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bambirex · 6 months

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It's A Game We Play: Chapter 5

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies), crack, alpha/omega/beta dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe-modern setting, jaskier is having the worst time of his life, valdo is here to make everything worse, confusion, banter, insecure jaskier, internalized slut shaming

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 13,761 words

Chapter word count: 3,051 words

Chapters: 5/?

Summary: Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: In which Jaskier has to deal with PVSD (post-Valdo Stress Disorder), feral goats, and three people from his past that he thought would never ever see again.

Author's notes: Jaskier deserves a break, but he isn't getting one. Sorry, my poor son. I'm continuing my stride of inflicting more emotional turmoil on these poor, unfortunate souls.

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By the time Jaskier got home, he managed to calm down a little bit. Well, he wasn't ready to commit gruesome murder anymore, but his brain was still ticking like a bomb just imagining Valdo Marx's smug grin. Why was this happening to him? What has he done to deserve this? It must have been a cruel, sick play of fate that Sara's mother happened to be best friends with the manager of Valdo's annoying theater band. Jaskier would have to sit down with her and beg her to pick someone else- surely there were other bands that wouldn't ask for millions just to play at a small wedding!

Worst case scenario, he would ask Priscilla and Essi to back him up and play some Sandpipers songs. Amaryllis specifically asked him not to play, because she wanted Jaskier there as a father, not as an employee, but desperate times called for dramatic measures. Either way, Jaskier needed to figure out a way to get rid of his rival before he ruined his beloved baby's big day.

The inn was bustling with guests at this time of the year. Each of them greeted Jaskier happily when he walked through the door. It made Jaskier smile. He had many guests who returned each year, and he saw new faces as well all the time. It was a small business, but people loved the Dandelion Inn, and its owner. Jaskier just wished the costs of holding up a place like that would be cheaper. He's been struggling with paying the bills on time lately, and since the inn was a mostly seasonal business, he had trouble scraping enough money together in the quieter months. But Jaskier promised Auntie he wouldn't let the inn fall apart, no matter what happened.

"Have you seen Amaryllis today?" Jaskier asked Angela, his receptionist. She was a sweet old lady who was hired by Auntie, and Jaskier refused to kick her out, even though she worked slowly and kept mixing up the room numbers. In fact, Jaskier refused to fire anyone from the old staff. There weren't many job opportunities on the island, and even though Jaskier struggled with the costs of keeping all the staff, he didn't want to put them out on the street.

"She had to go to the library, emergency call," Angela explained, not even looking up from her magazine. Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

"Emergency? In a library?"

"The pipes started leaking and she was called in for emergency inventory. But before that, she dropped off a girl here and said something about the goat shed, but I couldn't hear her, you know my ear isn't that good anymore, dear."

"Okay," Jaskier concluded with a sigh. "Wait, what girl? Sara?"

"No, not Sara! I would recognize her! No, it's that one, sitting at that table!"

Jaskier turned to where Angela pointed. A teenage girl with ashen blonde hair was sitting at a table in the lobby, doodling in the guest book. Jaskier didn't recognize her as one of the guests, but with his head being all over the place lately, it was entirely possible he just forgot he's seen her before.

The girl looked up from the guest book and caught Jaskier staring. She grinned and waved at him. Jaskier waved back with a smile. Yeah, must have been one of the guests. He needed to keep better track of these things.

Amaryllis did help him out at the inn when she could, but she had a job at the library and couldn't always be there. Which was a shame, because her memory was much better than Jaskier's. Unfortunately, Jaskier was getting old, he needed to accept it.

"Did Amaryllis say if she fed the goats?" He asked Angela. She didn't react.

"Angela!"

"What was that, dear? You know my hearing isn't great!"

"The goats," Jaskier said louder, articulating each word, "did Amaryllis feed them?"

"I don't know, I don't think so."

Jaskier sighed, slumping against the reception desk. "Great. I'll have to deal with those stinky beasts again."

Another thing Auntie entrusted him with before she died was taking care of her herd of goats. As much as Jaskier loved his aunt, he did curse her sometimes for leaving those animals in his care. He inherited the whole place: not just the inn, but the small flat connected to it where he now lived, and that godforsaken goat shed in the yard.

Jaskier was pretty sure those goats had a personal agenda against him. They were so sweet with the guests, patiently letting small children pet them. They even posed for photos. And they absolutely adored Amaryllis, who, for some reason Jaskier couldn't comprehend, loved those monsters back. Jaskier still remembered the headache when his five years old daughter toddled inside the house with a baby goat in her arms and asked Jaskier if the goat could sleep in her bed. When Jaskier said no, Amaryllis managed to smuggle it in anyway, causing Jaskier a near heart attack when he pulled back the covers one day, and found a goat in the bed instead of his child.

Despite their otherwise sweet behavior, the goats acted completely feral around Jaskier. They bit him and knocked him over constantly, and Jaskier was sure his eardrums would give in one day with how loud they kept screaming. Maybe they sensed he wasn't exactly fond of them. All the same, they were a necessary evil that came with his inheritance.

He changed his clothes quickly, because he was sure his pretty floral shirt would be ripped apart by the goats. He changed it to a simple white shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts before he grabbed a bucket, cursing under his breath all the way to the shed.

"First Valdo Marx, then these fucking goats," Jaskier huffed, "what's next? The aliens will come to abduct me? Fuck's sake. Emergency inventory, my god. As if they don't have several copies of War and Peace. No, let's save the books, it's all fine, who cares that I will be murdered by these monsters?"

He came to a halt before the shed, taking several deep breaths. Alright, he needed to calm down a little bit. He experienced too much stress lately with the wedding planning. Deep breaths, positive thoughts, he told himself. Everything was gonna be okay.

He opened the door and slipped inside the shed, holding the bucket out in front of him like a shield. Just like that, one of the goats, an old, black one that Jaskier was convinced was Satan himself in disguise, knocked into it, sending vegetables flying.

"Asshole," Jaskier huffed, entangling the goat's horns that got twisted in the handle of the bucket. "I brought you lunch, and that's how you thank me!?"

He heard something stir in the corner. One of the baby goats kept sniffing at a large haystack, craning its neck to look behind it. It started stomping on the floor with its hooves, the sound not helping Jaskier's impending headache.

"The hell are you doing there...?"

Jaskier's face went pale when he noticed something that looked like a human leg, pulling back behind the haystack. The blood ran cold in his veins. Someone was in his shed.

"Amaryllis?" He tried. No response came. Jaskier's heart pounded like a hammer inside his chest. He slowly approached the haystack, the hairs on his arms standing on end. When he said he was gonna be abducted, he meant it as a joke!

"Who's there?" Jaskier called again, trying to will his voice not to tremble. "I have a metal bucket in my hands, it hits hard! And I have pepper spray in my pocket! And a rape whistle! I would reveal myself if I were you before it was too late, because I'm... I'm feral!"

A hand emerged from behind the haystack, palm up, as if signaling they came with peace. Jaskier still held onto the bucket, just in case.

The rest of the stranger's body was revealed. Jaskier's eyes widened, and his mouth fell agape. He wobbled on his feet, white noise filling his head. His vision started to swim as amber eyes looked into his own. Familiar white hair, with a few pieces of hay stuck into it. A painfully sharp jawline, now covered with a beard. A tall, broad built, that didn't seem to change all that much since Jaskier last saw him. And he still wore black, from head to toe.

Before Jaskier had a chance to say or do anything, another figure emerged from behind the hay. Jaskier's jaw somehow dropped even lower as he spotted that reddish-blond hair, and those always inquiring blue eyes. Sharp features with thicker stubble than last time. That lean body, clad in expensive clothes. That careful little smile.

Jaskier dropped the bucket, the sound like a gunshot when the third figure came in sight. Black hair, not reaching the middle of her back anymore, just falling past her shoulders. Intense violet eyes. Plump lips, a little chapped. Warm skin and a black dress that hugged her still perfect body.

They all changed here and there, but they mostly looked the same. There was no mistaking them for anyone else. Now, Jaskier only had one question.

"What in the fucking fuck of a fucking hell you all are doing here!?"

"Jaskier," Radovid spoke first, his voice dripping with fake confidence, even though his eyes looked alarmed at Jaskier's outburst. "It's so good to see you, again."

"What are you doing in my goat shed," Jaskier wasn't proud of the way his voice came out as a whimper. But, excuse his French, he was shocked as all hell. Three figures from his past, three people he's romanced literal decades ago, the three people in the sea of his one-night stands that left the biggest mark on him, now stood in front of him. He blinked several times, but the vision didn't pass. They remained standing there, confused, as if they weren't the ones who showed up here for no reason.

"That's a long story," Yennefer sighed. She wrapped her arms around herself as she blinked up at Jaskier. "Shit, it's been a while. I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"Me neither," Geralt chimed in. He gave Jaskier a small, uncertain smile. Jaskier did his best to ignore the feeling it gave him. "You look..."

"No, no, you're not getting out of this without an explanation," Jaskier scoffed. He put his hands on his hips, glaring at them with all the anger he could muster. "Why are you even on the island? What do you want?"

"What do you mean," Radovid chuckled, a little bitterly, "what do we want? Is this a joke?"

"If it is, it's not funny," Yennefer scoffed. She gently pushed a baby goat away that tried to chew on her dress. "We didn't travel hours on a fucking ferry for you to pretend like you don't know why we're here."

"What!?" Jaskier could feel himself getting hysterical. "What kind of sick prank is this? Which one of you came up with this? How do you even know each other!?"

"Jaskier, we came as quickly as we could," Geralt said. "We dropped everything at home just to come here. It's been... a very weird and exhausting couple of hours. Would you tell us what's going on?"

"Me? You tell me what's going on! I haven't seen your faces in twenty years, and now you suddenly pop up in my freaking goat shed!? And I'm the one who owes YOU an explanation!?"

"You were the one who wrote to us!" Radovid said, pointing a finger at Jaskier and making him raise an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You sent us all an ominous letter, about some life and death situation and how we needed to come see you in person," Yennefer explained. "And that we should pack enough clothes for a few weeks. You promised you would be at the dock, but it was actually your..."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Jaskier interrupted her, holding his hands up. He looked over all of them, his confusion growing with each passing second. "Hold your goddamn horses. I did not write you a letter. I didn't write a letter to anyone, let alone the three of you."

"Okay, then what is this?" Geralt asked, reaching into his pocket. He handed Jaskier a crumpled piece of paper. Jaskier skimmed it. The lines blurred together in front of his eyes as he realized what happened.

"That's not my handwriting," he whispered to mostly himself, "that's Amaryllis's."

Oh, holy sweet cow. It all started to make sense. Amaryllis asking about her other parent. Her expressing the need to find out who it is, so they could be there at her wedding. His diary mysteriously switching places in his drawer. He did not misplace that diary. Amaryllis must've taken it out and read it. And she was a smart girl, and a very determined one, as well... if she read it all, if she read about Jaskier's affairs, she put the pieces together - the pieces that Jaskier never dared to.

He nearly collapsed. He only managed to stay on his feet because Geralt caught him around the waist, holding him up.

"You okay?" He asked, his eyes full of concern. The other two moved closer, hovering at his side anxiously. He was surrounded by them in his anguish. It triggered an old dream, a wish he had made a long time ago. Memories flooded his brain, memories of the most intense pain he has ever felt in his life. Pathetically sobbing for someone to come and hold him - Geralt, Radovid, Yennefer, someone, please. I can't do this alone. I wish you were here and held my hand. Auntie, why did you have to leave me so soon? Hell, Mum, I hate you for what you did to me, but I would settle for even you. I just don't wanna give birth alone, don't wanna raise this baby alone, I'm scared, I can't do this...

"My daughter wrote to you," Jaskier whispered. He tore himself away from them, stumbling on his feet. "She pretended to be me to lure you here."

"Fuck," Yennefer whispered, "we've met her."

Jaskier snorted. "You did, huh? I guess she was the one waiting on the docks, then."

"Indeed," Radovid sighed. "She said something about how we should get to know each other better before her wedding, and that one of us should be there for some reason. Then, she practically shoved us back in our cars and told us to drive here. She made us hide out here and she promised she would explain everything, but she got a phone call and left."

"This isn't real," Jaskier laughed hysterically, shaking his head. "This is a nightmare. No, actually, I think I'm dead. And now I'm in hell. Oh, I might be burning soon!"

"Why did Amaryllis write to us?" Geralt asked. "And why does she want us to be there at her wedding?"

"Oh, that's gonna be great. Just absolutely gorgeous. I'm going to strangle her."

"Jaskier," Yennefer hissed, "would you calm down and tell us what's going on!?"

"So, none of you have a hunch," Jaskier snorted. He sighed deeply at their confused stares. "Well, I assume you all realized I've gotten to know each of you pretty well in the past."

"Yeah, we got that," Radovid huffed. Jaskier ignored the emotion the sheer jealousy in his voice evoked in him.

"Well. I have a suggestion why Amaryllis picked you three out of my past affairs, specifically."

Geralt sent him a confused look. "Why?"

"I assume it's because she read my diary, where I wrote about you. And the entries were dated. And well, she might have done a little bit of Math. Which wasn't difficult, considering I'm unmated, so no known daddy or mommy disrupting this lovely picture."

Recognition soon started seeping into their eyes. Their faces turned pale simultaneously.

