items off before you ‘escape’. You can keep them or sell them; anything you are given by one of us should be considered payment for services rendered.

“And the service that Geralt and I are providing is...entertainment?”

Correct. It would be unfair to use up so much of a Witcher’s time without paying him.

“You’d be surprised how many people do that, actually,” Jaskier griped. “Village after village, turning him away without payment just because he’s a mutant and a freak. It’s horrible!”

Now you understand why my kin are so desperate for something good in the world. The love between you and Geralt is pure and strong, that is the other reason we chose the two of you.

Jaskier blushed. “We’re just a couple of flimsy mortals that happened to bump into each other and get along. Most of the time. It’s a very human thing to do. There are other couples in need of some emotional urging, if you’re looking to orchestrate a romance.”

No, we wish only to further yours. Now, would you care to look through the clothes I’ve gathered? We have at least another day before your Witcher finds us.

“Less than a day if he chooses not to pause for meditation, the fool.”

He will not risk losing you, Lythos sighed happily. I checked in on him earlier; he is meditating and gathering his strength. He has admitted his love for you now and is determined to prove himself. How dreamy.

“That is absolutely precious! Ugh, I love him so much.”

Then let us make you lovely, so that when he arrives he is doubly excited to see you.

“I can’t argue with that logic. Not from such an ancient and wise creature.”

Flattery gets you everywhere, bard, Lythos teased. She huffed out a thin cloud of steam and Jaskier chuckled in return.

“I know.”

---

“Are you kidding me?”

Absolutely not, the dragon shook its snout. Try them on. Unless you don’t like it, of course; I have other options, too.

“No, it’s all very lovely. It’s just...I get to keep them?”

Of course. I don’t want to make you change your clothes in the middle of Geralt’s daring rescue. That would totally ruin the romance!

“I suppose that would be rather odd. Even Geralt might catch on to something like that.” Jaskier held clothes the dragon had preferred in his hands, glancing once more at the suggested shirt. “What exactly is this supposed to be?”

It’s a tunic, of course. What else could it possibly be?

The bard gesticulated towards the dragon, holding the apparent tunic out for inspection as if he was shocked or surprised by Lyth’s choice. “It’s completely sheer!”

Yes, and it will make you look so very delicate, Lythos urged. Just try it on with the pants. Just once. You can change if you don’t like it, like I said. There’s a whole closet of costumery at your disposal, Jaskier.

The bard sighed and pulled the pants on first. They were made of a deep, peacock blue silk and hugged him in all the right places. He turned back and forth, observing their fit in the full-length mirror Lythos had provided. His legs were defined but the material wasn’t overly tight; it hadn’t bunched up near his thighs or ass like silk of this kind usually did. “Were these tailored to fit me?”

Yes, they were.

“How? I’ve only been here for a few hours and you pulled these directly from the armoire!”

Etheid passed along your measurements to the rest of us so that we could better prepare.

“Right, of course. Dragons. Bets. All that fun stuff,” the bard sighed. He tugged the gossamer shirt down over his head and tucked it neatly into the waistband of his high-waisted trousers. Jaskier glanced towards the mirror again and discovered that he looked...he looked amazing.

The shirt had been designed with a low, swooping neckline that revealed both his collarbones and a good portion of his chest. The thin, almost translucent white material left whatever the shirt did cover still almost entirely visible. When he blushed it could be rather obviously traced all the way down to his mid-chest. The giddy bard mussed his hair a little and did his best pouting ‘rescue me’ face; oh yes, that’s the way to do it.

Jaskier looked downright sinful.

“You are absolutely brilliant, Lythos! Geralt is going to lose his mind when he sees me in this ensemble.”

So you’ll wear it?

“This particular outfit is my new favorite. I’ll have to wait until the next dragon shows up before we can turn a profit from this whole bard-napping melodrama venture.”

There is always the jewelry. I can give you a few extra pieces to sell since you love the clothes so much; I have too much of the stuff sitting around and collecting dust anyway.

“Would you like it if I let you choose all my jewelry? I’m afraid I tend to go a bit overboard.”

Yes, yes! The dragon huffed happily, filling the space briefly with a cloud of steam. I have temporary earrings and bracelets and necklaces. I even have anklets if you so desire.

“Goody!” the bard rejoiced. “I love anklets! I never have good enough reason to wear them, though. This will be lovely. Do you mind if I roll the pants up to my knees? Geralt does so love the sight of my bare skin. I think it would drive him absolutely mad if we showed a little ankle for the Witcher.”

Please do whatever you see fit, my friend, Lythos insisted. You must sparkle for your White Wolf. You must look the part of the treasure he seeks to find!

“Ah, so I’m a treasure this time instead of a damsel?”

Hmm, yes. I think that makes it more interesting. What kind of treasure would you like to be?

“Geralt’s,” the bard breathed dreamily. The large, winged reptile rolled her eyes and huffed again.

Duh, that’s the point. I meant like...pirate treasure? A king’s treasure? I’ve never done roleplay before. Mostly just burning down the houses of rude nobles and kidnapping some princesses upon request. I’m not incredibly familiar with human treasure.

“Oh! I could be your hoard!”

You’re brilliant! Of course! This will be so fun. What if you laid in my tail when Geralt arrived? Like I was guarding you?

