The Witcher - Blog Posts
Want to add a favorite not on here-
Agatha All Along
Also I’ll take any excuse to post some Agathario:
me consuming every piece of queer media instead of having a social life:
Yo I feel this way a lot
When There’s A Misunderstanding In The Fanfiction And They’re Ignoring Eachother But If They Would’ve Talked There Wouldn’t Be One
Nothing frustrates me more than misunderstandings tbh
mine Vivienne De Tabris ts4.
clothes credit: @plazasims 🖤
clothes credit: @plazasims (Спасибо огромное!!!)
Мои попытки создать Йеннифэр и Трисс в симс.
you know when you're about to die so you just spam food? yeah. I have sunken way too many hours into this darned game
NO WAIT MERLIN IS HIS YOUNGER BROTHER WHO GOT THE JASKIER TWINK GENE AND THE FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT GERALT GENE
Gwaine is Geralt of Rivia’s and Jaskier’s love child. The skills of Geralt and the charisma and dumbassery of Jaskier
Gwaine is Geralt of Rivia’s and Jaskier’s love child. The skills of Geralt and the charisma and dumbassery of Jaskier
Witcher's Kitchen
Geralt X Reader tw: no It can be read in both a romantic and a platonic context. A reader from the real world has ended up in the world of The Witcher. They have been traveling with Geralt for some time now. He keeps an eye on them, though not entirely by choice, and has promised himself to leave them in the next big city as soon as they get there. But for now... he needs to finish his latest monster contract and find them some dinner.
You sat in front of the fire, watching the venison with a focused gaze. A decent chunk of meat was skewered on a thin but sturdy branch. You turned it slowly, without much enthusiasm. It was well-cooked and smelled delicious. And yet… it tasted awful. So unbearably bland.
Of course, you weren’t ungrateful. Back when you first ended up in this world, wild game had seemed like the most precious, the most sacred food imaginable. You had spent days wandering the forest, starving and freezing, before Geralt found you and shared his meal. At that moment, you had been ready to fall to your knees and weep in gratitude for his kindness.
Time passed. One forest blurred into another. Along the way, you had come across only a handful of half-ruined villages, where even the locals barely scraped by. With no other options, you had clung to the Witcher with a death grip, begging him to take you at least to the first major city.
Since then, every meal had been the same—chewing on bland meat, washing it down with whatever was available, occasionally gnawing on stale bread if you were lucky. And all the while, you longed for the flavors of your world. You dreamed of spices, of anything that could make this food taste better. Day after day.
To be fair, Geralt was partly to blame. If he fed you a little less often, maybe you wouldn’t have grown so picky. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.
Speaking of Geralt… You shifted your gaze to him. He was busy sharpening his swords. A pang of guilt tightened in your chest. He wasn’t a terrible cook. If anything, you were nothing more than a stranger to him. A burden. And yet, he still looked after you in his own way. He was just practical—doing the bare minimum to survive, never bothering with small comforts. You were willing to bet he’d eat rocks if they were edible and provided energy.
But you couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to change. It was time to take responsibility—for the first time since you arrived in this world.
Taking a deep breath, you spoke up. “Hey, Geralt. Can I do the cooking tomorrow?”
Geralt gave you a mildly surprised but still characteristically grim look. After an unreasonably long pause, he finally replied.
“Do what you want.”
Then he went back to his task. You exhaled in relief.
Why did this man have to be so intimidating? Would he die if he let himself relax for just one second?
Shaking off your thoughts, you focused on the small victory—though calling his agreement a “victory” was a stretch. The real challenge still lay ahead.
----
It must be admitted, this village is much livelier than all the previous ones. This time, you and Geralt didn't settle in some inn. The witcher stated that you would set up camp not far from the village. You didn’t ask questions. You had enough time to learn not to meddle in his affairs.
Since your conversation yesterday, you and Geralt hadn’t crossed paths. He left early in the morning for a hunt, leaving you a small pouch of orens for your needs. That, along with the market being within walking distance, was precisely why you decided to take on your difficult task.
People bustled around the marketplace, immersed in their own concerns. You examined the stalls. Choosing the least predatory-looking vendor—a sweet old lady—you approached her. You had to be careful in matters like these. There were no friends in the marketplace. Every merchant was ready to sink their claws into a lost traveler and take their last coins in exchange for an onion. The medieval world was cruel.