"When was Amaryllis born?" Radovid asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Jaskier rubbed at his temples, feeling his headache increase.

"May 2003. You're good at Math, aren't you?"

"Now I wish I wasn't," Radovid groaned. Yennefer's eyes widened.

"You're implying that one of us...?"

Geralt swore under his breath. Jaskier imagined the goat shed collapsing over them. He wished it would happen.

"That one of you is Amaryllis's other parent, yes. And she clearly figured that out, too. Congratulations to someone here, I guess."

The silence was deafening except for the goats bleating in the background. Jaskier's three ex lovers stood still as statues, none of them daring to say anything. Jaskier felt a tear run down his face, but he felt too exhausted to wipe it off.

He struggled so hard to forget about them, to erase their smiles, their voices from his mind. To stop remembering their warmth, the feeling of their arms around him. The thought of seeking them out was constantly on the back of his mind after he found out he was pregnant. He knew their address, but he also knew that he didn't mean anything to either of them, not the way they meant to him. They had other things to take care of, and Jaskier wasn't one of them. Would they have even come back, if they found out Jaskier was pregnant? Would they have cared at all? Geralt, with his insistence that he couldn't give Jaskier what he wanted anyway, Radovid with that giant company, and Yennefer who had better hopes than tying herself down on a tiny island - they wouldn't have come back for him, no way.

Why they were here now, Jaskier didn't understand. Why now, after so many years? How come they didn't forget about him? Why were they standing here, staring at him in confusion, after twenty years, just because of a stupid letter?

Maybe it was because they actually... no, he couldn't allow himself to go there. They didn't love him. Not like that. This was all just a giant misunderstanding.

Jaskier felt like he was going to get sick. This was just too much.

He faintly heard them calling his name as he stormed out of the shed, but he didn't turn around.

#geraskier #yennskier #radskier #a/b/o #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #radovid #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #alpha yennefer #beta radovid #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #mamma mia au

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irrlicht-writes · 8 months

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the greatest gift

“I’ll stay behind; I have to tune my lute.”

Yennefer wasn’t sure if that man truly meant his lute, or his lute. He did have to perform this evening at the inn they were staying at, so maybe he really meant his instrument. Such a shame. She would have liked it if he had accompanied them, he was fun to gossip with at the vendor stalls. Neither Geralt nor Ciri truly had that required fashion sense.

“Geralt, is this my colour?”

The Witcher just hummed without really looking. Yennefer sighed.

“I think you’d look lovely in it, Yenna.”

Yennefer smiled at Ciri; bless her for trying.

“Thank you, duckling,” she responded and put the cloth back.

She itched for Jaskier’s company, but she could never let him know, his head would explode.

“It’s sad that Jaskier didn’t come with us,” Ciri said and Yennefer agreed. “You think it’s because of what that woman said? She was so rude, I wanted to smash her stupid crystal ball.”

Yennefer nodded again.

They had come to this village originally because they had heard rumours that there was a wise woman here that could tell them more about the Wild Hunt. They had indeed found this wise woman, but when they had entered her hut, she had pointed at Jaskier immediately and screeched: “He does not belong; destiny has no place for him!”

It spoke of years of self-restraint that none of them burned her hut down right that second.

Later, Jaskier had played it off, his usual laugh, but Yennefer knew it had stung. In their party, Jaskier was constantly wondering why he was here, and if he had a place among them, when in truth; without him, none of them would be here.

He brought her and Geralt together, and he brought Geralt and Ciri together. Without Jaskier, would Geralt even be able to properly care about Ciri? Would she?

She picked up a little wooden toy, a small duck, and turned it in her fingers. Jaskier would gush about it and insist she buy it for Ciri.

“You call her duckling all the time, Yennefer!”

“Perhaps I should buy it for you, the ugly duck of our group?”

“How dare you! I am the most magnificent swan this world has ever seen! But how would a water hag know beauty when it flew past her, true?”

She grumbled and put the toy away. The bardling could never know that she was able to envision entire conversations in her head.

Jaskier was nobody special, no magic, no fighter, no nothing. All he had was that lute of his and that notebook he took everywhere.

He was the stupidest man she’s ever met.

She’s rarely known a braver man.

“Magic could never be done with the likes of you, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

He had not been aware of it then, and was not aware of it now, but in that time, he was the only one to believe in her. Because he had that unshaken faith, she could borrow it from him. She could believe in herself that she was still worth something, because he did.

Ever since then, Jaskier had become... important, to her.

He would never know, not with words, not like that, but it was Jaskier. He knew. He knew, but maybe he didn’t truly believe it.

“FIRE!”

All three of them lifted their heads.

“No,” whispered Geralt and started running.

“Jaskier!” shouted Ciri and ran after him.

“Julian,” Yennefer whispered and she took running.

The smoke was coming from the inn.

Geralt, Ciri and Yennefer came to a screeching halt in front of the inn. Jaskier wasn’t here. He couldn’t be inside still, could he? No, he couldn’t. Not in the fire, Jaskier was scared. He wouldn’t have stayed.

Yennefer’s heart was beating too fast, she couldn’t think. A portal. Yes, a portal. No. No she couldn’t do a portal. It was too dangerous in the fire.

“Where is he? Where is the bard?”

A shaking woman was answering, her voice waiving: “H-he’s still inside! He – he told us to get out, I didn’t look, oh gods.”

“I’m going inside.”

One look at Geralt and she knew he wouldn’t take no as an answer. So she just nodded. “Hurry,” she said and he took off.

“We should go too,” Ciri said and Yennefer shook her head.

“No. The smoke is too dangerous, Geralt will be faster than the two of us.”

“But –“ Ciri started to protest, and Yennefer pulled her into a hug. If the girl noticed her faint trembling, she didn’t say. Jaskier would never let her live it down. Instead, Ciri hugged her tighter.

“He’ll be okay,” she whispered and by gods, Yennefer wanted the girl’s words to be true. If not – If Jaskier was beyond saving – she –

No.

No, she wouldn’t think about that.

Jaskier was going to be fine.

He’d make a joke about having to live up to his damsel in distress status.

When Geralt stormed out of the fire, Yennefer would later tell Jaskier that there was a big explosion of fire behind them. In truth, there was just more smoke and Yennefer had no eyes for it. In his arms, Geralt was carrying an unconscious Jaskier, with his head lolling. Geralt didn’t stop running, he jogged over to a place without smoke.

Yennefer’s stomach dropped and she hurried after them, leaning over Jaskier as Geralt put him onto the ground.

“Julek,” she whispered into his face, begging him to wake. “Julek.”

“He’s not breathing, Yen, he’s not –“

He was right. Jaskier wasn’t breathing. Yennefer could barely breathe herself.

She closed her eyes and kissed his forehead, on all the soot from the smoke and the fire. “I’m not losing you, Julek, I’m not.”

She pressed her lips on his, breathing into his mouth. Her hand searched for his chest, feeling his heart beat. Yennefer swatted Geralt’s hands away, as he wanted to start pumping.

“It’s beating,” she said between breaths.

She kept breathing for the bard, and determined that he could never know. Jaskier could never know that she almost lost it today.

Ciri was next to her, talking to Jaskier softly: “You gotta wake up, Dandelion. You promised me you’d show me how to play the lute, remember? And you were writing a song we could sing together! We wanted to surprise Geralt and Yenna with it, remember? So you gotta wake up, please.”

Yennefer’s heart broke for the tone of Ciri. It was so easy to forget that she was still just a child.

As if hearing the girl, Jaskier started coughing heavily, and Yennefer helped him into a sitting position. The bard was coughing out a lot of phlegm ad the sorceress gently rubbed his back.

“Julek,” she whispered so softly nobody heard her.

“Jaskier!”

Still coughing, the bard looked up, completely and utterly confused.

“Ge-Geralt? What?”

His voice was hoarse, and she only now noticed that most of his beard got singed. He was shaking, and looking around himself.

“Wha-what happened? I, I.”

He sounded close to tears, and his breathing got worse.

“Shh, little bard,” Yennefer cooed, “it’s all good now. You’re safe, you’re safe. We’re all safe, you stupid, stupid man, we’re all safe.”

He leaned against her and sagged, and Yennefer gently brushed through his hair. There was ash in his hair, and she knew this wouldn’t be shaken off so easily.

But he was alive.

He was alive.

As Geralt and Ciri took each of Jaskier’s hand, she pressed a kiss on his head.

“Julek,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

Right here, between them all, right where he always ought to be, his shaky puffs of breath on her collarbone were the greatest gift she could ask for.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #yennskier #writing #irrlicht writes #fanfiction #soft #hurt jaskier #fanfic #the witcher netflix

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thewritersaddictions · 4 months

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Day Sixteen: Jaskier + Santa Baby

The bard, the one that sang at your coranation. he had caught your ear and eye all in the same night. You sat and watched him all night long, no matter the knights that came to grace you with their presnese it was the one that kept his eyes off of you, and hadn't said a single word to you that had your attention.

Now as the queen you were able to do exactly what you wanted. Still the bard was there. Standing in your court waiting for your word. Your court was filled to the brim today with royal quests, and paralment. It was all getting to be a little bit to much. That was the first night that he talked to you.

"My queen would you like a song?" He asked never once looking you in the eye as he held your attention. You sighed heabily. "Thank you bard, but not now." You said returning your attention back to the royal in front of you. It wasn't until the many royal people left your court, and it was just you and the bard did he ask you again.

"My queen, I would like to sing for you." He said, struming a few cords of his lute before he belted into a sad but heartful song. You listened as you sat there on your throne. "Bard." You shouted over the struming of the lute. His fingers stopped struming and he turned hisattention towards you. "Yes my queen?" He asked notching his head to the side. The night the two of you talked, you asked him to come up and have a normal conversation with you.

It was something you missed dearly now that you had been crowned queen nobody ever talked to you like you were noraml. Instead you were talked to like royalty. "My queen, you musten worry about how the other talk to you. You're their queen they will always treat you as such." He was a rather insitghful bard. "Jaskier I'm just not sure…" "My queen, you have to be sure, you are the peolpes guiding heart, and light."

It wasn't until weeks later, closer to chirstmas did the bard complety take your heart. Annual chirstmas party was going wonderfully, the band was in full march, and the guest were filled to the brim with the best of the foods around the lands. Nothing was going to make this night any better.

You had even danced with a few of your people. It had been going great until you called upon your bard. "Bard!, Play something cheerful, and celebratory!" You shouted, and many followed your shourts with their own and claps of exctiement. he nodded gracefully, and began to play a song.

His voice echoed across the brick walls of your castle, and it gave everythign and everyone pause as they listened to his words. Nothign felt sweetter and heavier then his words as they hit your ears with ease. This time the bard, your bard Jaskier kept his eyes on you the entire time. Like his words were ment to be only for you. You felt your heart swell and your knees buckle, and for once you felt as though you weren't the queen rather just a girl in a tarven in the city listening to herself fall in love on chirstmas no less.

When Jaskier was done everyone clap and cheered continuing to dance around the court. it wasn't until much later, unti lyou heard knocked on your bedroom door did you finally see Jaskier again. "my queen?" You jumped up forgetting your robes and swong open the door. "Come in." You told him. He followed you in, "Your song tonight… its was so beautiful." You told him as you sat at the edge of your bed.

"I'm glad you thought so my queen." Jaskier says as he continues to stare at you. "You looked at me the entire time." You point out. He only nods, so you continue "The song was about me?" You ask him, he nods again. "Do you love me?" You ask him, he smiles and nods.

You can't help the earm embrace that wraps itself around your heart, and the tears come. he's at your side in a second, "Don't you cry my queen, you deserve to be loved always." Jaskier whispers into your ear as he embraces you in a long and meaningful hug. "I will love you till the end of time, my queen."

Completed on: 11/24/23

Posted on: 12/16/23

The Witcher Master List // The Bard Master List // Christmas Stories Master List

#fluff #fem reader #female reader #requests are open #open requests #requests open #jaskier the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier x reader #jaskier the bard #jaskier fanfic #the witcher netflix #the witcher #christmas celebration #day 16 #queen!reader #queen!reader x bard

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limerental · 1 year

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ficletober 2022 day nineteen - yenralt modern au

Ciri is about to go off to college and the extended family hasn't had a real beach vacation in about a decade. Everyone knows why. Yennefer and Geralt haven't been able to be in the same room together since their divorce nine years ago.

Content warning for a past mutually unhealthy/abusive relationship

It's somebody's hare-brained idea to rent a place on the coast a few weeks before Ciri flies off to her freshman year of college. A big family thing like they used to, as much as any of them have ever had family. Musing aloud about why they stopped like they don't all know.

The beachhouse they rent is unreal and clearly only in the budget thanks to the contributions of the resident popstar, who immediately claims the master suite. It's all big, big windows and sleek wood panelling and wet-shiny tile floors and too much glass. Ten bedrooms and an inground pool out back looking right over the dunes and the ocean, rippling.

Geralt scoffs at it, says, what do you need a pool for if the ocean's right there? His beach vacations as a kid with his brothers had been a stuffy motel room with the old man, lugging all their beach gear, towels, chairs, umbrella a few damn blocks on sandy asphalt to the beach and not leaving the water for hours and hours.

Nobody's all that interested in commiserating with his whiny grumbling. They haven't seen each other in years, and some of them haven't ever met at all, not all in the same room under pleasant circumstances.