“Well then how would he get me away without hurting you?”

I could make him give a speech? Woo you away from me with your words?

“Oh, that’s very clever. Very dramatic. I love it!”

We do make a good team, I think.

“Do you have any makeup? This look would be excellent with some eyeliner.”

You are definitely as entertaining and fun as Etheid promised. I’m sure that Aramaris will enjoy you just as much.

“Wait, who’s Aramaris?”

They chose the next lot after me. Then, after Aramaris has their turn, Vertos would like a chance to partake.

“Hold on a minute. There’s a waiting list of dragons who want to kidnap me?”

And see Geralt come running to your aid, yes. It is rather sweet to watch and we are all very bored. We’re going to see who can make you the prettiest and get Geralt the most worked up.

“So this is just a game to you?”

As I said before, it is both a game and a legitimate matchmaking endeavor. Additionally, we’re compensating you for your time and trouble.

“I suppose,” Jaskier agreed. “Plus this outfit is absolutely to die for.”

Yes, and now to the makeup!

---

Geralt was very confused and very tired. He had tracked the dragon through the woods to yet another ancient, dilapidated tower. Jaskier was hidden at the top, no doubt, probably terrified out of his mind. This was the second dragon to capture his idiot bard in a fucking month, though the first time had been extremely unorthodox. Just plain odd, really, considering Geralt’s previous experiences.

Oh well, nothing he could do now except climb the tower and rescue Jaskier.

---

Jaskier was waiting for his Witcher to arrive while reclining within the coil of Lythos’s enormous blue tail His pants were only a half-shade brighter than her scales and the contrast was remarkably artistic (perhaps by design). The bard was barefoot and his pants were rolled up to just below the knee. Lyth had insisted on decking him out in lots of jewelry since Jaskier was to be her supposed hoard. It will be more realistic and believable if you’re dripping with silver and sapphires, bard. He found himself unable to argue with her logic once again.

Jaskier had a handful of thin silver bands around one ankle, a silver cuff around his left wrist, and another bejeweled cuff at the top of his left bicep, beneath the shirt. Lythos had added a thin silver chain around his neck, which fell to just above his chest hair and ended with a teardrop shaped sapphire pendant. Some kind of crushed gemstone powder had been dusted atop his collarbones and into his hair, making him seem to sparkle in the midday sun. He’d added a light, smudged layer of kohl around his eyes to widen and darken them like he had once at court. The dragon had also demanded that he slide several rings of various styles and sizes onto his long, tapered fingers. It will draw his attention to your hands, she explained. You will thank me tonight, I’m sure.

That suggestion had Jaskier blushing brightly and Lythos had nearly snorted fire from laughing so hard at the young man’s reaction.

Here he comes! She announced, bringing Jaskier’s back to the present. His blue eyes fixated on the thick wooden door that led from the chamber where Lythos lay curled and ‘guarding’ him to the bedchamber where he’d stayed the last two nights. Very shortly after her announcement there was a determined grunt, a heavy thud, and the door crashed open to reveal Geralt.

The Witcher was breathing heavily and his nostrils were flared but he wasn’t wearing his armor. He hadn’t been wearing it last time, either, and Jaskier wondered if he was already onto their little charade. “You know I won’t win if we battle,” Geralt admitted, staring across the room at the lounging dragon.

His eyes flickered to Jaskier for a moment, widened when they took in the bard’s appearance, and then returned to staring down the monster.

I don’t intend to fight you, Witcher, Lythos said, projecting her bored words into both of their minds. Jaskier knew that she was faking the cold disinterest but his heart still picked up speed when one of her large claws hooked beneath his chin and raised him into a slightly taller sitting position. Though I suspect that you’ve come to take back my newest treasure and I am loathe to let it go so soon.

The Witcher nodded, unable to form words. He was nervous for the life of his bard but he was also slightly distracted by the way Jaskier was being forced to arch his neck and tilt his head that way. The bard looked so fucking breakable and soft, surrounded by scales and held partially aloft by such a strong and pointed appendage. His eyes were wide and completely focused on the Witcher, his own peril seemingly irrelevant even as he gasped against the scraping claw. Geralt shook his head to clear it and narrowed his eyes even more. “Don’t hurt him.”

It’s my treasure, Lythos hummed dismissively. I will do with the human lad as I please. Go away, Witcher, and leave us to play.

“He’s not a toy,” Geralt growled. He reached for his sword and cursed when his hand swiped through empty air. He knew bringing a weapon up so many flights of stairs was pointless but he still should have kept it on him for safety. Jaskier made a gentle, nervous noise and the Wicher flinched. “Please don’t hurt him!”

You would barter for the human? For his safe return?

“Take me instead,” Geralt offered. He held his hands up in surrender and took a slow step forward. Lythos lowered Jaskier back down to his lazily reclined position and raised her scaly brow. The bard was shocked; he hadn’t been expecting the Witcher to do something so drastic right away. He’d anticipated some kind of argument first.

You would sacrifice yourself for him? Trade yourself to me in order to save him?

“Of course,” the Witcher scoffed. Lythos could hear his slow heartbeat starting to accelerate. “I love him. I’d do anything for him.”

Hmm. Little treasure, what do you think?