The old woman, delighted by the attention, immediately began offering you everything she had while simultaneously asking about the witcher you had recently been seen with. (Oh, this curiosity. How many rumors would spread about you today?) You quickly adjusted the conversation, steering it in the direction you needed. The old woman didn’t even notice how she started telling you about all the spices available in the market, where to buy them cheaper, what could be used for which dish, and even mentioned which herbs grew in the area and how to add them to food to make it more aromatic and flavorful.
After getting all the information, and buying a couple of vegetables, you set off in search of the spices, feeling triumphant. Aside from that, it wouldn’t hurt to find a cooking pot. Geralt’s inventory lacked such an item. He had grumbled that some damned drunkards had stolen his bag with the pot while he was busy. Apparently, they had hoped for something more valuable inside.
Some time later, you returned to camp—filled with a pleasant sense of accomplishment but with a sadly empty purse. Pleasure came at a price.
You laid out the ingredients near the extinguished fire. If you used everything as sparingly as possible, it should last a week. The shiny new pot gleamed playfully. All you lacked now was a cookbook with local recipes. But finding one in a tiny village was impossible. And books in this world were rather expensive.
Relying on your modest, yet not entirely nonexistent, cooking skills, you swore that tonight, Geralt would taste the most delicious venison stew of his life. You would make this man thank the gods for crossing paths with you.
---
Geralt sat behind you, unusually impatient. He hadn’t said a word since he arrived, but you noticed his leg bouncing nervously. A magical aroma surrounded your camp.
You gave the stew one last stir, scooped some up, and filled a bowl for Geralt. He accepted the food with a grateful nod.
“Didn’t think you were serious yesterday.”
“I’m full of surprises,” you winked at him, taking a portion for yourself.
You had worried that cooking in such rough conditions would be a challenge, but your frequent observations of Geralt preparing meals had helped you adapt quickly. Cooking turned out to be unexpectedly relaxing. It gave you a sense of purpose, usefulness, and control over at least one part of this new life. On the road, you couldn’t fight monsters or earn coin, but you could make the journey a little more comfortable.
“Well? What do you think?”
“It’s really good. Thank you.”
As always, Geralt was a man of few words. But judging by the way he looked, the warm, hearty meal had made him a little less brooding.
You smiled happily, proud of your work.
Geralt thought that maybe… he could get used to this.
---
You and the witcher quickly settled into a new routine. He handled his usual work, while you took care of the cooking. It didn’t just add variety to your diet—it became a kind of care that Geralt initially saw as an unnecessary luxury. But despite his views, he grew used to it. Eventually, he even started grumbling from time to time, "What’s for dinner tonight?"
You kept learning about the local cuisine, interacting with merchants and healers, asking chatty villagers for advice, and even striking up conversations with bored-looking prostitutes. Surprisingly, many of them could have been excellent homemakers if life had turned out differently.
One day, Jaskier, wandering the world in search of inspiration for his ballads, stumbled upon your camp. He couldn’t help but appreciate your efforts. Encouraged by a delicious dinner and fueled by the ever-spreading rumors, he nearly turned your care into a grand romantic tale.
Geralt, however, swiftly shut him down with a dry threat: if the bard kept it up, he’d be left hungry next time. Faced with the choice between poetry and a juicy rabbit stew with vegetables, Jaskier wisely prioritized his meal, shifting his repertoire back to harmless songs about the heroic witcher and his mysterious companion.
Relaxed by the friendly atmosphere, you realized how much joy it brought you to see your cooking make life a little better for your companions—even if they didn’t always say it out loud.
Jaskier, being himself, couldn’t stay quiet for long. He interrupted your thoughts with a dramatic sigh:
“Ah, if someone cooked for me like this, I might even consider becoming a witcher myself!”
WIP
WEDNESDAYYYYY
Thanks you very much @rustyram035 @youthroad for tagging (sorry I always late)
I tag.. @blackmetalsnake @darcxaosit @cheeseandstrawberrytartlover @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thewolflingofnoldor @ulanxxxs @wrong-mother @priafey no pressure!!