Geralt's brothers fly in. Lambert's accompanied by his feisty and charming partner, Keira, who walks everywhere with one hand shoved in his back pocket, and Eskel comes bearing gifts of homemade wine and goat cheese and his usual, big, smothering bear hugs that threaten to crack your spine in half. Vesemir arrives and immediately sets himself up in a chair on the pool deck with a margarita, but he nods at Geralt and says something about him doing a good damn job with that girl and Geralt gets up to grab another beer before he can hear whether the old man's proud of him or not.

Triss shows up with regrets that her mysterious new partner is too busy with work, and she doesn't really look at Geralt much at all but kisses Ciri on both cheeks and twirls her around like she's still young enough to play princess tea party like they used to.

There's Uncle Regis, who mostly occupies himself with a little laminated birdwatcher's guide and tiny binoculars, and Auntie Milva with young foster Angouleme, who has maybe finally stopped getting into trouble, and cousin Cahir, who slathers himself head to toe in pasty sunblock and still turns lobster pink after the first day.

Jaskier appears in all his airbrushed tan, blonde highlighted, popstar noisy flourishing wearing pink-tinted glasses and a creamy linen kaftan and kissing everybody full on the mouth in greeting. He's got some young guy with him who must be just about Ciri's age, and they retreat to the master suite together almost right away and don't come out half the trip.

Ciri's delighted by the whole deal, shrieking like the little girl she still is in Geralt's eyes. She and Angouleme and her school friend Mistle scurry up and down the dunes and ride waves on their bellies in the water and return windblown and gritty with sand. Regis, hands on hips and floppy sunhat catching the wind tuts at them about the fragile dune ecosystems, and they stick out their tongues and make a series of rude gestures. Eskel scolds them about showering off before jumping in the pool, and when they resist, he and Lambert threaten to hold the ruffians under the spray of the outside shower, young ladies or not.

And then, a few days in, Yennefer arrives.

It's like all the air's sucked out of the atmosphere when she walks onto the pool deck. Geralt had been down on the beach all day and missed her arrival, and she's dressed in something gauzy and black, sheer enough to see her white bikini underneath and the familiar curves of her body, and her wild curls are loose and she's barefoot. Geralt stares at her toes and stays rooted to his spot by the poolside grill, gripping at a spatula so hard he's afraid the handle will crack.

Lambert leans on his shoulder and says, don't fucking burn the hotdogs, you doofus, and Eskel comes up on his other side and says, you got the shittiest hot dogs imaginable anyway, what did you just waltz in and grab whatever? And Geralt protests that they were on sale and you can't mess up cooking a hot dog anyway, and his brothers throw up their hands and nudge him away to take over.

Then he's just standing there by the pool wearing a grilling apron with some busty tits in a bikini pastered on it, and Yennefer's toes start marching their way closer. He flees. He all but flings himself off the boardwalk down to the water, heels burning on the sand.

He balls up the apron in his hand and leaves it on the beach and breaststrokes out into the water imagining maybe he could swim all the way out past the buoys and just keep going. Or maybe get turned around enough that when he comes back out of the surf, he's in some alternate dimension from a decade ago where he and Yen and Ciri and his brothers still do yearly beach vacations and he didn't screw it all up and Ciri's not yet yo-yoing back and forth between each of her parents in their separate worlds.

She's turned out OK, he knows, but it hadn't been easy for her for a moment and that never fails to chew him up with a nauseous sort of guilt.

When he crawls out of the water and goes back, it's already evening and the big house is fully empty. Gone ice cream, says a note on the kitchen counter and in someone else's chickenscratch it says ur a ding dong. The leftovers from dinner are stowed away in the fridge, and Geralt stands there in the glaring fluorescence of the stainless steel spaceship of a kitchen eating cold hot dogs one after the other until he feels less like he's going to float away from shaky hunger.

Then, he goes right to bed.

Of course, he can't sleep a wink in unfamiliar places, so he lies there in the blue silence of the too big room listening to everybody when they get back, voices echoing through the house. The lot of them play a board game with more gusto than seems necessary, hooting and hollering, and several times, there's a commotion and a splash as somebody gets chucked in the pool for being a sore loser or for cheating or the last time, just because of your face, Eskel yells as he dunks a screeching Lambert again.

Geralt lies there flat on his back and watches the glowing ripple of the pool water against the ceiling of his bedroom, and he must fall asleep eventually because suddenly the house is dead silent.

He can't breathe suddenly, knowing somewhere in this house is a room where his ex-wife is sleeping, maybe curled up with Ciri for old time's sake or maybe staring at the ceiling the same way he is. He doesn't know how to picture her as something that exists in the present, seeing her as she was when she was twenty-five with a slicked back ponytail and bouncing little Ciri on her hip looking a little shell-shocked like she still didn't know how she ended up there, holding a baby and playing house with a guy she only met a year ago.

He remembers her saying, you said I'd make a shit mother and maybe you were fucking right.

He gets up. He tiptoes down the slatted main stairs and goes out the glass door to the pool deck. He's only been standing out there a few minutes when the door slides open, and she's right there.

Like a mirage, the sickly-blue of the pool's chlorine glow washing the underside of her jaw, hooding her eyes, catching in her loose curls. She looks greyscale, ghostly, and Geralt thinks, zombie. As if he's not the one who's been shuffling, shambling, living dead for a whole decade.

He slumps forward against the impractical glass railing of the deck with the absurd thought that maybe if he holds still, she won't see him. When he was a kid, he always dreamed of camouflaging like some slippery amphibian, shrinking away into the background. His freaky albinism and his gangly, gaunt looks mean he's always stood out more than he ever liked to.

Out of anybody, Yen's the only person he's ever met who had always toed this perfect line of looking right over his head, right through him when she felt like it and the next second zeroing in exactly where it hurt. Geralt's always been teetering on a similar knife edge of remembering only the fuzzy-warm good moments and then only the sickening worst of the worst.

The Christmases, the birthdays, the first infamous blind date, the nights in her apartment in Vengerberg where he had a side of the bed that was soundly his and a toothbrush there and a whole drawer in her wardrobe for his mismatched socks and single pair of blue jeans and ugly button downs.

The dropped calls, the cheating, the times she shouted and he bitched and she bellowed and he flung cold, cutting insults, and the sticky red bloodstain congealing on the wall the night she hurled a pint of jam, how he'd sliced his palm cleaning the shards and bled fat drops across her living room carpet and worst of all, when little Ciri stood there moon-eyed and disheveled and woken from sleep watching them without a word.

Yen calls to him, and he doesn't look around. Geralt, you're not invisible no matter how much you want to be, she says, and he drops his head into his hands and pushes his palms flat against his eye sockets. I'm surprised you're here, he says, his voice sounding like someone else's, didn't think you'd actually show.

He can hear her bare feet slap on the damp concrete as she rounds the pool.

He has this weird thought that she's about to snug up tight behind him and her hands will sneak down to grip one buttcheek in each hand the way she used to sometimes, teasing and vulgar and juvenile the way she let herself be with him, putting her pelvis flush against the backs of her hands and calling him sweetcheeks with a throaty drawl that made it sound less like a cutsey moniker and more like a challenge.

He remembers how she'd sometimes lean and kiss his body standing like that if they were alone, too short behind him to reach anywhere but the groove between his shoulderblades, her nose chilled and pointy and her mouth tickling and sending an itch all through the muscles of his back. He always thought about turning around to see what facial expression she hid against his back, but he never once did.

But of course, in the present, she just leans a polite distance away against the rail, and he looks out at the dark smear of the beach and can't really make out the tide or horizon line. Just dark, just percussive waves, and Yen rests a hip against the glass and doesn't look at him either when she says, you're the one who left, Geralt. In Vengerberg way back then. You left.

Geralt swallows and he feels it in every muscle in his face and throat and jaw, like he has to voluntarily flex every minor little one to make it happen. He doesn't know anatomy too well. He thinks he's missing some parts anyway or else it doesn't really make sense why he can't just open his mouth and not say something useless.

He says, yeah, I left. Yeah. You know why, and she hums. He doesn't know why, not with the surety that he used to. The good things and the bad things tangle into confusing knots, and it's impossible to weigh her bad things and his bad things on the scale to see who caused it, who's worse, who broke them.

Back then, he said it was what's best for Ciri, but now, he sees her years of shuttling back and forth across the country, her parents never in the same room for long a whole damn decade, never doing another family beach vacation again, and isn't all that sure. They maybe should have tried to tough it out for her sake, tried that couple's counselor, done some therapy.

Yen seems like she's thinking the same things, because she says, we didn't do too bad with her, did we? I mean. We didn't totally screw her up. He hasn't stood this close to her for so long in maybe nine years. He imagines he can smell a waft of her perfume, lilac-sweet. He says, not totally. Probably. But we did a number on her.

Geralt's half looking out of his periphery, enough to see her face crumple. I mean, he says, I guess no more than anyone does. I think we did what we could do.

Like something from a dream, Yen sighs and leans and suddenly her forehead is pressed against his shoulder, both of her hands are on his bicep, fingers curling tight in a way that hurts a little.

He only hesitates a moment before he turns his body toward her, holding her with the arm she isn't clinging to like a lifeline, and almost to herself, she says, there's still time. He wants to ask, time for what?

He doesn't know how to make himself say all the stuff he wants to. How he even misses the manic pitch voice her voice took when she's yelling. How he thought about calling, texting, something. How when he went to the flowershop that last time, they'd asked him what he wanted to put on the card and he all he could think of was There's nothing at all wrong with you. Because he'd shouted that and worse the night before. But there's nothing wrong with you didn't sound good at all, and he couldn't make himself think what it was that was right with her.

In Vengerberg, he'd left the flowers on the kitchen counter, no note, and cleared his things out of his drawer.

He tucks his face into her neck, hunching down, and rubs his palms against her back again and again. Slow, like he can memorize how she feels again, like he ever forgot in the first place.

He wants to say, there's a lot of stuff right with you, there's nothing more right in the world, but instead he says, missed you, Yen. All small. Remembering how she lit up when he called her that the first few times back then. How she grinned against his smile and he mouthed Yen like it was precious.

He says it now into the nighttime quiet of the pool deck and then can't stop saying it. Yen, yen, yen.

She winds her arms up around his back and clings, hiding her face. There's still time, she breathes, and he gets what she means. It's not a yes or a no but a knife-edge maybe, teetering.

He can feel the silent presence of his whole family sleeping in the hushed mansion behind them, and he knows Yen doesn't really have anybody else, doesn't know how to let herself have anything even though the wanting eats her up to nothing. And maybe he's been cruel, keeping her from this, making it awkward, making her feel like she has to skirt around the edges of a life he's carefully excised her from.

It's already almost dawn, a little glow pinking the horizon line. You want pancakes? he blurts, because it's his turn to do breakfast and she says, remember when you tried to make heart-shaped ones and they all looked like butts?

He remembers. She pulls back a little, enough to really look at him and that means he can really look at her right back, and she says, make mine really really butt-shaped.

And he laughs and is afraid to laugh and laughs anyway, and he doesn't say anything except, butts it is.

When the rest of the house rouses themselves and trickles down to the kitchen hours later, they find a pile of lumpy pancakes warming in the oven and a horrible floury mess all over and a note on the counter that says

really sorry for the mess. and the kitchen too - G&Y.

#yenralt #the witcher #my fic #ficletober #yennefer x geralt #them

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year

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The Viper (Part 11)

Jaskier x gn!reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Twelve

This fic is also on my ao3 if you'd prefer to read it there

Warnings: training with a sharp blade (no injuries), poorly written cockey(?) accent, mention of alcohol (for alchemy; not consumed), Witcher-universe info dump bc it's a hyperfixation and I couldn't resist lol

Word Count: 1585

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“Come at me.”

Your eyes gleamed with a burning fire, excitement and determination dancing behind the slits of your pupils. You stood with your legs slightly apart, knees bent just so. Despite wearing no armor, you stood wide open, arms to either side and hands empty.

Jaskier, who wielded one of your blades, was understandably hesitant to just stab right at you.

“Are you sure?” He dropped his own stance slightly. “I mean, I’m holding a very sharp and dangerous knife and you,” his eyes studied your clothes, lingering for a second on the bit of skin peeking out behind your black undershirt, “you’re… exposed.”

You scoffed. “You’re too afraid of hurting someone. Which, I suppose, is to be expected. But you can’t be.” You gestured for him to strike again. “Imagine I’m a bandit.”

“And what, exactly, would you be stealing?”

“I’m not going to stand around and play make-believe.”

“Oh, come on! I can’t imagine you as a bandit when you’ve got snake eyes and enough muscle to strangle a goat just by looking at it!”

“Ugh, fine.” You glanced over Jaskier for barely a second. Even while training he insisted on wearing one of his colorful doublets. “I’m going to steal your fancy clothes, for one thing. They’re probably worth a few crowns. And then I’m going to knab your lute and break it on a-”

He lunged forward, knife moving toward your heart. And then, he found himself empty-handed, stuck on the business end of your weapon. Even through his surprise, he looked affronted.

“You threatened to break my lute just to- to disarm me?!”

You huffed. “You insisted on playing pretend.” The knife flipped in your hand, handle facing him once more. “Now, do it again, slowly.”

“Why are you showing me how to disarm, anyway?” He pouted as he grabbed the blade back from you. “Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to, ya know, stab?”