“I can’t let him do that for me. He’s a Witcher, I am merely a traveling bard. The world has more need for him than it does for me.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt half-whimpered. A pleading tone bled into his words as he took another step forward, this time towards the bard, “You foolish man. I know you. You’d grow bored here. You’d grow antsy to travel. You’d try to escape and you’d get yourself hurt or killed or...”

I protect what is mine, the dragon interrupted. He will be safe here. I will keep him happy and entertained.

“Please,” the Witcher sighed. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head forward, white hair falling in a curtain around his ridiculously attractive face. “Jaskier was the first good thing Destiny ever did for me. I can’t lose him.”

I have seen into your heart and know these feelings to be true, Lythos intoned. She spoke as if she was making a very difficult decision and not sticking to a vague pre-determined script. You may take the bard and go, but you must hurry. I may change my mind.

Jaskier clambered out from between the coils of her massive tail and allowed Geralt to sweep him up into those strong, stable arms. He clung to the Witcher’s neck and buried his face to hide his smile. Lythos said her final goodbye to the bard alone; I hope my kin treat you fairly. If they do not, let me know, and I shall take care of it. Thank you for the lovely time.

“Thank YOU,” Jaskier mouthed.

And then they began to descend the winding tower staircase.

---

“I hope I never see another dragon again in my life except for maybe Borch,” Geralt panted, urging Roach into a slightly faster canter.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, smiling a little to himself. “Running into another dragon so soon after two nearly identical kidnappings would be very strange.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier #like 2.5k words i think #soft geralt #geraskier ficlet #in league with dragons #protective geralt #the dragons treat jaskier like a paper doll #let's dress up the bard #and mess with the witcher #that'll be fun #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #ooooh boy #in league with dragons pt 2 #we've kidnapped the bard so now what #how many will it take before geralt realizes something is up?#inhuman jaskier

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 16)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 15.1

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: A horny and insecure witcher decided to talk what his mind has been keeping; making you see how much of a man he was that was worth to choose and be chosen.

Warnings: NSFW 18+. (Yep. Again. Love it while it lasts, bb’s. Hehehe.) Some witcher in a rut. Finger sucking. Cream pie. Smut. Size kink. (I meant Geralt’s body build. LMAO *I base this story on the show. Not the game or books.*) an irritated bard? Ahehehehe. Nakedness? Geralt being soft and honest? (*screams*)

A/N: I was drained from the last chapter and I’ve taken a break. I was supposed to not update today due to it. I hope you can lend at least a minute to reblog or give me feedback, ghost readers out there! 💟 There ain’t no moments like this anymore because the plot will take its place on the next chapters! ENJOY WHILE IT LASTS!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi (GIF credits: littlechinesedoll)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

GERALT OF RIVIA WAS IN A RUT.

You were sure he was after being fucked into oblivion by the witcher for countless of times already; taking a lot of orgasms in just about eight hours? He was lucky that he was a mutant. However, in your side? It was unfortunate because your stamina was weaker than his.

Your poor punani has been overworked and wrecked again. Lungs seem to be incapacitated, dangerously reaching the critical level for accepting Geralt's wishes; another round of ceaseless bliss in which you certainly didn't defy. Pants and wheezes were muddled against the mattress as you shoved your face on it, vigorously being burrowed from behind.

Here you thought; feeling mighty and confident that you could take and last for how long his enhanced self would.

Technically, you were wrong. Utterly wrong.

Was it round twenty-five already? Thirty? You may never know because every time Geralt finishes, his girth somehow magically becomes stone hard again like he never spilled himself inside you. If only he wasn't sterile, you were probably about to get pregnant with little witchers somehow based on how he always milks you in; like you were his pet, letting you take it good.

The white wolf's libido was overly developed as well. As you were told by the man, himself. He could go on for hours, days and even weeks, nailing you repeatedly until you have no energy to comprehend what was happening, and you were sure that his enhancement with the desires he had was a perk and also a disadvantage for your weak self who had her virginity taken just days ago.

Your sexual experiences are being expanded and learned by Geralt, not knowing before that you had a size kink of being choked in his own weight above yours, baptizing every nook and space in their home like animals in heat and being treated like you were such a fragile little thing before being corrupted; tainting your once chastised soul.

The witcher was a person who had given you a different outlook in life. Bringing you to a wonderland in the midst of being railed repeatedly; consistent with his rigorous, shameless pounding from the back. Brusque. Sharp. Perfect for the angle that hits the perfect spot, polishing your hole that has sent you ripples and waves of glory.

Geralt's moans were withdrawn, holding back those sounds of pleasure from ponderously watching his girth push and slither inside your heat. His mouth tightly shut and thick eyebrows scrunched in rapture. Aureate eyes intensely concentrated on his hard cock slowly drilling back, keeping his bulbous head in before slowly drawling back like he like watching you be filled with his girth; admiring how you were stretched around his hardened cock.

He'd felt your body intensely tremble beneath his.

Your knees were quivering with every plunge. Warm drizzles of your cunt leaking with a mixture of his fluid and yours together; like art combined with a color that creates a new one. The room smelled like sex and sweat with a scent of fresh grass because of how the windows were wide opened.