Now with new monitor I can draw more freely and comfortable, so I do many work to improve my skill and make new arts! (Some WIPs below)
Here!
U brok my silvr swoard women
Sorry, he's so silly I love him
while watching The Witcher season 1 i realized Geralt says "hmmm" as much as Bob Belcher and decided to combine the two lol
Not Eskel and not even Regis but this is truly one of my favourite images ever. It's just so beautiful, I love their pose, how they look and how they are looking at each other.
My personal headcanon is that Aiden is older than Lambert and initially takes him under his wing, only to fall for the fiery young wolf.
I love them so much! (Now I need to go find all the Aiden/Lambert fics, especially the "fix it" ones)
We'll always be together, right? by Sayuri527art
Found on Twitter, originally seen on Patreon. HIGHLY recommend their Patreon.
@alllthequeenshorses yeah no I actually had to draw something with that because it’s too fun a situation to imagine
I always see the dynamic of the Aiden being introduced like: Geralt is pissed he is anywhere near their home and Eskel is peacekeeping
May I present the alternate option: Mr Traditional Eskel is like why on Gods green earth would you bring that fucked up manky moggy home + L + fleas whereas the Slut of Rivia is kinda like huh weird anyway. word. Get some dick.
Not Eskel and not even Regis but this is truly one of my favourite images ever. It's just so beautiful, I love their pose, how they look and how they are looking at each other.
My personal headcanon is that Aiden is older than Lambert and initially takes him under his wing, only to fall for the fiery young wolf.
I love them so much! (Now I need to go find all the Aiden/Lambert fics, especially the "fix it" ones)
We'll always be together, right? by Sayuri527art
Found on Twitter, originally seen on Patreon. HIGHLY recommend their Patreon.
@alllthequeenshorses yeah no I actually had to draw something with that because it’s too fun a situation to imagine
fic concept: jaskier is restless to get to sleep most nights, so geralt tends to drop off before him. as jaskier watches geralt falling asleep, he notices an odd behavior. geralt touches himself-- not sexually or anything, just things like firmly squeezing a bicep, running his fingers over his collarbone. it seems subconcious, like he maybe doesnt even realize he's doing it, and jaskier cant figure out why he does it. but a few weeks after he starts noticing this behavior, he starts putting things together. he sees geralt flinch back from people's hands, and more importantly sees people flinch away from geralt. geralt's hand brushing an innkeeper's as a room key is passed on gets flexed fingers, a contemplative look. geralt's so touch deprived, his skin hunger is so bad, he unconciously soothes himself to sleep by replicating the feeling of someone else touching him, touching patches of skin that likely havent been touched in years.
Hello! For the prompts, either Geralt/Jaskier or Dandelion/Priscilla, hand-holding #13?
Hand-Holding 13: linking hands together during sex
Kink prompt 8+19 🤗
(edging + eating out, explicit, 1.2k, jaskier has a vagina, also on ao3)
“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, squirming beneath him. “Yes, yes, yes, oh—no!” He arches, trying to return Geralt’s mouth to his dripping cunt. “You bastard,” he whines, his breath hitching.
“You love it.”
Jaskier’s laugh chokes into a moan as Geralt lets his warm breath ghost over Jaskier’s shiny, swollen clit.
“Fuck,” Jaskier hisses, his ankles locked around Geralt’s shoulders. “Fuck, fuck—”
“You’re so wet for me,” Geralt murmurs, a hint of wonder in his voice. “You taste so fucking good.” He touches his tongue to Jaskier’s clenching core, nudging the tip of it inside. Jaskier sobs, trying to bear down on him, but Geralt holds his hips steady. He hums in pleasure as Jaskier parts for him, as Jaskier’s slick floods his senses. It’s better than being drunk, the thick, sweet smell of him, the heady, perfect taste, the way it pools on his tongue.
Geralt opens his eyes and nearly falters in his focus.
Jaskier’s exquisite like this.
Teetering on the knife-edge of pleasure, his entire body taut as a lute-string. His face is a wreck of desperate desire, frustration, and vulnerability.
Geralt loves lavishing him in this way. It’s so much of what he likes most. Teasing Jaskier. Proving how well he knows Jaskier’s body. It’s about trust, really.