“I’d rather you not kill anybody.” You adjusted his stance slightly, making sure he was safe and sturdy; ready to fight. “No offense, but the most action you will likely see as a bard is a bar brawl. And the best way to get out of those alive is-”

“To disarm a bunch of drunks from their tankards?” he teased.

“No.” You returned back to your spot in front of him. “It’s to find a corner so nobody can get you from behind, and avoid any actual fighting.”

His face scrunched in confusion. “Then why…?”

You sighed. “Because if you do get in a bar fight, it’s likely some of them will have weapons of some caliber and knowing how to gain the upper hand by taking their weapons is a good idea.” You got into your stance again, gesturing once more for him to attack you. “Now, again, but slower.”

People stared and whispered to each other as you guided Bayard through the town, searching for a stable. Jaskier seemed mostly unbothered by the… less than welcoming folk. He was rather busy trying to explain the on and off romance he had with the Countess de Stael.

Tretogor wasn’t really much to look at. A muddy, downtrodden town built on agriculture and animal husbandry. Wooden, rickety buildings lined the road. Uneven, split-rail fences blocked in yards that contained drying clothes and barking dogs. From the steps of one house, a voice called out.

“Oi! Witcher!”

You stopped sharpish, Jaskier almost bumping into you. The older, scraggly man faltered under your piercing stare. Still, he stepped forward to meet you in the middle of the road.

“‘Ave a request ta make of ye.” He glanced to the bard.

“What is it?” you urged.

“Ah, we been ‘avin’ some attacks ‘round ‘ere. First it were te cattle. But now some folk’ve gone missin’. Me an’ some ‘unters found a nest up te hill.” He pointed past one of the small buildings that populated the town. “Is in some ol’ ruins, by te graveyard.”

You turned from the hill back to the man. He flinched at the cold yellow. “What’d it look like?”

The man scratched his hand, looking away. “I don’ know, I neva seen it. But,” he perked back up again, pointing down the way, “Oskar might’ve. ‘Is son was taken by te beast.”

“How much?”

“Ah, ‘course.” He pulled out a small purse, but it was light. “I ‘ave 50 now, b-but I can get te boys ta pitch in.”

You nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

The man lit up, hands clasping in prayer as he nearly fell to knees in relief. “Bless ye, Witcher!”

You simply nodded and continued walking, only glancing over your shoulder to make sure Jaskier was following.

His eyes followed the man for a bit further down the road. “What do you think it is?”

You sighed. Your entire body eased slightly, relaxed. Jaskier only saw you so tense and terse with the Reavers back on the mountain. He killed the rest of his thoughts of the mountain before they could fruit into self-loathing and disdain.

“It’s hard to say right now.” You looked toward the graveyard. “If its nest is in the ruins, it could be nocturnal, but that doesn’t narrow it down very far.”

You led Bayard into the stable by the tavern, removing his tack with ease and brushing down his side as you left. But, instead of going inside, you passed Jaskier your saddlebags and some coin.

“Ask for a room. I’ll go find Oskar.”

He nodded, fumbling with the bags to drape them over his shoulder as he’d seen you and Geralt do before. It didn’t look nearly as natural or cool, but it made you grin ever so slightly, so it was worth it.

“What is a cockatrice, exactly?”

You rummaged through your saddlebags, pulling out ingredients - plant seeds and flowers, a container with a fatty white substance, a bottle of alcohol, and another bottle that seemed to glow. As you began mixing different ingredients in bottles and grinding some in your mortar, you answered anything the bard was curious about.

“Well, it’s said to be the result of the egg of a rooster that was incubated by a toad.” Jaskier’s face morphed into a confused grimace. “They’re hard to find, and fighting one is tricky.”

“How come?”

“They usually try bludgeoning you with their wings and tail, and they’re ridiculously fast. So getting close enough to one to attack it without being beat up is,” you sighed, “interesting.”

His fingers rubbed together subconsciously, itching to write down all the info you were supplying him with. “What are you making?” He lifted the small container of fat and sniffed it, before scowling and immediately setting it back down. You huffed a laugh at his reaction.

“Draconid oil and Golden Oriole.” You hummed, shaking up a potion. “I should probably make some Blizzard, too, if I have the stuff for it.”

“Blizzard… That’s the one that makes everything feel slow, right?”

“You’re catching on.” He allowed himself a proud little smile.

“What do the others do?”

You dropped the finished bottle onto the bed. Jaskier picked it up and began turning it over and over to watch the ingredients inside float around. “What you’re holding now is the oil. Witchers apply specialized oils to their weapons to help take down monsters faster.” You scoffed, “Though I knew a fair few who absolutely refused to use them. They said it made the fights too easy, the idiots.

“Golden Oriole,” you poured some alcohol carefully into your tiny potion bottle, “is a sort of buffer. Cockatrices are poisonous, and using this will help so I’m not as easily affected by it.”

His eyes glanced from the potion in his hands to the bottles lined up at your hip. He nodded toward them. “How many can you take at a time?”

You hummed, thinking, as you mixed ground up flowers with a splash of the glowing bottle’s contents. “That’s a bit complicated.” Your eyes met his as you shook up all the ingredients. “Witcher potions are toxic to humans, but we’re not immune to that toxicity. If it builds up to a point we can’t stand it, the effects can be… unpleasant.”

His eyes looked over all the potions again. “How many will you be taking?”

Conjuring a small Igni flame in your hand, you began heating up the Golden Oriole so the contents would mix better. “Not enough to worry about, I assure you.”

He wasn’t very comforted by the dismissive answer, but he let his shoulders relax and didn’t press further. You would know best, anyway. You were a Witcher, after all. He was just a bard that tagged along.

You slipped the oil and Golden Oriole into the holder at your hip. You quickly checked your blades, running a thumb just along the edge to test they were sharp enough. After a moment’s pause, you took the sheath containing your steel dagger and handed it to Jaskier. “Try not to get into any fights while I’m gone, Dandelion.”

He smiled, a flicker of playful mischief in his eye. “No promises.”

Your lips held a grin as you tucked away everything back into your saddlebags and donned your cloak.

“Be careful.”

You caught his eye again, a hint of mischief sparkling within. “No promises,” you mimicked.

You turned and disappeared through the door into the night. He watched you through the window, following your cloaked figure as you walked off toward the hill.

---

Tag List:

@kmuir1

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lex-caspartine

#fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher #witcher #jaskier #witcher jaskier #the witcher jaskier #jaskier the bard #jaskier x reader #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader

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wrongdodo · 1 year

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Murderous knaves and perverts

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier. But like… don’t tell anyone, because it’s a surprise.

Summary: Jaskier knows a thing or two about witchers. After an impromptu gig at a local tavern gets weird, Jaskier enjoys the long walk home with Geralt and they both let off some steam

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving). More plot that I intended to write.

Word count: 3.6k

Authors note: Bit of Geraskier for your nerve! I always thought I’d write super short smut, but I accidentally some plot again. Oops.

Tag list: @madamemelancholysstuff (different to the last two, hope this is up your street!)

Click below for filth only if you're 18+!

Jaskier knew how to get a crowd worked up. Performing was his bread and butter, after all.

Despite the fact that this tavern was at the bottom of arse-fuck nowhere, by the end of his second verse, some of the dreary locals were even clapping along. The bard might have wagered that nobody else had ever played for the tiny village of Baincord... Or Bincord, or whatever it was called.

As the final chords of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher rang through the tiny tavern, Jaskier swore he even heard some people singing. Tunelessly and barely in time, but definitely there. But it should hardly have come as a shock; he didn’t doubt that there were some individuals here tonight who’d never seen a lute- let alone heard one. His rendition of The Fishmonger’s Daughter ensured that the crowd were eating out of his hand, and even encouraged some of the more bashful locals to join in.

What had started as a charitable gig to alleviate some boredom and impart a bit of culture to this dim shithole, had become pretty enjoyable. He decided to finish his set with a soulful ballad, pacifying the crowd and challenging himself to tug at their heartstrings. On the right night, Jaskier’s ballads could pull tears from even the most hardened ruffians.

After taking a bow to the relative-roar of the small crowd, he lifted a jug of cloudy mead from the bar and settled into the most comfortable-looking spot he could find. Spread out along a ragged, barely-cushioned bench, Jaskier took a moment to bask in a job well done. Such was his comfort, he almost dared to rest his boots on the chair adjacent - but stopped short when the scary innkeeper gave him a look.

As expected, it took mere seconds for a pair of new-found fans to approach.

“Can we join you?” one of them asked, coyly curling a ringlet of jet-black hair around one finger. One tall, the other short - the women stood arm-in-arm, pouting and doe-eyed. Jaskier smiled warmly, spreading his arms wide in a theatrical gesture of welcome.

“Please! Ladies, it would be my honour. Did you enjoy the show?”

The duo settled eagerly into the wooden chairs opposite, batting their eyelashes and grinning inanely. The performer smiled back, and idly thought that he was the most famous person they’d ever meet in their plain little lives.

“Oh, it were amazin’!” the red-haired woman beamed. “Felt like bein’ at some fancy party in the city. You rich an’ famous or somethin’?” She could barely contain herself, Jaskier thought with amusement – her entire body jittering with excitement.

“You could say that,” he sipped his mead, slurping in a particularly-chunky bit of something that threatened to make him gag. “I’ve played for a few courts here and there, the odd palace, a royal wedding or two…”

“I said to Ema you was famous!” the dark-haired girl grinned, giving her companion a playful shove. “I knows that song you did! That one about witchers!”

Jaskier could freely admit to himself that he enjoyed attention. This attention, that attention, any attention – he’d take it as it came, soaking up every last drop like gravy on a slice of bread. And although he wasn’t remotely interested in anything else these women had to offer, he could still enjoy a bit of their attention.

“Ah, yes. That’s definitely a crowd-pleaser. One of many crowd-pleasers, I should add. I believe I noticed you two lovely ladies singing along to the chorus?” They looked at each other, giggling shyly.

“Of course, how could I forget such… angelic voices?” The bard’s fibs instantly caused the pair to blush.

“So… you ever actually meet a witcher?” Ema asked –bright eyes sparkling with curiosity in the dim light. Her voice became hushed and breathy. “Daryna reckons there’s one in Baincord. This night.”

“I did says that – seen him with me own eyes, in fact.” The dark-haired woman, Daryna, sat up stiffly in her chair and folded her arms across her buxom chest. Jaskier noted that her tits were almost threatening to pop out the top of her shirt. She suddenly looked quite serious. “Two swords, he had. A grey cloak… and piercin’ eyes, yellow as the moon.”

Jaskier wasn’t surprised that Geralt’s presence was causing a stir among the locals – it often did, especially in smaller villages like this. Still, if all these girls wanted to do was talk about witchers… well, he couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated. Even in absence, Geralt somehow managed to spoil his fun.

“Look, all my works are based on fiction. Myths, tales, legends...” The bard drawled, unable to hide his mild annoyance. It was a disclaimer he’d well-rehearsed. Still, the women seemed not to hear, and were engrossed now in their own conversation, gossiping like loons while he sipped his mead silently. Fucking lovely.

“Devils, they are. Just as like to kill a monster as to kidnap a woman an’ kill her ‘ole family. Murderous knaves and perverts.” Daryna nodded with conviction while she spoke, and her listeners could tell that she truly believed what she said.

“Well, that’s not entirely accurate –“ the Bard cut in, immediately wishing he’d held his tongue. “You know, based on my extensive research. Which was very… extensive.” Nice save, he thought.

When Ema turned to Jaskier, she did so coquettishly – hazel eyes alight. Her gentle smile still managed to show that she had a fair-few missing teeth. “My cousin once bedded a witcher.” Ema reached out to stroke the supple leather of Jaskier’s sleeve, her soft voice far-off and dreamy. “Well, not bedded exactly – ‘cos it were a cowshed... But he loved on her like a man possessed, he did…”

“That weren’t a witcher, you daft cow!” Daryna huffed, snapping Ema from her trance. “That were a weaver. He made baskets.”

“Oh. Well, don’t matter…” the red-head mumbled quietly. She grasped Jaskier’s arm now with a fresh expression of wonder, looking deeply into his eyes. “I heard Bards are even better.” She winked.

That’s more like it, he thought, smiling as he shifted in his seat. Time to flex the old charm. Jaskier’s face settled into a well-practiced expression of flirtation.

“Ladies, ladies… believe me when I say; you’ve heard correctly.” They giggled – no, cackled in response.

But the merriment was short-lived… because Daryna wasn’t done talking about witchers – somethingthat was quickly threatening to bore the bard senseless. She droned on and on; “Unnatural creatures they are - make my skin crawl. My Da says if he catches one sniffin’ round here, he’ll be strung up and gutted like a dog.”

Jaskier bit his tongue – then released it. “Your Father sounds like a treat.”

“He’s the landlord.” she grinned smugly. The scary-looking, bearded chap behind the bar eyed Jaskier as he wiped tankards - with a look that could only be described as quite deadly.

The bard took a nervous mouthful of mead, bits and all, and swallowed it with a gulp.

“Ladies, your interest in the inspiration behind my works is flattering. But wasn’t there something else you’d rather discuss?” Jaskier loved to flirt, and wasn’t going to give up on flexing those particular muscles just yet. He loved the way he could hold someone’s attention, turning on the charm at the drop of an eyelid. Some might say he was out of practice lately, but he’d had plenty of experience to know when someone was into him – and he had suspicions he could have these women hanging on his every word.