Nobody would see you both in such a debauched position, right? you've thought that when Geralt has lowered you down against the mattress, his weight crushing and pinning you down, quickly getting to his job; sticking his girth inside of you like he never would get tired of doing so after basically baptizing the hallway through the second floor.

Elbows began to feel sore. A desperate whine began to gurgle from your dry throat. Hand tightly grabbing onto one of his that laid on the curvatures of your hips, dragging you back to his swollen girth with every shove; filling you over and over like how you deserved because you've been a good girl. Every time he did, Geralt never misses the spot that could bring you into another restless, writhing orgasm.

The filthy sound of skin slapping on skin came with icherous slimy caresses of your nectar coating each other's carnal greed. Noise came with his bedpost hitting the wall like a maddened gorilla raging out of its cage, when all of a sudden; you've heard Kolby's strange bark that seem to come from the first floor, alarming you both that his family has already came back. Yet, here you were, splayed below the witcher and still getting driven to his extremes.

Geralt pulled his hand away from the bed post, leaving a print and a crack of his hand against the wood. His fingers slid through your dangling breasts, palms groping your teat as he began to knead onto it like a cat trying to suckle from his mother; claws out as he tweaked your sensitive nipple in one breast to the other. Simultaneously changing hands as he continued to reach you both to the edge of Nirvana.

Then, you've heard laughter and complaining downstairs.

"Geralt," you started with a mewl, your body being rocked from behind, the sheets thoroughly disheveled from your tiring day activities. His hand that fondled your teat trailed up your body; while the other glided down for what throbbing nub that was needed attention for another release.

His palm gently met your mouth when you've began to moan from his fingers touching your clit, rubbing and circling it the right, pleasuring way while he went on with his ceaseless ramming.

"Hnnng," you whimpered, voice muffled from his large, calloused hand that covered your mouth; hushing you from any noise that could echo out of the room.

The way he was manhandling you does it. From the moment he tried shushing you up, your heat began to clench around him. Your body squirming and thrashing under his skin. Weakened from the sudden action as it made you tremble; feeling the coil beginning to snap with just a few more jabs.

More thuds and unfathomable complaints echoed outside the room. With Jaskier finally knowing what caused the commotion that he somehow managed to be in. Geralt didn't seem to be bothered about the fact that their table has been wrecked; though, the bard might say otherwise.

His plowing slackened when you’ve felt him breath heavily from behind,

"Shhhh. Quiet down, midget." he clasped his palms tighter on your mewling mouth; hearing his breathless grunts above you was making you squirm in his hold. It didn't take you another lewd moan when Geralt's thick index and middle finger skid in between the pillows of your lips, an act of pacifying your noise down which has gotten an elicit of your juices flowing down your thighs, soaking you more than ever. But, you never did deliberate to suck on those fingers like how your mind has told you.

The smutty action was enough for him to briefly glance down at you, engrossed and captivated by a never expected bustles from his naive, greenhorn of a woman.

Another weakened moan was muffled beneath the palm that clasped your mouth. Your fingers trying to wrench his own away from slightly pinching on your sensitive clit, dragging you to where you wanted.

Neverland. Nirvana. Heaven. Where ever you could experience bliss.

Or basically Geralt's bed because you were currently being brought to the edge of the rainbows.

He was persistent and continued rubbing on your nub, his thick, long fingers thoroughly drenched from your arousal.

"Ugh---Hmm. fuck." the white haired witcher deeply grunted and moaned, his jutting hips bottoming out as he continued his desperate, urgent drives. Thrusts turning reckless. Panting breaths like dogs in heat; embracing every bit of his urgency to reach the floating clouds.

Your real name has slipped out of his tongue, sounding so lewd which has taken you over the edge. Knees began to shake as the high took over. Muscles clenching and also your cunt tightly choking his girth to spill his seed, urging him to thoroughly coat your insides. Another loud breathless grunt left his ajar lips; the sweat dripping down his temples as it also drenched his chest from all the activities. His heartbeat was running miles after miles, chasing to catch yours.

"G-Geralt, Geralt, Geralt!" you've salaciously cried out with every sloppy thrusts in the midst of having a muscle spasm; choking in the blast of euphoria when he'd took his hand off your mouth, grabbing onto yours which has been holding onto the headboards for dear life. Hence, as the witcher pulled your hand away; he'd done the unexpected.

Geralt of Rivia has sweetly peppered the back of your hands with honeyed kisses to soothe your convulsion; treating you like he wasn't fucking you to oblivion nor corrupting you from behind.

You've heard his breath hitch. The way he'd dropped his large hand on the mattress over your small ones, gripping onto it hard; you knew he came. He'd panted heavily above you, the new position being surrounded by his gigantic warmth. Your juices soaking your inner thighs as his load shot inside you. All warm and cozy; giving you a fuzzy feeling inside your chest that you couldn't explain.

He never pulled out until he was finished. You were so full of him, his seed dripping out of your cunt when his semi-flaccid cock dragged out of your overused pussy, telling him how he’d filled you more than he planned to. Your knees eventually buckled and lost its will to be useful for you; your face down on the pillow, running short of breath as you planted over the tousled sheets.