That, and licking his cunt until he cries.
Geralt tightens his grip on Jaskier’s hips and drags his tongue up Jaskier’s slit until he latches onto that pretty clit, sucking it gently as Jaskier writhes. He switches to hard, long laps up Jaskier’s labia, curling his tongue just barely inside on every upstroke. Jaskier’s making breathy little bitten-off sounds now, overwhelmed and endearingly musical.
“Please,” he begs, his chest heaving, his knuckles white on the sheets. “Please, please…”
Geralt hums. He settles on Jaskier’s clit again, swirling his tongue around it just so. It’s hot to the touch, quivering. He can sense Jaskier’s cunt clenching desperately on nothing, he can hear Jaskier’s pulse through his thighs. His chin is drenched in slick.
He pulls away.
Jaskier wails.
“I was so close,” he cries, kicking his heels against Geralt’s back.
“I know.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s denied cunt throbs.
Jaskier makes a punched out noise and reaches down to touch himself, but Geralt seizes his wrist. He looks up at Jaskier, and even through his daze Jaskier must recognize the heat in his expression, because he lets out another moan and Geralt scents another gush of slick.
He drags his tongue through it before he pushes himself up beside Jaskier on the bed. He sets him onto his side, Jaskier’s back pressed to Geralt’s chest, his ass slotted in Geralt’s lap.
“The fuck,” Jaskier says, his voice breaking, and then Geralt’s fingertips are just beside his clit, teasing his labia with a featherlight touch. “Oh, you fucker,” he half-laughs, half-sobs, baring his throat to Geralt’s mouth.
“You know you’re going to come,” Geralt murmurs. “You’re just going to wait until I let you.”
Jaskier twitches. He tries to buck his hips into Geralt’s hand, but Geralt rides the motion, keeping that same too-gentle touch.
“Come on,” Jaskier whispers, wriggling. “Why don’t you fuck me? Don’t you want me to come on your cock, love? You’ll like it, I promise—”
Geralt laughs, burying his nose in Jaskier’s sweaty hair.
“Getting desperate, Jask.”
Jaskier whines, and Geralt decides to let it backfire on him.
“You’d like it. Wouldn’t you,” he mutters. He hikes Jaskier’s thighs apart, spreads his pussy with his fingers, baring his entrance. He lets his fingertip stroke it, circling. “If I pinned you down and spread you open with my cock, right here. Fucked you so good you’d feel it in the morning, filled you up until you overflow with it.” He dips his finger in, a frictionless glide, Jaskier’s body sucking him in. “I’d eat it out of you after too, you know I would, I always love the way you taste but you know I love it especially when you taste like both of us…”
Jaskier’s nearly out of his mind now, his breath coming ragged.
“That’s not fair,” he manages, biting his lip. His eyes are squeezed shut, nearly on the brink of tears with want.
“It’s not fair how much I love you,” Geralt whispers, because he can’t help it. He goes to suck another bruise into Jaskier’s throat, but Jaskier turns instead and captures Geralt’s mouth with his, kissing him with no finesse, just desperate want and love.
“Geralt,” Jaskier says, and Geralt would give anything to live in moments like this. Jaskier’s handsome face a wreck and so, so close to his. Jaskier says his name and it’s like Geralt’s hearing it for the first time, like it’s never fit him the way it does when Jaskier says it. Whoever it is that Jaskier’s naming with all that love and trust and want, that’s who Geralt wants to be.
He growls.
Shoves Jaskier onto his back again and knees his way down the bed. He takes Jaskier’s thighs into his hands and Jaskier’s trembling clit into his mouth and licks him.
Jaskier screams when he comes.
He shakes, his body jerking as he rides out wave after wave of pleasure.
Just as he starts to steady, Geralt presses two fingers into him, fucking them roughly into the spot he knows makes Jaskier see stars. This time Jaskier goes silent, his entire body going still, save for his cunt overflowing into Geralt’s mouth.
“Oh fuck,” Jaskier says again, when he can speak, “oh fuck, oh fuck—”
Geralt hums into him. He laps at Jaskier’s oversensitive clit very, very gently as he adds a third finger and curls it.