Both women reached towards him now, leaning over the table and running their hands over the sleeves of his favourite jacket. The sudden reduction in space took the bard by surprise, and he felt uneasy. Now they were closer, the smell of cheap perfume was rank among the scent of tobacco smoke and ale-soaked wood.

“Well, we was thinkin’… you should join us upstairs. Both of us…” Ema winked – this time Jaskier noticed the ugly way her freckled nose wrinkled when she did. The woman nodded towards her companion as she spoke. “You know, she does this thing with her mouth -”

“- I call it the slimy cockatrice -“ Daryna cut in, waggling her tongue lewdly as she looked deeply into Jaskier’s now-terrified eyes.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Want us to show you?”

Jaskier couldn’t hide a look of pure, unchecked disgust. It could have been the mead, but felt the colour drain from his face as his stomach tumbled.

“Ladies, listen. What I’m about to say I mean with upmost sincerity...” The pair somehow managed to lean even closer as they goggled him expectantly.

“That sounds completely fucking horrifying and I will be sure to have horrible nightmares about it.”

Both women withdrew in an instant, as though stung, and eyed him bitterly. “Suit yer-fuckin-self. Arsehole.”

When the sound of barking cut the silence, Jaskier thought he’d never heard a more blessed, welcome sound. It was as though every scruffy guard-hound in the village had been roused – and it was a sound one quickly became accustomed to when traveling with a witcher.

When Jaskier stood from the table, he did it so briskly that the table lurched across the floor with an ugly scrape. “It’s been a pleasure, it really has. But I believe my ride is here.”

Striding away from their sour stares, Jaskier noticed how his boot-buckles pleasantly jingled as he moved, and wondered why on earth he’d chosen to use the word ride. When he reached the door, it swung easily on rusted hinges.

Geralt stood in the moonlight, cloaked and mysterious beside the gravel road which snaked through town. The bard prayed that his sigh of relief went unnoticed as he approached.

“Not staying?” inquired the Witcher. Jaskier didn’t even stop to shake his head – he briskly began striding down the rudimentary path and hoped Geralt would be right behind him.

“No, I’m not staying. No, thank you. I’d like to go far, far away from here as soon as possible.”

Geralt let out a growl of affirmation. “They didn’t like the music, then.”

Not exactly, Jaskier thought. In fact, he was pretty sure they bloody loved it. But it was easier to let the Witcher assume he’d failed, than to go into specifics. Jaskier decided to choose his next words carefully.

“I think it’s something to do with… a lack of culture.” The dim light of the inn was still uncomfortably visible when Jaskier glanced back. “This is a backwards place you’ve dragged me to, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“How was your night?” If he could draw the Wolf into a bit of chit-chat, Jaskier hoped, then maybe he could take his mind off the evening’s… discomfort. “Did you find out what was lurking by the cemetary?”

“Hmm.” Geralt seemed not to have heard.

“Was it a pack of ghouls? A troupe of goblins? A cluster of fiends?”

Geralt continued to ignore the bard - which was fine, because Jaskier loved guessing games.

“Ooh, a gravier? An imp? An alghoul?”

“Foxes.” The Witcher’s response was as gravely as the path, and much shorter.

“Come again?”

“It was foxes. No monsters.”

Jaskier knew better than to laugh, but couldn’t stop his mouth splitting into a wide grin. “Wow, you must be pretty pissed off.” But it was more than that - the dark look of aggravation on Geralt’s face was hilariously delicious. “Sounds like we both had shitty evenings. How far back to our splendid lodgings?”

“7 miles. Think you can handle that in your ridiculous boots?” he rumbled, finally confirming Jaskier’s suspicions that he hated them.

“I’d walk on my hands if it meant getting further away from that forsaken shithole,” the bard stated plainly. He meant it, too.

There was a long pause, and Jaskier was beginning to think they’d spend the rest of the journey like that - walking doggedly in silence. The young man knew he was always treading a fine line with the White Wolf – somewhere between outrageous annoyance and what he hoped might be genuine affection. Although Jaskier generally considered himself someone that could read people… it was rarely easy with Geralt.

“You made friends tonight.” Geralt’s low voice in the darkness brought the bard away from his thoughts. Like many things the Witcher said to him, he could never be sure if it was a question or a statement. At that moment, he realised that the smell cheap perfume lingered plainly on his clothes.

Well, the bard thought hotly, a little surprised by his own defensiveness. Am I not allowed a bit of fun?

Geralt and Jaskier had a thing. And whatever thing they had, it had never been discussed. But there was something. It felt fragile to Jaskier – like it might to fizzle into nothing if he so much as thought about it for too long.

It was relaxing by the campfire, wrapped in the Witcher’s arms. It was Geralt’s lips against his own during a stolen moment. It was drunken, wordless nights at the inn. Sometimes more, sometimes less. They’d go weeks without addressing it, then days where it was impossible to keep their hands off each other. Geralt was more hot and cold than a… really hot-and-cold thing.

The knot in his stomach reminded Jaskier that he should probably answer.

“Yes, friends. Delightful girls.” The words tasted funny in his mouth. “They said they’d heard of me, knew some of my songs...” Jaskier was quiet for a moment as their heavy footfalls crunched in the gravel. “They said they wanted to bed me, Geralt.”

“Sounds like they wanted to rob you.”

The remark struck a nerve – more than one, in fact. Really, he thought, as if Geralt found it so difficult to believe that someone else might want to sleep with him. But the worst part was that the Witcher was probably right… although he wasn’t convinced that the slimy cockatrice had many takers.

Jaskier leant against one of the more sturdy-looking fence posts that lined the path, needing a moment to level his pride. Geralt watched with interest as the bard lifted one foot, busying himself by picking tiny stones from the sole of his stupid boots.

Eventually, Jaskier spoke. “You know, there was a time not that long ago when they probably would have managed it. Robbing me, I mean.”

Geralt had stopped walking now. Only he knew he knew the playfully curious expression with which he was eyeing his companion. “What changed?”

“I think you know what changed.” Don’t make me say it, I don’t want to be the one to ruin it. But it couldn’t stay undisclosed forever, until it died like some malnourished baby bird. “I’m talking about us. When we… do things.”

For someone who was supposed to be gifted with language, the bard found it simply impossible to find the right words. Geralt loomed closely now, but Jaskier didn’t dare face him. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle touch on his arm that the younger man realised how near they were.

“You’ve changed your whorish ways?” Geralt eyed Jaskier with a smirk, taking him in easily under the moonlight.

The bard allowed himself an awkward chuckle, daring to glance at the Witcher now and meet his gaze. It had already occurred to the bard that, without Geralt, he’d have been forced into a miserable night back at the tavern, too scared to venture back along the path in the dark. But around the Wolf, it was easy to feel safe.

“As a poet, I’d put it a different way…” He responded, easing into a sing-song tone that he hoped might draw some amusement. “I’ve tried the best, so I’ll forget the rest-

“You’re a shit poet.” The Witcher growled, connecting his rough lips with Jaskier’s ear and causing his eyes shut to tightly. Fuck this stupid man - the thoughts ignited brightly in the bard’s mind - he can do whatever he wants to me and I don’t fucking care.

Geralt knew it too. He loved how easy it was to make Jaskier shiver, how the bard bent and snaked in response to his touch. He was used to it with women, but seeing it work on Jaskier was exciting. Pinned between the Witcher’s lips and the fence post, the bard’s knees quivered, as they both knew they would. Geralt ran a lazy hand up Jaskier’s thigh, across the front of his trousers, and tugged purposefully at the waistband.

The owner of the trousers gulped. “You want to do this here? Now? By the road?” He was suddenly pulled uncomfortably away from his lust, and the knot of nerves was back in his stomach. “What if someone sees?”

Geralt’s smile could be felt against the bard’s neck, before rumbling into his ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had your cock sucked under the stars.”

The poet held his tongue, knowing it was probably not a time for honest answers.

Geralt knelt in the gravel, briefly looking up with pale eyes that seemed to reflect the moon. Through nerves, Jaskier bit his lip - but didn’t stop the unfastening of his trousers. There was little doubt in his mind that he wanted it, and when Geralt spoke, all remaining doubt was slain.

“I want to make you feel good.”

Fuck,something about the Geralt of Rivea uttering those words made Jaskier crumble. For all his bombast and confidence, he’d never thought a man like the Witcher would want him like this. But from the first time it had happened, he’d thanked the Gods each day that it had.

When Jaskier’s cock sprang forwards, Geralt wasted no time wrapping his warm mouth around it and drawing a breathy moan from the bard’s throat. They’d never discussed Geralt’s experience with men, but Jaskier had always suspected it was scanty. Not because the Witcher lacked any particular skill, but because of his totally uninhibited enthusiasm. Geralt’s eagerness to please was incomparable to anyone Jaskier had ever been with. If he was inexperienced, the Witcher certainly seemed to relish every chance to practice.

Leaning against a rickety wooden fence under the stars, the poet imagined how they’d look to some local passer-by. Geralt on his knees, serving cock with his mouth, grasping the bard’s narrow hips in his strong hands. Jaskier’s head lolling back, eyes shut in bliss. If those tavern girls could see me now, they’d lose their fucking minds, he found himself musing, with more than a tinge of smugness.

Answering the ache in his jaw, Geralt drew his lips off the bard, gripping his cock in one hand and lapping eagerly over the head. He was enjoying each little groan he could elicit, just by jerking his hand up and down - rotating and sliding the bard’s slick cock across in his palm. This, Jaskier thought, Geralt was particularly good at.

The Witcher rose to plant a heedless kiss on his lover’s shaky lips. When he rolled his pelvis against the bard’s, it drew another groan, allowing the hardness of his own cock to be felt between them.

Jaskier didn’t wait to be asked. Sinking to his knees, trousers pooled around his ankles, he released Geralt’s splendid cock from the confines of his clothing. The white-haired man couldn’t help feeling impressed by how skillfully the bard managed the transition. It was his turn now to lean headily against the wooden fence as Jaskier took the Witcher’s thick cock into his mouth.

There had always been something about sucking cock that Jaskier just adored - but when Geralt filled his mouth, fingers laced in his messy hair, the bard felt transcendent. He settled a hand over his own cock, jerking it skilfully as he enveloped his prize. Hungrily, he worked his lips along the Witcher’s length, tasting every inch with his tongue. They both knew the bard took pride in his ability to please a lover, and in the few times they had done this, it had hardly taken Geralt any time to cum at all.

The Witcher announced his climax breathily, moaning his lover’s name and pulling his pretty mouth deeply against his cock. Gods, how Jaskier fucking loved to hear Geralt moan his name. As he groaned his own reply, the bard spilled his own orgasm messily into the gravel. When Jaskier carefully withdrew his mouth, he ensured every drop was savoured.

The bard glanced up at his lover curiously, watching his broad chest rising and falling against the stars. He was eventually able to stand with only a minor stagger, licking the remnants of his own orgasm from his fingers in a way he hoped was subtle.

“A public footpath, Geralt…” he mused, beginning to fix his trousers nonchalantly. “Never knew you were so filthy…”

“Hmm,” came the gruff reply from the witcher still leaning against the fence. “Not sure I knew either.”

Jaskier smiled, feeling brave enough to plant a kiss on the stubble of Geralt’s jaw. He idly noted how pleased he felt to have the taste of rank mead gone from his mouth. The notion made him smile stupidly.

By the time they met their destination, a tired Jaskier was sure he could see the first pinkish light of dawn creeping from the east. Geralt, of course, had noticed long before. The rest of their journey had passed without incident, giving them both much-needed time to reflect.

If you enjoyed this fic (or even if you didn't) I'd die for feedback of any kind! I'm very new to fanfiction so it would be much appreciated. Thanks :)

Jaskier still hoped that they could leave Bincord as soon as possible, and took comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t be leaving alone.

***

#geralt x jaskier #the witcher smut #witcher sex #the witcher oneshot #geraskeir

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tellhound · 1 year

Text

I posted 15,619 times in 2022

That's 12,245 more posts than 2021!

474 posts created (3%)

15,145 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@goldenkinglouis

@insanityisjustastateofmind

@theamazingrin

@/whatkindofnameisvolta

@/i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

I tagged 9,486 of my posts in 2022

Only 39% of my posts had no tags

#q - 2,460 posts

#the witcher - 1,659 posts

#jaskier - 1,304 posts

#and what you hear is not silence it's just the trees waiting to hear what next you'll queue - 1,069 posts

#geralt - 727 posts

#the amazing devil - 599 posts

#joey batey - 488 posts

#stranger things - 363 posts

#ofmd - 338 posts

#personal - 313 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#also shout out to mcdonald's for that one time i ordered a cheese burger with no pickles and i got a non-cheese burger with only pickles on

My Top Posts in 2022:

Ah yes, I really loved the episode where Jaskier wore this dress!

31 notes - Posted March 25, 2022

Jaskier knows how important Ciri's training is, both with the sword and her magic. But he also seems to be the only one that remembers she's still just a kid. And with everything that's been happening she deserves to have some fun for once. Honestly, they all do.

For a while he just stands there and watches as Geralt and Ciri is training in an attempt not to raise any suspicion, but he's not even sure if the witcher and the princess have even noticed he's there at all.