Geralt laid on the bed beside you, his large body built turned to you with an arm tucked below his head. Basking in all his glory and sweat with amber eyes solely worried for your weary form. You sounded like you were wheezing as he hovered over to pull the blankets over your waist, shielding you over the cold, crisp wind of the afternoon dew. Your whole body coated in the satiny sliver of your sweat combined with his and the witcher couldn't help but take in the view that he longed to be habituated once again before you came along.

Did he...actually break you while being drilled? he silently thought at the back of his tousled, half tied chalky white hair.

"Midget?" He softly muttered, using an elbow to peer down before you. Aureate eyes lingering a little bit longer. His fingers extending to graze along the line of sweat that covered your spine before reconsidering, hands ought to brush your disheveled hair away from your face, taking his time as he glided his fingers down through the side of your face.

He doted on the spent image of your sprawled body in the middle of his bed. Your heart turning more warmer than it ever could when you've felt him watching you over, the blankets glazing atop of your skin as you've closed your eyes, trying to steady back your breathing.

"I'm...fine. Just...spent. Let me...breathe," you breathlessly whispered.

"Hmm."

His faint, vibrating hum slowly calmed the fluttering butterflies flapping their wings inside your stomach. He earnestly cast his eyes over you. The thick pad of his fingers tracing along the hairs of your arm; giving you a shiver, padding down till the tips of yours before strikingly filling in the gaps of your fingers with his. Such a simple action making your heart feel snug with a hint of palpitation from the sudden, unusual gesture from the white wolf.

Well, he was certainly learning.

You've taken a peek from under the flat fuzz of your pillows; seeing amiable, tired, tender eyes. Rough, large palms delicately scraping through your soft ones, entwined amongst the unkempt silk of sheets from the result of your passionate tupping.

With your eyes still shut, a jaded admission was sent to the latter; assuming things from your negative state of mind. This always happens in the movies, right? the small voice in the back of your mind stated. After all the blissful moments, complication and problems tries to hinder over the blithe that wanted you to believe that this was a much of a miracle to happen.

It was subtly telling you that your presence in their world had a time limit because you didn't belong to their world in the first place. Salt came pinching down your heart at the sudden realization of that; getting a gist of feeling by choosing to live in their world forever, there were instances that would get you coming back from your dimension. Every felicitious moment feeling like it was all temporary and a fleeting scene in your mind.

The idea struck like a lightning. You didn't belong to their world; nor do you fit in.

Such a change of heart that you wanted to scurry home since the first day you've arrived; thinking that everything was just a dream or a nightmare that couldn't wake you up. But, in this exact moment; you felt like not wanting to go home.

"Why do I feel like you wouldn't come back after your hunt?" you weakly muttered; brushing off the infectious thought that could bring the felicity down; pulling yourself closer to him. You've tossed the bad shadows trying to lure you in as you've focused on the golden light that Geralt could let you see through. His warm breath fanned your face as you heavily sighed out the worry crippling out of your chest.

"You're overthinking." he deeply rasped, hearing him breath steady; sounding like his declaration had a double meaning. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he continued to reassure your troubled self, "---I never leave nor would I plan to. My family is my home,"

Geralt collected his thoughts, breaking through the spell you've always had to cast him in. Only your exquisite scent being the fire to thaw his walls down. It took him seconds before bluntly saying his next words, making you flutter your eyes open to see him softly smiling back at you. His tone warm, comforting and nesh for your sensitive, soft heart soul.

"---you are also my home. I'll always come back to you---always will find you,"

Those words that he stunningly said made your heart skip a beat. The cicatrix glowing beneath the sheets without you knowing, ecstatic of what has come out from his lips as a burst of bliss spread right through your chest.

You've felt the adrenaline rush from his sudden admission and change of aura; abruptly making you nail your elbows on the table, repeatedly blinking back at the witcher when you've felt the balmy cloud of warmth spread around your eyes; close enough for you to cry and you languidly leaned down to his very peaceful face to softly give him a kiss on the lips in which he gladly reciprocated.

No. This wasn't sweet nothings where he tries to win over your heart. His words was a declaration of breaking those walls down for you. It was a key for you to come hopping in, an invitation of seeing the real him; his vulnerable side that nobody ever sees.

Hence, this was the first time you've had someone showing you what it felt to be important, needed and cared for. A person with real intentions. Sensations which you never knew it existed or believed that you would ever get to experience such.

Nevertheless, it took you a trip to another dimension just to have it.

Your mouth left his with a euphonious twang. There was no rush to the kiss or any type of greed. Just a succulent sharing of what you wanted him to feel from your quiet response of what he said. It needed no words of approval or even a shedding of your tears; erasing the worries away if you started bawling your eyes out from his secrets that he whispered. His thick brows furrowed in a questionable expression, intently eyeing your dewy peepers staring back at him. Utterly fond. The witcher feeling as if there was profound affection deep within your eyes as you tried to shield them over with that twinkling gaze of yours.

He knew what he was seeing or feeling from you. But, he chose to ignore as of the moment.

"Jaskier's fond of you," he abruptly admitted, downright apathetic; his gravel tone expressing a mixture of interest and a little bit of doubt, not for you but for himself.

That simple display of what you've visibly felt made your heart soften a lot more than it ever could. Finding it hard to believe that this person slash mutant in front of you also had his own issues, sounding diffident with just conferring about this surprising fact he noticed from his friend who seemed to be catching feelings for you that certainly was quite difficult to believe.