Jaskier’s hand reaches blindly for Geralt’s free one. When Geralt takes it, Jaskier squeezes hard. He’s quiet again now, save for the rough, needy sounds he makes as he grinds his hips in little circles, fucking himself down onto Geralt’s fingers and his tongue. He sobs when he comes again, his body clenching in decadent waves as Geralt pulls pleasure from him.
Geralt makes him come three more times before he sits up at last.
Jaskier’s a mess. His eyes have gone glassy, he’s pink up to his ears, his pretty cunt fucked sloppy.
Geralt sets about soothing him, just as carefully as he took him apart. A soft kiss on his panting mouth, a cool, damp cloth between his thighs, the blankets tucked up around them both even as Jaskier weakly protests about the wet spot. Geralt pours him water from the pitcher at the bedside and Jaskier drinks deeply before curling into Geralt’s arms.
He nudges his thigh between Geralt’s. Geralt’s still hard, he’s been hard all night.
“Shall I—?” Jaskier starts, but Geralt shakes his head. He cards his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, letting Jaskier settle into him.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he murmurs, planting a kiss to Jaskier’s temple. “I’m very satisfied.”
Geralt can actually feel Jaskier’s cheeks heat, where he’s pressed to Geralt’s chest.
“Oh.”
Geralt chuckles, tightening his embrace.
“Get some rest, Jask.”
“You get some rest,” Jaskier says sleepily. “You’re gonna need it…I’m gonna tease the fuck out of you tomorrow, just you wait…gonna ride you until you’re the one begging…”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the punishment you think it is,” Geralt murmurs. Jaskier makes an offended sound, but then he’s yawning, nuzzling into Geralt’s arms.
Geralt sleeps, a good, deep sleep, and the following night, Jaskier makes good on his promise.
Lambert/Aiden (slightly angsty) reunion snuggles!
Smut under the cut.
For all Geralt was absolute crap at reading the room when it came to his own relationships, he was an expert when it came to those of his family. Something Lambert had never been more thankful for when the White Wolf made some absolute bullshit excuse and left Lambert and Aiden alone at the inn in their shared room after a shared dinner to "Talk or whatever. I'll be back in the morning."
He owed the older Wolf big time. First helping in tracking down Jad and then Aiden after they heard mention in a tiny village of a green eyed Witcher passing through some months ago. They'd worn no medallion and armour seemingly cobbled together from scraps, but Lambert had been adamant it couldn't possibly be anybody else.
He had absolutely no idea how he was even going to begin paying brother back, but that was a worry for when he wasn't sat in the middle of the narrow bed, stark naked and knuckles deep in his lover.
Aiden keened from where he was straddling the others hips as Lambert's need to take this slow warred with just pure need. The new scars criss crossing the Cats body - more sinewy than the last time they'd seen each other but no less appealing - were covered in red and purple love marks, the pupil of his remaining eye blown wide as damp strands of hair clung to his forehead and neck. The other had given as good as he'd got and had left Lambert's nipples deliciously tender from where he'd played with them until they were raw and he was pretty sure his back was absolutely covered in scratches by this point in the proceedings.
"Shit, Lambert please. I'm ready."
"You sure?" He asked, giving a shit eating grin as he twisted his fingers and caused the other to bite out one of the Elder curses Lambert remembered teaching him.
"Yes, I'm fucking sure. It's been almost two years. I'm not waiting a minute longer to have you in me."
Despite his insistence, Aiden's face still pinched in discomfort, followed by a brief bitter-sharp undercurrent of pain to his scent as he was breached.
"Woah, woah. You sure you're ok?" Lambert asked, stopping the others descent with a firm grip on his hips.
"I'm fine. Like I said, it's been almost two years."
Neither of them were sure how much time had passed until Lambert finally bottomed out, Aiden arching his back with a moan and a satisfied smile, "I missed you."
It was then it slammed into him like one of the mountain avalanches: This was Aiden! Aiden whimpering and writhing in his lap, Aiden tight and warm around him and so, so alive. Aiden was alive, and he was here!
"Lam?" A hand cupping his jaw brought him back. Concerned, green eye searching his face, "Where did you go just now?"
"Sorry, I -" Lambert faltered, fighting to keep his voice steady.
"Do you need to stop?"