Eventually though he bends down and scoops some snow into his hands and forms it into a ball, aims and hits Geralt right between his shoulder blades. Quickly he does his best at appearing innocent. Hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels and whistling (not suspicious at all). Geralt just stares at him for a moment or two and if looks could kill...

Ciri and Geralt goes back to doing their thing again only for Jaskier to hit the witcher with another snowball a few moments later. And this time the bard runs for his life, cause Geralt have thrown his blade to the side and is running full speed towards him.

Geralt have almost just caught up with Jaskier when the witcher just stops after having been hit in the back with a snowball for a third time. He's been betrayed by his own daughter child of surprise.

At this point Jaskier is sure that Geralt will either yell at them or maybe actually kill them (or at least him) that hejust stands there in shock when the witcher makes his own snowball and throws it in Jaskier's face.

And so the snowball fight have officially started. He's not sure how long they keep going or even at what point Lambert came and joined them, but when they stop they're all exhausted, cold and wet.

Later when they're all sitting in front of a fire and eating hot soup that Vesemir made for them Geralt will deny that he actually enjoyed himself for once. But Jaskier will never forget the smile Geralt had when they where running around in the snow.

Jaskier knows how important Ciri's training is. But he also knows she's just a kid. So if snowball fights become a regular thing in Kaer Morhen after that... Well, nobody needs to know.

50 notes - Posted February 6, 2022

Joey Batey sweaty, dirty and bloody in the King music video 😍

72 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

Listening to the amazing devil feels like going over to a friend at the end of a long week and getting embraced in arms that makes you feel safe, makes you feel like you're home. And it feels like being told that it's okay, that you're allowed to feel whatever emotions you're feeling. They may not make sense, but your feelings are valid.

169 notes - Posted March 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

It's a late afternoon in the middle of the summer. Geralt is filling his and Jaskier's waterskins with water from a stream not too far from where they've set up camp. In the distance he can hear Jaskier gently strumming his lute, playing a slow, beautiful melody he haven't heard before. If he listens really carefully he can hear the bard humming along to his own melody.

He gives Roach a pat a little later when he's walked back to camp and puts the waterskins in their bags before walking over to Jaskier and sitting down beside him. Jaskier looks over at him with a smile as he continues to strum his instrument.

For a while they just sit there, but eventually Geralt shifts so he can lay down with his head in Jaskier's lap. The beautiful melody goes on a little longer before Jaskier gently lays down the lute at his side before he bends down to kiss Geralt on the mouth and starts playing with the witchers hair.

"You have no idea how much I love you." Geralt is almost asleep by the point that Jaskier whispers this.

"To the moon and back." the witcher replies, cause Jaskier have told him this so many times before. He'll never get tired of hearing it though.

In a perfect world every day would be like this. But all good things comes to an end. For now though he'll just enjoy that he's lucky enough to even experience this love and happiness at all.

"I love so much." he says and Jaskier is kissing him again. He's not sure what he must have done right in life to deserve someone as sweet and kind as the bard whose lap is currently his pillow. But whatever it was he's glad he did it.

Also avaible on ao3 so this doesn’t just get lost

169 notes - Posted March 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false

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dancingwiththefae · 2 years

Note

Number 50 for the touching prompt please? Any pairing would be fantastic!

Thank you for the prompt! I went for Yennskier for this

this one got a bit smutty

"putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up"

CW: explicit sexual content, semi-public handjobs

wc: 668

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

He spotted her in the audience. There was a glint of something in her eyes. The kind she got when she was up to something and you were the only person in the world in on her secret. Jaskier knew what she was up to. She didn’t come here to watch bard after bard peacock around on stage. And while she tolerated – and sometimes even enjoyed – his music, she hadn’t really come to see him perform either. Bardic competitions weren’t really her thing. He knew why she had come, but he couldn’t concentrate on that right now. He’d be the talk of the town for all the wrong reasons if he got a bit too excited too soon.

He watched her get up and leave out of the corner of his eye as the last notes rang out. The crowd cheered. He gave a bow, soaking in the applause. When he looked back again she was gone. He thanked the audience for just as long as was polite and hurried off stage.

He found her standing in an empty corridor backstage, arms folded. She quirked a brow as he approached.

“Ah! There you are.” He spread his arms out to greet her but was met instead with a hand grabbing his collar and pulling him around the corner. He found himself with his back against the wall, Yennefer crowding him close. With one hand still grasping tight to his collar, she used to other to cup him through his trousers. He let out a shaky breath. It was a game they played sometimes. One Jaskier knew well. He grew hard under her touch. Well, he had been anticipating this all day. With a small sigh he leaned his head back to rest against the wall while Yennefer fumbled with his trousers.

“Remember to keep quiet,” she murmured. He knew he had to be quiet. Of course he knew. But knowing it was one thing. Actually doing it was another. Especially when Yennefer reached down to squeeze his balls as soon as she said it. She had loosened the waist just enough to slip her hand in and pull his cock out. She gripped him at the base. She gave him a few slow strokes at first to get him used to her touch before picking up the pace. He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his lips. The hand on his collar immediately flew to his mouth, pressed firmly to stop any more noise escaping.

“Shut up,” she whispered harshly, “you don’t want anyone to find you like this, do you?”

And wasn’t that the thrill of it. The fact that anyone could walk around the corner and find them. They probably won’t, because nobody really comes down here. But it could still happen. He stifled a moan into her hand as she worked him faster.

His thighs shook with the effort to stay upright. It was getting harder to keep quiet as he got close. He thanked every god he could think of that Yennefer kept her hand firmly in place. Which wasn’t many. It was hard to think when a beautiful woman had her hand round your cock and was about to make you come. And she didn’t let up. It was rough and quick and sending him hurtling towards the edge. A few more strokes and then he was here, coming with a muffled groan.

Yennefer pulled out a handkerchief, wiped her hand and made him presentable again. She cupped his cheek as he caught his breath. They looked at each other a moment. And then Yennefer leaned in and gave him a rough kiss. She smirked as she pulled away. Jaskier wasn’t sure he was capable of any expression except stare at her with his mouth open.

“Now get back out there and win.” She playfully tapped his cheek as she spoke. Then she turned on her heel and stalked away around the corner and out of sight. Jaskier listened to her footsteps fade.

Hand-holding/Hugs/Kisses/Touching Prompts

#yennskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier x yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #faye writes

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bambirex · 7 months

Text

It's A Game We Play: Chapter 3

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies), crack, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe-modern setting

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 7,390 words

Chapter word count: 2,576 words

Chapters: 3/?

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: Geralt, Radovid and Yennefer all receive letters from someone who meant a lot to them many years ago. Meanwhile, Jaskier seeks support from his best friends, oblivious to the letters his daughter forged in his name.

Author's notes: Obviously, the letters found them. Here's some more personal info about the three candidates, and a little friendship sweetness.

Read on Ao3

“Dad! Dad! Are you asleep?”

“Not anymore. You sound like a fire alarm.”

Geralt groaned as Ciri jumped on the bed, hitting him in the side with her knees. Geralt rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a sigh. He only had work in the afternoon, and he hoped he would get to sleep in late for once in his life- his daughter had different ideas, clearly.

“Thank God for summer break,” Geralt murmured as he glanced at his digital watch on the bedside table. “What possessed you at 7 in the morning that you had to scream me awake?”

“I’ve been up since 6,” Ciri replied as she lounged on Geralt’s bed. “The mailman was here.”

“Okay.” Geralt failed to see why that was such a big deal that Ciri had to wake him up for it.

“You got a letter,” Ciri announced as she propped her feet up on Geralt’s lap, ignoring her father’s morning misery.

“Okay.”

Geralt didn’t really receive letters, except for the advertisement mags he definitely did not subscribe to. Ciri called him a hermit, but that was an over-exaggeration: Geralt simply wasn’t too fond of people. He didn’t like big crowds and loud noises, so he tried to avoid them as much as he could. He enjoyed living a simple, routine-filled life: he got up, went to work in the town’s small gym, took care of his clients, then he went home to his farm where he only had to interact with his brothers and his adopted daughter. Geralt was completely fine with this. He didn’t need chaos in his life. The less mess, the better, was what he always said.

“You never get letters,” Ciri pointed it out. Geralt hummed and closed his eyes again, sinking back into his pillow. Even without his eyes open, he could imagine Ciri’s cheeky grin as she said, “it’s because you’re a hermit.”

“Thanks for reminding me again,” Geralt chuckled. “What would I do without you?”

He meant it sarcastically, but he truly didn’t know. Funny how that was, because he never thought himself to be good father material when he was younger. He never believed he could give a child the kind of love they deserved. But as he got older, he realized he was much more of a family man than he originally thought. He lived his life surrounded by his brothers, and while they got on his nerves, he really loved them. Hitting his forties, Geralt realized he had a lot of love to give, and while he never managed to find a partner he was comfortable committing to, he did want a family of his own. He and his brothers were all adopted, raised by a single father who took care of them after their biological families stopped wanting to. It inspired Geralt to lean into the caring streak inside him, and thus, he adopted a ten years old girl, Ciri, four years prior.

She was a sassy thing, a real teenage menace now that she was fourteen years old. She was stubborn and always got in trouble, but Geralt was a patient man. He loved his daughter with all his heart, even when she kicked him awake because of a stupid letter.

“I didn’t realize you had friends,” Ciri continued, poking him in the face with the paper. “Especially from Thanedd Island. Isn’t that a little too far away?”

Geralt sat up so quickly he nearly sent Ciri flying off the bed. His heart sped up inside his chest as he stared at the letter in his confused daughter’s hand.

“What did you say?” Geralt croaked. Ciri raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“Thanedd. Some Jaskier sent it to you?”

The room started spinning with Geralt. He kept staring at the letter, waiting for it to disappear and find out it was all just a dream. Thanedd. Jaskier. Shit. The memories flooded his brain right away. It was twenty years ago, but he still remembered the time he’s spent with Jaskier, clear as day. He remembered the pretty Omega waving him down in distress when his car decided to die under him. He remembered intense blue eyes on him all the while he helped him change his tire. He remembered running into Jaskier pretty much every day after the accident, feeling both annoyed and endeared by his insistent flirting. He remembered the night they’ve spent together, Jaskier in his arms, looking up at him with such adoration like Geralt hung the moon and the stars.

Geralt remembered feeling love like he has never felt before, and hasn’t felt ever since.

But he was scared of those new, confusing feelings, and he ran away from them. He loved Jaskier, he really did, but he was a stupid, young Alpha who wasn’t really okay with himself and who didn’t know what he wanted out of life. So, he broke Jaskier’s heart and his own. The look on Jaskier’s face when Geralt said goodbye to him still haunted his dreams.

He took the letter from Ciri with shaky hands. The envelope even smelled like Jaskier, sweet cinnamon that made Geralt’s head swim. He had no idea what he would find once he opened that envelope, but he had to know. After spending so much time trying to forget Jaskier, he realized he wasn’t able to.

The knock on his door felt like a real salvation. If Radovid had to listen to one more word coming out of that man’s mouth, he would’ve done something that would land him in jail. He had a degree in economics, and the guy thought he couldn’t count?

He should have been used to this by now, probably. Radovid inherited the company about twenty years ago, and all the jealous douchebags thought it was just handed to him. It may have happened a bit suddenly, but Radovid wasn’t just sitting on his throne and making his employees do all the work. He finished college, graduated top of his class, and built a thriving business from scrap all on his own. Most executives were old, uptight Alphas who thought of Betas as a useless secondary gender, so of course, they looked down on him. It was very satisfying to show them that Radovid could do better than all of them- still, having to take part in an online conference with an absolute idiot wasn’t his favorite way to start his day.

“Come in.”

His secretary poked her head inside with a polite smile.

“Hey. You’re still on that conference?”

“I turned it off. What’s up, Kara?”

“You got a letter,” she said as she entered his office. Radovid sent her a confused look.

“An actual, hand-written letter? And it’s not a gas bill?”

“It was sent to you, personally,” Kara said as she handed the envelope to him. Radovid took it with a sigh. He was certain it was a mistake, or maybe one of the execs decided to threaten him and they skipped sending e-mails.

Radovid nearly fell out of his chair when he noticed a familiar name on the envelope.

Him and Jaskier spent a lovely time together on Thanedd Island. Radovid hasn’t met anyone like that Omega ever since. He was sweet, but sassy, dorky but deeply intelligent- and beautiful, the most beautiful thing Radovid has ever laid his eyes on. He could have been just a one-night stand, an adventurous Omega Radovid had fun with, but he was more than that. They didn’t just have sex: they connected. Every look, every touch, every sweet smile was remarkable. He left a mark on Radovid, but he couldn’t stay there with him on the island. He needed to come back home and take care of things. Too much time has passed since then for him to try and seek Jaskier out.

It made no sense. Jaskier must have settled down with someone since then, had a family. He deserved it.

Radovid has entertained the thought, sometimes, but then he always realized he wasn’t cut out for that. He never settled down, never bonded with anyone. His schedule was too packed for that. It was probably pathetic, that he cared more about his mango trading organization than about his own happiness, but he simply didn’t have time for the latter. And, let’s face it, the idea of him as a family man was ridiculous. He wasn’t meant for that.

But Jaskier must have matured since then, must have found himself a gorgeous Alpha or whoever he wanted. He most definitely wasn’t a workaholic, stuck-up businessman with no personal life outside of his one-night stands like Radovid was.