You were biting the tips of your tongue from saying anything further more, pulling back from driving too fast that maybe Geralt was falling behind.

"Jaskier? Your Jaskier? The bard who always tries to ruin my day? you’re hallucinating, Geralt." you wanted to snort from his accusation.

Geralt has given you a dirty look, appearing to look like he has issues with you that he didn't want to expand as he kept his silence and continued to send a grimace. Was he hallucinating? Were he hallucinating when he'd read those words upon your lips hours ago? Was your endearment just a slip of your tongue? A simple caught up in the heat of the moment?

Was he also just hallucinating when you’ve called him ‘love’?

"Am I, really?" the witcher stated flat, sending a displeased hum as he subtly played with the softness of your fingers clutched to his bigger ones.

Your eyes turned wide from his deadpan, "What did I do? That banter sounded sarcastic, kitty!"

The latter slowly blinked, dragging a sigh as his baritone timbre turned stern and also meek no matter how hard he tried to cover it up from the roughness that he wanted it to sound like, you could read between the lines and sure enough, he was self-effacing from his friend who was also fond of you.

"Do...you like the bard?" he hesitatingly trailed off. The question ending with a pause as it sounded completely unforthright. You've given him a tender beam; child like and masking with nothing but innocence, affection and understanding, "Go on. I'm listening. Tell me what's on your mind," you started, seeing his tight lipped mouth shut. Those amber eyes briefly looking away from you,

"---Come on, please? Let me understand and see through the good heart that I've always believed in,"

Geralt gave it a moment. Exactly a minute as you've accepted the tranquil silence with him. Such silence that you have never imagined to be so comforting because back in your apartment, the stillness was eerie and cold; imagining hands trying to take your soul away from surviving a life by working in another country where you had no one but you.

"You're...significant to me." his glowing amber eyes turned heartfelt, shooting warmth through your skin and chest, "---you are a lot to handle. An unorthodox in my dimension. Yet, despite that, you're the havoc I didn't know I needed,"

"You're calling me chaotic. How sweet of you," you deadpanned, snorting from his metaphors that got you successfully rolling your eyes back at him.

"Your existence brought me sheer confusion about you. But, I'd rather have that befuddlement than to not be with you,"

Destiny brought you to him. Those assumptions he'd taken into consideration was now taken into account. Thus, destiny just needed this to not fuck it up. It shouldn't because he much rather not imagine how it would happen nor how he would be able to accept such fate laid before him.

"Jaskier's...a friend---he's important to me," he continued, feeling your other hand fall onto the side of his face; soft fingers tracing along the scar on his forehead and cheekbones with that glimmer in your eyes that make him want to give you another kiss; readable in your peepers was the acceptance he never knew he needed so badly, "---No matter how annoying he is. He's still my companion. A real...friend. I've seen how comfortable you are with him, saw how compatible you were with the bard,"

You've stopped brushing your fingers along his marks. Your free hand sluggishly propping below your chin as you've peered down. A small grin curling your lips, "When have you been a love guru? Does this version of you come up with a graphic chart that tells how many percentages do I seem to be compatible with Jaskier?"

He kept silent, staring straight into your eyes with a lukewarm expression; not understanding your references.

You've given him a faint raise of your brow, skeptically looking at him with an amused flicker of your peepers, "You've seen us that night. Explains why Jaskier was ranting about the door you've broken,"

Geralt kept his mouth tightly shut, shortly looking away before giving you a pensive response, "I've already fixed it---and you know it was not just about that,"

Pulling your closed fist under your chin, you've tilted your head to the side. Pleased by his tamed reaction as you've leaned closer to his face, adoring Geralt's sublime features that never fails to charm you everyday. His charisma totally knocking your wits out as you could finally see more of his true self.

You started, your words smoothly dancing per word; sounding utmost sincere and in wonder, "People in your world say witchers don't feel emotions," even being disregarded like they weren't humans, you silently added much more to yourself when you paused to talk, "---Well, my witcher is exactly the opposite because you're full of it even though you sound unenthusiastic all the time---comes with the mutations, I guess?"

The soft look in his eyes warmed your soul. Attentive of the stars that seem to float inside those amber pair; looking like he'd caught them for you. He stayed silent, never breaking his gaze away from you nor planning to move away from your body close to his.

"Do you want me to be with the bard?" your question caught him off guard, keenly reading through what your eyes wanted to say. The query sounding like it was just a quip.

"Will that make you happy?"

Geralt warily asked, completely earnest of what he said that made you bite the inner plump of your lips. There was a long amount of silence, contemplating what made him think that way, even considering the idea of never getting in the way when you'll choose another person than him. Was he even real?

Your smile fell a little at the question, swiftly unwrapping your hands entwined with his which ignited a tight frown from the witcher when he miscalculated the sudden gesture. But, those dreadful thoughts ceased when you've poked his muscular chest, the part where his heart loudly beat beneath the pad of your index finger.

"Will that make...YOU happy?" you slowly emphasized and returned the question, intently gazing above him. When he never answered and stayed quiet, it was the right time to say words that couldn't be kept to yourself. You've forgotten to bite your tongue from saying anything further less.