"No! I mean." He buried his face in Aiden's shoulder, "I don't want to stop but can we....just stay like this for a bit?"
"Oh, Lam. Come here." Aiden said, changing his bruising grip on the other to a gentle hug whilst Lambert pressed his nose hard against Aiden's neck, feeling the other press kisses to the top of his head.
"Pup, you're shaking."
"I'm fine, I'm fine. S'just you being here. Doesn't feel real."
"... Lambert, I need you to listen for a minute. Alright?"
Lambert nodded before he felt Aiden gently guide his head until one ear was pressed over his Witcher slow heart.
"Hear that? I'm real, this is real. I'm here."
Lambert gave a small whimper in response, still trembling with the sudden emotional upheaval as his hands wandered over every part of the other he could reach, the Cat only pausing in his litany of reassurances to give a small gasp when Lambert's fingers brushed over where they were joined, "That's it. You feel that? Me and you together again. Just as it should be, and that's how it's going to stay now."
"You promise?"
Aiden tilted the Wolf's head up, amber eyes full of emotions usually banked deep, deep down as he brushed their noses together.
"I promise."
For the kinks prompts, how about some Geraskier for 23. possessiveness?
(possessiveness, 2.7k, explicit, trans jaskier, jaskier has a vagina, semi-public sex, also on ao3)
happy belated birthday @kueble! hope you like it! ❤️
(and then this ended up being kind of a birthday gift to me, too)
sam is this guy, also featured in this wonderful verse and the sam the baker tag. his simeon in particular is the creation of @valdomarx!
-
The afterparty in the library is a merry thing, good food and good wine flowing as Oxenfurt’s finest (and their less fine) celebrate the triumphant victor of the annual bardic competition. Jaskier’s pink-cheeked with the thrill of it, basking in the glow of his adoring fans. He’s accepted many a drink and congratulations from eager partygoers, though he’s turned down the barrage of their other offers, to their chagrin.
It’s a very new thing, between Jaskier and the sharp-eyed witcher nursing his drink between bookshelves. Jaskier’s unaccustomed to refusing advances on behalf of an actual possible reason, not merely tormented wanting. He’s still not sure Geralt wants something exclusive, that he’s not himself tempted by the intrigued glances aimed in his direction.
They…haven’t exactly talked about it.
Jaskier does know him well enough, though, to recognize Geralt’s deepening scowl when a burly, kind-eyed baker approaches. Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze and flashes him a look that he hopes conveys just a little longer, I’ll be right there.
He doesn’t want to rush this exchange, though. Sam’s not like the rest—he’s the very best baker in town, and after commiserating over their shared woes, he’d once kept Jaskier quite warm during one of the winters Geralt had left him for Kaer Morhen.
“—and you were right, of course,” Sam’s saying, smiling warmly at him. “Being direct was the best way. That and the brioche.”
“Gods, your sinful brioche!” Jaskier groans. “Wait—so—you and Simeon at last?”
Sam blushes, his curls bouncing as he nods.
“We’re to be handfasted come the solstice,” he says, and Jaskier’s heart swells with happiness for his friend.
“Oh, Sam!” he exclaims, “I’m so happy for you!”
“And I you, my dear Jaskier. Quite the victory tonight.” Sam claps him on the shoulder, his warm eyes softening. “It’s good to hear you singing happier songs, my friend.”
“Thank you,” Jaskier says, smiling. Sam inclines his head in the direction of the man in the corner.
“That’s him, isn’t it? Watching us like he’d like to throttle me?” He grins knowingly. “Another victory, then?”
It’s Jaskier’s turn to blush.
“I—something like that.”
Sam’s smile broadens.
“Good. Good. You deserve the best, you know.”
“As do you, you darling boy.”
Jaskier sinks into Sam’s embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon.
“Go on,” Sam whispers. “I know you want to. I’ll cover for you, it’s all right,” he adds with a wink.
“Thank you,” Jaskier says gratefully. “Can we come by the bakery before we leave town?”
Sam chuckles. “I’ll have honey cakes ready for you both.”
Jaskier squeezes his arm in gratitude, and makes his way through the crowd, shaking off admirers as he goes.
“Hey,” he says, somewhat breathless, as he reaches Geralt’s corner.