God, what could he want from him after all those years? What could be so important, that Jaskier wrote to him, a personal letter, especially?

Radovid swallowed heavily as he opened the envelope to find out.

Yennefer stared at the piece of paper in her hands. She had half a mind to throw it into the trash. It must have been a prank. Someone must have been messing with her. Because there was no way that someone she slept with twenty years prior would suddenly decide to send her a letter out of nowhere.

And yet, the name on the envelope belonged to the Omega that Yennefer so desperately tried to forget. Jaskier, the fucking moron who tried to seduce her all the time while she did her internship at the inn on Thanedd. She tried to resist him, but then her heart got the better of her and she took him to bed. Yennefer hated to admit it, but no one could ever compare. And she hated it even more, but she may have fallen in love with that ridiculous Omega on that night.

The boy must have put a curse on her, maybe that was why she never managed to find the one. It wasn’t as if she never tried: she longed for a deep bond, someone she could love, and someone who would love and take care of her in return. She wanted children, a family. But she never managed. Nothing ever worked out for her. No one was ever right. Either her partner didn’t want things to be as serious as she did, or Yennefer bailed, realizing she wasn’t with the right person.

Her life was quite the mess, to be completely honest. She was forty years old, mate-less, childless, working as a cook in a small bistro instead of being the Michelin star chef she dreamt to be. Yennefer has given up on finding a happy ending for herself, long before her last divorce was finalized a couple months prior.

She knew what her colleagues at the bistro thought of her, what most people did. Jaskier called her strong, beautiful, and confident. It really sucked that it turned out she was none of those things. Alright, she was hot, at least- she still had that, if nothing else was going on in her life anyway.

And now, this. This stupid letter, and stupid Jaskier. Why the hell did he decide to do this just now, what could have happened that made him write Yennefer a freaking letter after literal decades?

Yennefer twisted the paper around in her hand. She should have probably thrown it away to save herself from the mess it probably contained.

Yet, for some reason she couldn’t explain, she decided to open the envelope anyway.

Jaskier was glad he had such great friends like Essi and Priscilla. He’s met them shortly after he permanently moved to the island. Essi was a sweet Omega who was now married with two teenage kids, and Priscilla was a painfully honest Beta who enjoyed her singledom greatly. Without them, Jaskier probably wouldn’t have survived. They always offered him a shoulder to cry on, whenever he needed it. They even formed a band, “The Sandpipers”, though they mostly just played for themselves and sometimes at the inn, and not really in general, lately. Essi and Priscilla felt like sisters to Jaskier, so of course, he turned to them again.

He told them about what Amaryllis said. They listened to him intently, holding his hand all the while. It made Jaskier emotional, which was a common occurrence, lately.

“I hate that Amaryllis is miserable,” Jaskier sighed. “She wants her other parent to walk her down the aisle, like, where did this even come from? And how could I give that to her? I don’t even know…I'm not sure who it is.”

“Hey,” Essi spoke softly, “don’t worry, okay? Maybe she will forget about it.”

“And what if she won’t?”

“Essi’s right,” Priscilla chimed in, “she will have plenty of things to occupy her brain with. She won’t have time to think about this.”

“I love my daughter so much,” Jaskier whispered, staring down at his lap. “I would literally walk through fire for her. But this? I can’t give her this. And I hate that. I don’t want to ruin her wedding.”

“With what, exactly? Not having someone she doesn’t even know there?” Priscilla chuckled. She wrapped an arm around Jaskier and pulled him closer. Jaskier rested his head on her shoulder. “Look, don’t beat yourself up over this. The past is in the past. You were a slut, so what? It doesn’t matter. You’re a great parent to her.”

“The best,” Essi cooed as she ruffled his hair gently. “And Amaryllis knows this, too. Don’t feel guilty. I’m sure Amaryllis is just a little sentimental with her wedding coming up, it makes sense. But it will be all okay. She’s gonna have a beautiful wedding, and the only tears we will see will be tears of joy.”

“You wanna get your acoustic guitar out, sweet cheeks?” Priscilla grinned at Jaskier. “We could fire up The Sandpipers again.”

Jaskier snorted. “You want me to sing about my feelings? I have a better idea. I have a bottle of…”

“It’s better than trying to drink them away,” Priscilla cut him off quickly. “Do you remember your rendezvous with that tequila?”

“You threw up in a bush,” Essi giggled, “and then you apologized…to the bush.”

“Alright, no drinking,” Jaskier chuckled. He squeezed his friends’ hands tightly. “Thanks, girls.”

Essi and Priscilla enveloped him in a tight hug. Jaskier sank into it with a grateful smile. He hoped his friends were right, and that Amaryllis truly wasn’t in anguish over this. That idea was just horrifying. If everything went right, by the time her wedding came, Amaryllis wouldn’t even remember ever bringing this up.

Dear Geralt…

Dear Radovid…

Dear Yennefer…

I hope you still remember me. I’m the Omega you’ve spent time with on the island in the summer of 2002. I know my letter must come as a surprise to you. I need to tell you something, but I can’t write it down. I’d much rather tell you in person. I still live on Thanedd, so you know where to find me. We have to meet up. It’s a matter of life and death!

The ferries come in every hour on Saturdays. Please, be on the one that arrives at 2 in the afternoon. I’ll meet you at the dock. If my letter found you at all, please, be there, this is very important. And pack enough clothes for a few weeks? I feel like we can't get this sorted out in a day, so be prepared for staying a little longer.

With love,

Jaskier

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buckyodinson · 2 years

Text

Ballrooms and Bedrooms

Jaskier x f!Reader

Request from anon: Reader is a princess who is betrothed to another noble who is probably twice older than her and during her engagement party Jaskier is playing and starts flirting with her? They flirt with each other all night then she asks Jaskier to take her virginity, because she would rather give it to someone she likes and trusts. Jaskier does and maybe at the end of the night he convinces her run away with him

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (please be safe peeps!)

A/N: I had so much fun with this one! It’s the longest fic I’ve written in a while and I’m still not 100% sure about my smut, but I had fun with this regardless. I just love Jaskier!! Hope you enjoy anon!

Being a nobleman’s daughter meant you had no choice over your own life. You couldn’t pick how to style your hair, what dresses you wore, how you decorated your room, who you spoke to, anything.

And you certainly couldn’t decide who you would be married to.

Your father claimed he was being generous in the lead-up to your marriage, as he was allowing you to choose the entertainment for the engagement party. He gave you a list of performers from across the Continent and you were allowed to make the final decision. You rolled your eyes as he rambled on about how generous he was being by letting you choose.

You weren’t at all bothered about what music would be playing in the background during the party that signified the signing over of your life to another man, but when your father gave you the scroll with the list of performers, the first name stuck out to you.

Jaskier.

You had heard of Jaskier the Bard before. He had quite a reputation for his songs about a Witcher he travelled alongside once. You had also heard he was easy on the eyes too, which couldn’t hurt. You were going to spend the rest of your life married to a man at least twice your age who looked much closer to death than anything else. So watching the bard perform for one night couldn’t hurt, right?

You didn’t need to read any other names to know who you were picking.

The day of the engagement party rolls around and you’re trying your best to look somewhat happy at the head table, but you just want it over with. Only once Jaskier appears do you feel any happiness at the situation. He makes his introduction to the head table, and thanks you all kindly for allowing him to perform for you before he prepares.

Jaskier absolutely lights up the room while he performs. He plays some songs that are well known among the crowd and gets big reactions, but also plays some new songs and the whole room hangs onto his every word. You’re so engrossed in his performance, you don’t recoil from your soon-to-be husband’s foul hand reaching out for yours on top of the table. Only once Jaskier finishes singing do you realise the weight upon your hand and pry it from his grip, giving a round of applause for the bard as he bows and thanks the crowd.

After his performance your father’s court musicians start to play some background music for the party, and you’re finally allowed to leave your table and mingle with the people in the hall. You know nobody in the room except your own father, and your soon-to-be husband, whom you’ve only ever met once previous to tonight’s party. So you approach Jaskier as he slings his lute over his back and approaches the drinks table.

“You live up to your reputation, Jaskier. Quite a triumphant performance.” You smile as you grab your own drink from the table beside him.

“My lady,” He bows to you immediately, “I’m glad I could play a part in the celebration.”

“Yes, and what a celebration it is.” You widen your eyes mockingly and grumble into your goblet.

“Is the party not to your liking?“

“Nothing is to my liking except your performance. You performing here was the only decision I was allowed to make in this whole affair.” You gesture to the hall filled with strangers.

“I must say I’m honoured that you chose me.” You notice he’s blushing slightly and you can’t help but smile at the boyish look it gives him. You’re drawn to his bright blue eyes which look at you with sincerity

“I’ve heard of your tales of wonderful adventures with Geralt of Rivia. I figured I’d like to hear them in person from you, as I doubt I’ll be adventuring anytime after this marriage.”

“How so?” Jaskier asks, seemingly genuinely interested in you.

“I’m being married off to Lord Estendra purely for the unity it will create between him and my father. And I assume the Lord will want a son to carry on his legacy, and he’ll need a pure host.” You scoff.

“The marriage is arranged?” Jaskier speaks solemnly.

“Indeed.”

“I’m truly sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, you’ve provided me with my last little morsel of joy before I’m confined to serve my Lord until his dying breath. So thank you.” You smile despite everything.

“Would you care to dance with me, my lady? Push away the inevitable for just a little longer and enjoy the now?” Jaskier abruptly puts his drink down on the table and holds a hand out to you.

“It would be my honour.” You place your own drink down and accept his hand.

He leads you to the middle of the hall, where there are already some people dancing. A jovial song is playing and you skip and spin around the hall, and you imagine it’s what dancing around a tavern would feel like with all the village drunks. You can’t help but laugh as you and Jaskier move around the dancefloor.

When a slower tune plays, Jaskier sways you around effortlessly. You make mindless conversation as you sway and you study his eyes, trying to sear them into your memory so you can always remember them when you’re looking into the cold eyes of your husband.

“It’s a shame we met under these circumstances.” he laments earnestly.

“Perhaps you can write a song about me and I’ll hear it one day.” You smile up at him as you sway.

“What would you have me call it?

“How about ‘The Nobleman’s Daughter’? Since your Fishmonger tune gathers quite a crowd.” You asked with a sly smile.

“Well, I think that’s due to the rather indelicate subject of the song.” He responds with his own smirk and a wink for good measure.

“I think I’d quite like to see the looks on my father and husband’s faces at hearing a song like that and finding it is about their ‘pure and fair’ lady.” You press yourself against his body closer, not caring if anybody thinks it’s unseemly.

“What exactly are you implying?” Jaskier perks an eyebrow up, intrigued by your comment, but also trying to keep his cool.

You lean in close and speak lowly into his ear, “That you would whisk me away to one of the many rooms in this forsaken palace and take me to bed. Ruin me for the old man I’ll be married off to by the end of the week. I don’t want him to be the one to take my virginity from me.”

“I would be more than happy to oblige, believe me, but are you sure? You barely know me.” He’s surprised but intrigued by your forwardness.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And besides, even after just this evening I already know more about you than the man I’m to marry.”

You sidle off the the edge of the hall, hand in hand, and after taking a glance around the room you sneak out of the large doors. Nobody is remotely interested in you, all anyone cares about is congratulating Lord Estendra on his conquest to find a young and chaste wife.

You take a quick look down each end of the long corridor and upon seeing nobody, you shuffle quickly along it to find the passageway to your room.

You reach your door, and push Jaskier in before you, taking one more quick look around the passage before following him and bolting the door shut behind you.

Jaskier stands in the middle of your room awkwardly, not sporting the usual nonchalance he would have in a situation such as this. He’s taken women away from parties and into their beds more times than he can count on his fingers, but this is different.

He’s known you for such a fleeting moment, but his mind is already filled with melodies and lyrics about your beauty and grace, and your wonderful personality and humour.

And your sadness.

His mind is filled with sadness at the thought of what your life will soon become. A loveless marriage you’ve been forced into with an old man who you don’t know. He wishes he could take you away from it all, but knows he can’t. But what he can do is give you this one night of pleasure to remember him by.

And just like that, he’s snapped out of his stupor. He looks over at you standing equally as awkward by your door and holds a hand out to you. You tentatively step towards him and place your hand in his. He tugs on your hand until you fall into him. You place your hands on his chest to steady yourself and he wraps an arm around you while reaching his other hand up to cup your cheek.

He dips his head down until his lips are ghosting your own and he stays there, letting you be the one to close the gap. You lean in and melt into him. Jaskier’s lips are soft as they move carefully against yours.

After a few seconds he pulls away and smirks as you lean into him to chase the kiss. He plants a kiss on the top of your nose and heat rises in your cheeks as he moves around you and starts to unlace your dress.

He moves your hair out of the way and plants a kiss at the nape of your neck as he makes swift work of your dress, and the chemise under it. Once they’re pooled on the floor beneath you, he moves in front of you again, looking at you in the thin underwear you’re now left in. You move your arms to cover your chest and look down, blushing.

“What’s wrong, love? Do you want to stop?”

“No, it’s just… sorry, I’ve just never been this exposed before.”