"---But, YOU make me happy, Geralt of Rivia. Isn't that enough reason to choose you?"

Keen golden eyes deeply gazed into yours, as genuine than it has ever been before; sucking you in and having no chance to escape from the resplendent color of his hues. Geralt moved beneath to help himself by using his elbow, his sudden elevation making you tilt your head back to see him deeply staring, mouth turning into a tight straight line as he rasped.

"Even if it takes for your life back in your world to be taken away from you---fuck." he abruptly stopped in the middle of his sentence, briskly taking a glimpse of the door behind you when he could hear stealthy padded footsteps hiking up the stairs.

Jaskier.

Geralt sharply sat his back on the headboard. His silvery, unkempt half-tied hair moving as he does so, the white sheets pooling just below his torso. He looked bedraggled and utterly sweaty which made it feel so fulfilling to have him in your presence looking like that. A miraculous snack. You could never have this opportunity back in earth.

You bit your lips from keeping yourself from grinning, curiously eyeing him as you mused. He deliberately scanned your exposed back, "What? What's happening?"

The latter took no questions and quickly pulled the covers over your shoulders as you laid on your front, slightly elevated with the help of your arms tucked under. He loudly sighed, sitting back on the wooden board. Recognizable footfall thumping louder and closer before a wind up bard barged in the room without knocking or announcing his presence.

"You two!" Jaskier exclaimed, ceasing midway in the middle of the room; looking lost and piqued. His pretty face morphed into a tight frown to find you and Geralt utterly rumpled under the sheets. You tossed a look over your shoulder to see the bard straight up crashing inside like there has been no lock or whatsoever.

Geralt motioned with his hands, palms on either side to show how taken aback he was from his friend who came trudging in like he owned the place. His face hinting with displeasure. Wordlessly gesturing towards the bard with a 'What the fuck?' face.

You skeptically hushed whispers beside the witcher, timidly pulling the covers over your wild head, looking stunned as you exclaimed, "I thought you locked the room? I told you to lock it!---What if it was Cirilla?!---Don't you know what a lock is, Geralt?!"

Despite of your panicking and embarrassed state, he was entirely the opposite as he sounded lackadaisical, going on by glaring at the bard who has his face scrunched in utmost displeasure, "I didn't expect them to arrive home this early." the witcher rolled his eyes from his galled self and sent a scowl towards the bard.

Jaskier raised his brow in disbelief, "Early? We've been gone for 8 hours, Geralt!"

"Well, I thought you'll be gone for at least a day and not barge in our room after we had a 'moment', Bard. A knock would’ve suffice."

Another set of padded footsteps, this time it sounded like this person was merrily hopping through the hallway. Until a ball of Ashen hair peeked through the opened doorway with a short Hirikka standing in the middle of the threshold.

"I'm here---woah!" Cirilla seemed to be knocked out of her boots when she saw you emerging from under the covers, bashfully covering your chest with the sheets, looking mortified by everyone seeing you in that kind of state. You were glaring at the witcher who tossed your off the side for a while as he dealt with his scandalous and crazy family.

"---I knew it!" the princess of Cintra loudly clapped and jumped on her feet. Her excitement immediately dying down when she noticed that you both weren't actually clothed beneath the white blankets. She firmly crossed her arms, her nose scrunching in disgust, "---Also, gross! Please do lock the doors next time!"

She whistled at the flabbergasted Hirikka who was sniffing the whole room in bewilderment; stout stopping before the bard as he sniffed him loudly enough for Jaskier to wave his face off away from his face. Cirilla whistled another, catching the beast's attention and making Geralt wince due to his heightened hearing, "Kolby, let's go! I'm giving you a nice warm bath!" before she shut the door closed behind them when he'd run off towards the princess.

Geralt and Jasker were giving each other stern glares; seeming to be in a challenge where one shouldn't back down despite of how mean it appeared to be like.

Jaskier was the first to talk, beginning his interrogation, "Who ruined the dining table?"

You swallowed the butterflies wanting to fly out of your throat, lifting a shaky finger to point at the witcher who was still as he sat on his side of the bed, "I’m definitely not the person who has superpowers here---It's him," but, Geralt seemed to answer in the same time with you.

"No one."

Jaskier didn't seem to want and take everyone's bullshit as he crossed his arms in front of you both. Geralt's clothes on one hand and yours in the other that made a blush go straight up your whole face, burning the dignity that was left. You wanted to yell from how irresponsible you were for leaving your clothes all around the house when you promised yourself that it'll be fixed after your activity.

You didn't expect Geralt to take eight hours---or you did?----and actually forgot what was needed to remember.

"Oh, no one, Geralt? I suppose this shirt is also owned by no one, considering how unclad you are right now? Hmm. Would this tunic come from the Hirikka then?" the toubadour raised his hand where Geralt's black under tunic has been balled up.

Jaskier dramatically puffed out a sigh, sounding like it was the end of the world for what has welcomed them when they came back from their weekly visit for Cuthbert. He held forth about your sudden shenanigans around the house like a father delivering a tirade.

"We leave for eight hours and this is what you both welcomed us in," pause. "---A broken bloody table where we dine!" Another pause as he threw Geralt's clothes at his face in which he caught it perfectly, "---your clothes everywhere in the house like snakes who shed their skins anywhere they go!"

Lastly, his foot fidgeted on the wooden floors, tapping in anxiety as he remembered that tiny scratch he had seen on his beloved musical instrument, entirely galled from the wound it received like it was his baby.

"---and also my lute---my beloved lute falling on the floors! You've hurt her!"

"We didn't touch your lute," Geralt's response was tepid, lazily blinking back at the enraged bard who stood in the middle of the room.

Jaskier's raised his hands to his hips, raising a finger and opening his mouth, expression wild and ready to send another harangue before back paddling inside his train of thoughts.

He briefly shut his mouth, tilting his head to the side as he wondered out loud, "Oh, maybe the air pushed it to fall. I remembered how I left the windows opened too. However---!"

Geralt cut his verbal onslaught, his gaze narrowing at Jaskier who also didn't back down at sending a nasty lour at the entertained witcher.

"I'll fix whatever is needed to fix, bard. Stop your whining," you've felt the bed squeak and bounce. Geralt slipped his legs out of the sheets, feet plopping down the floors as he heavily sighed. It needed power; manpower for Jaskier to leave the room and Geralt knew he wouldn't leave until he pushes him out of the threshold.

The witcher stood tall and firm, completely au naturel from head to foot like how he have been when he was a baby, stark naked without being moved by the idea that Jaskier was in the same room as you. His bare ass never shaking him off and so does the bard.

"Leave. Out of my chambers, Jaskier."

Geralt sauntered to where he is. Your eyebrows raising in amusement as you've marveled over the witcher in the nude. His beautiful, rugged bare back on show with that A+ rating of his derriere in which you freely tried to memorize inside your head.

Though, you couldn't help but take a glimpse of Jaskier who seemed unfazed by this whole nakedness he was seeing; like he was familiar of the whole thing and the white wolf's dangly bits hanging and it has peaked your curiosity.

Do they bathe together then?

The bard has seen your amused smile with a skeptical brow raised to what you were witnessing. Thus, he peeked around Geralt to acknowledge your curiosity; pointing at you with a roguish grin, "That face tells that you have been swimming deep inside the vast depths of the sea, wondering why I am not bothered by the witcher's nudity---"

"Jaskier," Geralt sent a tired warning and held his slim shoulders, forcefully turning him around as he pushed him forward, towards the door.

"---It's because I have rubbed chamomile onto his lovely bottom before! It was true! I never lied! It was a part of the rules in becoming the rightful travel companion until you came along and began rubbing it for himself! Though, I doubt you did it to join our adventures!---"

You couldn't help but stifle your tee-hee from his admission. Finding their friendship amazing to the point that he does it for Geralt; receiving nothing but his altruism and adventures that the witcher has shared together with him.

Geralt loudly closed the door behind Jaskier; his mouth running on and on about how such a change of habits it has been when you came in their life. He'd knock a lot of times, calling out for the both of you and trying to want and barge in your moment but your white wolf finally knew what a lock is and slid the wooden block over the hook to lock his chambers.

"He seriously rubs chamomile on your butt?"

The skyclad man turned on his heel, raising a skeptical brow as you tried to focus hard on his face and not his body that stood before you.

"I guess that silence means yes, then. Oof, such bromance! Don't you think I'm the one who's actually becoming a hindrance between your platonic relationship with your bard?"

"Ridiculous." He took several steps closer, making you turn your head from becoming too flustered over his glorious, scarred body that he certainly isn't afraid or diffident about his imperfections anymore after you've treated them like it was a part of him that you will always accept. Geralt sat on your side, reaching over the bedside table to look beneath the drawers.

The latter placed a small, transparent bottle on your hand. A clear yellowish tone of liquid inside as you stared at it, thoroughly intrigued, "What's this? Is it another one of your witcher potions?"

Geralt hummed in negation, lifting his calloused hand to take your chin in between his fingers, turning your head to look at his ardent, shining amber, "Eucalyptus Oil. Took it from Cirilla's chambers. For you---For later. Perhaps, our recent activities had you feeling utterly spent,"

You've blinked, taken aback from his plans for whatever it is he wanted. Though, it didn't take you to put two on two together to know where his plans would take you, "Why are you---Oh. I know. I definitely know what you want." pause. "---you are insatiable, Geralt."

Geralt gently nudged your chin, tilting it up to his advantage as he leaned down to press a soft buss to your lips. Once again, he'd took your breath away by how tender he was handling you. The mere opposite of what people see and expected from because they never had the chance to walk through him; they didn’t have the courage to know who he really was.

His thumb that rested upon your chin were easily replaced with his lips, kissing you on the spot before gliding the dimples of his nose to yours, subtly giving you an Eskimo kiss.

"My overly developed lechery certainly comes from the mutation,"

Geralt's mouth lifted into a small, unusual beam, fluttering his eyes closed as he concentrated on you and that specific comfort he found. Questions came hitting him like stones, breaking the mirthful bubble that he was brought in.

He didn't want you to go home anymore because he'd found home in you.

But, what if fate had move mountains and threw his happiness away again? Leaving him no choice but to watch you go?

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means I can’t tag you, bb’s! 💖) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks,

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza

General taglist for Henry: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh,

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