“My love, don’t be sorry. Here-“ Jaskier wastes no time stripping down until he’s completely naked and standing unashamedly in front of you, making you laugh at his brazenness. “Now if anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me.” He grins cheekily at the smile that has worked its way onto your face.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about Jaskier, you’re beautiful.” You can’t help but reach out and feel his broad shoulders, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together at the groan that leaves his throat when you run your fingers down his chest, raking your nails lightly over the hair littered over his skin. You blush when you notice his clear arousal at the sight of you too.

Before you know it, he’s capturing your lips again and removing the final pieces of fabric separating the two of you. All you can do is grab handfuls of his hair as he moves the two of you over to your bed. He lifts you up and places you softly onto the sheets. You stare up into those once oceanic eyes which now seem dark as night with lust, but still carry a lingering sweetness despite it.

“Are you still sure you want this? Want me?”

“Yes, Jaskier. I want you.”

He presses open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, and all you can do is lay there while he worships your body and litters your skin with kisses further and further down until he settles between your legs.

You lift your head and are met with the sight of those beautiful eyes staring back up at you and a mischievous grin on his lips. You gasp as he licks a broad stripe up your core. Instinctively, you grab a fistful of his hair as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily at you, taking all the pleasure you’ll give him. His tongue drops down to your entrance and probes lightly while a finger presses lightly on your clit, revelling in the noises escaping you. He spends his time working you up before pushing a finger into you.

Your strangled groan catches you off-guard and you heard Jaskier’s muffled laugh at your reaction. You feel him groan into you too, and you wonder if he is enjoying himself as much as you are. He pushes another finger into you and you relish in the feeling of the stretch.

“I suppose your fingers are good for much more than just strumming on your lute, dear bard.” You attempt at wit but just as quickly devolve back into moans and whimpers as his fingers push further into you and curl, brushing against a wonderful spot within you.

“I’ll wager I can make you sing just as pretty as my lute.” He lifts his head and smirks.

You didn’t think he could look anymore attractive than he already was, but the look on his face now drew the very breath from your lungs. His hair was all over the place from where your hand was still buried in it. His eyes were hooded with lust and his lips and chin were glistening with your arousal. He threw you a wink before diving back in, and now you could feel the pressure building as he worked his fingers and tongue quicker until you felt your resolve snap and Jaskier laps up everything you give him while you whine.

You’re panting as he crawls his way back up your body, planting kisses as he goes until he’s hovering above you once more. He captures your lips again and slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan at the obscenity of tasting yourself upon his lips.

“That was- that was amazing…” you breathe out shakily when he pulls away.

“Do you want to go further, because we can stop there if you want?” He carefully moves a bit of hair out of your face and looks lovingly down at you. You feel the weight of him on your stomach and find it sweet that he’d happily ignore his own need in favour of your comfort.

“I want you, Jaskier. Please.” You whimper and he’s kissing you to smother the noise as he notches himself at your entrance and pushes in slowly.

You grab onto his arm tightly as he pushes in the first time. He goes so slowly and stops once he’s flush against you, waiting for you to adjust and give him the go ahead.

He just about exploded from the feeling of being inside you. Yes, he’d fucked plenty of women in his time, but you were different. You were so soft and warm and inviting, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the mere thought of how perfect you were.

“Move, Jas, please.” The little nickname spurred him on and he rolled himself in and out of you over and over until you were both sweating and panting. You wrapped a leg around his hips and it provided such a lovely angle when he continued to thrust into you.

“You’re so perfect, so perfect for me.” He rambled as he pressed his lips against your neck. All you could do was moan his name incoherently as he undid you completely.

You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged lightly, earning the most delicious groan from him, so you did it again and he rewarded you by kissing you fervently and snaking a hand down to find your clit and apply just the right amount of pressure to make your vision go white.

You clenched down on him hard as you found your release, and Jaskier followed suit quickly after, spilling into you before he even had the thought to pull out. You didn’t seem to care and he just collapsed down onto you, still inside you.

You both caught your breaths and Jaskier finally pulled out of you and moved to lay next to you. He looked at you and you were the image of an angel. You were glowing, and the look of pure pleasure was plastered over your face. He couldn’t help but lean over and press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

A weak “Thank you Jaskier.” was all you could muster as he lifted himself out of the bed to find a cloth to clean you up with. You were making no effort to get up and put yourself back together to return to the party so he climbed back into bed behind you, rather than making his usual quick getaway in a situation such as this.

He wrapped his arm over you and pulled you back against him, running his fingers over the skin of your stomach. He plants feather-like kisses against the back of your neck and shoulders and you sit in silent bliss for a while.

“Run away with me.” He murmurs against your skin and you whip your head around to look him in the eyes.

“What?”

“Run away. With me. I don’t have much to offer you, I’m but a bard after all. But we could find somewhere together, and you can have the life you want. You can choose what you’d wear and how we’d decorate and everything else you want.”

“Really?” His heart bursts at the innocence in your features and it only makes him more certain he won’t leave you here to the fate that’s been decided for you by your father.

“Absolutely. I apologise for being crude but fuck your father, and fuck Lord Espadrille or whatever his fucking name was anyway.” You chuckle as you find yourself unable to remember his name either, your mind too clouded with Jaskier to think of anything else.

“How will we leave?” you knit your eyebrows together and he presses a kiss over them until your features soften.

“I’ve snuck out of many castles in my days, trust me. It’ll be easy.” He winks and gives you his trademark boyish grin before hopping out of bed and getting back into his clothes.

You quickly follow suit, though on shaky legs as you change into a much simpler dress than the gown you had to wear for the party. Jaskier helped you pack your clothes and belongings into a bag and you took one final look at your room. A final look at your old life.

Then you turned and looked at Jaskier stood at your door. Your new life awaited you behind those doors with that very man. And you couldn’t wait.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier x y/n #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher imagine #the witcher fic #the witcher oneshot #jaskier fluff #jaskier smut #jaskier imagine #jaskier fic #jaskier fanfic #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier oneshot

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dont-touch-the-phlebotinum · 2 years

Text

from within this gaping wound of ours

geralt/jaskier post S2 fix-it, cause i’m real emo about the bard, gang. 1.6K words, rated T. spoilers for season 2, obviously

Kaer Morhen was, slowly but surely, returning to its usual state. The monsters had been dragged down into the laboratory for study, the fallen witchers returned to the earth, and the damage done to the great hall was steadily being righted. There was still far more to do, but for now, it was time to rest.

The remaining wolves were in the hall, laughing and drinking like it was any other winter's evening in the keep, the sound following Geralt as he made his way through the corridors to check on Ciri before he turned in for the night. He paused at the sound of a quiet sniffle coming from the darkness of the hall to his left.

"Jaskier?"

Jaskier was stood alone in the shadows, leaning against the wall and peering into the great hall below. He didn't answer. As Geralt stepped closer he could see Jaskier's eyes were shining in the light spilling from the hall. The scent of shed tears was thick in the air.

"Why aren't you down there with the others?"

"It isn't meant for me," Jaskier said.

He hugged his arms to his chest and dropped his temple against the stone as he watched the others, and Geralt hung awkwardly a stride's length away from him. He wasn't sure he'd earned the right to step into Jaskier's space again yet.

There was still something off between them, as much as they both tried to act as if nothing had changed. If Geralt could sense it, no doubt Jaskier was well aware of it, too. They didn't get too close to one another; always remembering themselves and coming to a stop a respectable distance away; always moving as if to reach out, to touch, but thinking better of it. Geralt didn't know what to say to make it better.

Maybe all it needed was time. But the longer this strange holding pattern they were stuck in went on, the worse the ache in Geralt's chest grew.

An ache that Geralt had created himself. Because he'd been hurting, and Jaskier had been the one there to face the consequences. The pain caused by this distance between them now was the least Geralt deserved.

"If you don't want to stay here," Geralt said, even as the thought of Jaskier wanting to leave seemed to constrict his lungs, "I'll take you wherever you want to go."

"I don't have anywhere else to go."

Jaskier finally met his eyes then, a little laugh rattling his chest as he wiped at his wet cheeks.

"I'm being maudlin, sorry," he said. Lambert's shout rang out below, followed by a peal of raucous laughter from the others, and Jaskier smiled down at them, even as his eyes welled with tears again. "It's just hard, sometimes, watching everyone else surrounded by the people who love them – the people who give a shit when they're not there. And then there I am, just… on the periphery of it all. I don't have anyone."

You have me, Geralt wanted to say. But maybe that wasn't true anymore, after everything Geralt had done to drive this wedge between them. Maybe it had never been true in the first place. He'd give anything for Jaskier to believe it, though.

"You have people," said Geralt. "Everywhere you go, they always love you."

"They love the songs, Geralt. Nobody cares about the one playing them." He looked down at his hand. The burns were still an angry, painful-looking red. "And I can't even do that anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Jaskier."

Jaskier nodded. He curled his fist and lowered his hand back to his side, like if he could keep it tucked out of sight he wouldn't have to think about it. "I'd still do it again," he said. His mouth quirked in an attempt at a self-deprecating smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Geralt couldn't remember the last time he saw anything but sadness in them.

"You shouldn't have had to go through it at all."

Some part of him had always known it would go this way, though. Geralt's life was too fraught with violence for the people closest to him to pass through it unscathed. It was why he tried to keep Jaskier at a distance; why he'd buried his own feelings too far down to let himself be tempted to act on them, even when Jaskier would flirt and leave lingering touches and look at Geralt that way he did sometimes, like he was considering asking Geralt to join him for the night. And despite it all, Jaskier had still been hurt because of him.

Jaskier's gaze drifted back down to the rest of the wolves. Coen was by now slumped over the table and Vesemir had disappeared out of sight, but the others were still going strong. Jaskier should have been at the centre of it all; sharing every lewd song or story he knew; doing an impressive job of keeping up with the others as they drank into the night. He didn't belong up here, on his own in the darkness.

"I try so hard," said Jaskier, and he sounded so exhausted Geralt wondered how long he'd been fighting to keep all this in. He closed his eyes as more tears spilled down his cheeks.

Geralt's hand twitched with the urge to wipe them away. But he remained rooted in place, feeling as if his heart might break just from the pain in Jaskier's own.

"I don't need to be loved," he went on. "But is it really so much to ask just to be seen?"

Finally Geralt forced himself to take a step closer, but there was still too great a distance between them. He ached to reach out for Jaskier; to pull him into his arms and take back all the hurt he had caused.

"I see you," he said. He took a breath, preparing himself for what he knew he needed to say – what Jaskier needed to hear. "And I know it isn't the love you want, but you have mine."

Jaskier let out a tiny, bitter laugh. "Right," he said as he met Geralt's eyes, his own still shining. "For helping you save your child surprise."

Geralt opened his mouth to argue, but Jaskier was already pushing himself away from the wall and their conversation with a shake of his head.

"Goodnight, witcher."

His footsteps echoed off the stone as he walked away.

Geralt stared after him for a long, awful moment. He would have left it alone once; let Jaskier wander off to lick his wounds and in the morning it would be as if nothing had happened. He couldn't do it this time. He'd fucked things up too many times already.

He found Jaskier in his room, slumped down on the bed with a bottle clutched to his chest and a thoroughly miserable expression on his face. Geralt stayed in the doorway.

"It's not that," he said.

Jaskier looked back up at him, but he said nothing in response. Geralt took it as an invitation to keep talking.

"Sometimes I think you're the only one who's ever seen me, as well. Not as a witcher, or a monster, or a protector – as I am. As I could be."

Slowly, giving Jaskier ample opportunity to ask him to leave instead, Geralt stepped into the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Jaskier was still just watching him.

"The world's gone to shit, Jask," sighed Geralt. "I miss the days when the worst we had to deal with was bad backwater tavern ale and shit hunts for terrible pay."

He looked over to Jaskier with a smile, and to his relief Jaskier returned it.

"I miss you," Geralt went on. "I'm sorry that all I ever did was push you away."

Jaskier set his bottle aside and sat up so he could lean over his bent knees, and, his hand almost shaking, Geralt reached for him. He brushed Jaskier's hair out of his face to see him – to really see him; all his love and hurt and determination right there on his face. He'd never kept anything hidden. It was long past time for Geralt to do the same.

Their eyes were still fixed on one another as Geralt leant in. And when Jaskier didn't tell him to stop, he pressed his mouth to Jaskier's. The kiss was hesitant at first, barely a brush of lips, their bodies angled too awkwardly for it to be comfortable, but neither of them pulled away.

Jaskier was the one to deepen the kiss. He cupped Geralt's face in his hands, shifting forwards as Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier's back to keep him close; to never let him go again. Jaskier tasted of wine and loneliness and want, and Geralt kissed him like he might never get another chance. Even once the kiss had dwindled into occasional pecks and then to nothing, Jaskier's hands stayed on Geralt, his thumb brushing along Geralt's cheekbone as he rested his forehead against Geralt's.

"You deserve someone better than me," Geralt said into the breathless space between them. "You always have."

"I don't want anyone else, Geralt."

"I know."

They sat like that for a while afterwards; just breathing together; just holding each other, the silence old and familiar as it settled around them. They didn't need anything more right now. It was enough just to know. To hope.

Geralt had learnt how to be the guardian Ciri needed. He would fight just as hard to become everything Jaskier deserved as well.

#no sir definitely not projecting my own issues onto my comfort character #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #otp: fuck off bard #the witcher #the witcher spoilers #ficlet #my writing

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