Geralt hums, staring daggers at a particularly interested young lord near Jaskier’s shoulder.
“You know,” Jaskier starts, tracing his thumb Geralt’s knuckles where they’re white around his mug. “I’m not going home with any of them. You know that, right?”
Geralt’s brows knit. He’s still not looking at Jaskier.
“You can do what you want.” The words come through gritted teeth, a muscle in his clenched jaw twitching. Jaskier’s heart twists.
“I want you, you must know that by now! I just…didn’t want to assume you wanted me…you know, to yourself. Or in public.”
Geralt’s frown doesn’t loosen, but he looks at Jaskier now. And oh, the blazing gold of that gaze makes heat surge through Jaskier’s whole body.
“What?”
“I don’t know the rules of this!” Jaskier hisses. “It’s all so new! I—I want everyone to know I’m yours, Geralt. Fuck, I’ve wanted it since I was eighteen and all the more now that I know what it means to be yours. I just…don’t want to scare you off.”
“How would it—”
“I want you so badly, Geralt,” Jaskier says, and the heat has spread to his cheeks now, he knows he’s blushing, he can’t stop. “I want to be yours so badly. But if you just want to be casual, if you want me to see other people, or to stay apart while we’re in public, well, that’s…fine. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
For one terrifying moment, Geralt stares at him, unreadable. And then—
It’s a deep crushing sort of kiss, nothing like the tentative, tender ones they’ve shared so far. Geralt’s big hands on him, one heavy as it cradles his head, the other pulling him close at the small of his back. Geralt licks into his mouth and it’s dizzyingly romantic and terribly, magnificently demonstrative, making Jaskier’s knees turn to water.
“Oh,” he says, breathless. He’s grinning like a fool. Geralt’s still holding him tightly, breathing hard as if he’s just come from a hunt. Jaskier hears, vaguely, the young lord behind him heave a disappointed sigh and turn away. Jaskier clears his throat. “Shall we, ah, make our way back to the room, then?”
“Through the rabbit warren of this place?” Geralt groans.
“It’s a fifteen minute walk,” Jaskier laughs, wonderfully light-headed at the thought of Geralt wanting him now.
Geralt leans in. Takes Jaskier’s lower lip between his teeth, and tugs.
“Know anywhere closer?”
*
Jaskier drags Geralt through the outskirts of the crowd, hiding behind his bulk as best as he can as he maneuvers his lover through an unassuming doorway and the narrow corridor behind it. It’s just a few steps until it opens into the wide, windowed archival room, crowded with precious manuscripts, towering shelves, and sturdy tables for individual study. It’s blessedly empty, though the chatter of the party filters through the corridor; this room has no lock, as the only entrance is the one which they just came through.
“Ah, there’s no couches or anything, but we could—mmph!”
Geralt shoves him against the nearest shelf with a groan of relief, heedless of the books that teeter perilously with the force of it. He shoves his thick, muscled thigh between Jaskier’s legs and Jaskier melts against him, grinding helplessly as Geralt spurs him on, those strong hands rolling Jaskier’s hips. The friction is exquisite, and Jaskier blushes as Geralt deepens the kiss. He knows Geralt can smell his slick.
“I don’t want casual,” Geralt growls. “I don’t want you to see other people. I don’t want to stay apart.” He presses his leg higher and Jaskier whimpers. He could almost come just like this, especially if Geralt keeps saying these things. Geralt shakes his head, his fingers bruise-tight on Jaskier’s hips. “I want to make you mine. I want everyone to know. I want it so badly I’m…terrified.”
“What?” Jaskier whispers, smoothing the hair from Geralt’s face where it’s fallen from the braid Jaskier’d set it in. “Why?”
“Are you joking?” Geralt snorts. “Jaskier. I’ve been standing in the corner wishing I’d bitten my claim into you last night so everyone knows you’re mine. You are your own person. The star of this night, of this town. And you should be! Fuck, you’re magnificent.” He shakes his head, nuzzles Jaskier’s jaw. “And I—this is—I don’t want to scare you away. To ask for more than you want to offer.”
Jaskier groans, rocking against him, and pulls him into another searing kiss.
“Doesn’t make me any less of my own person to be yours, Geralt,” he whispers. “I want to be yours! Fuck, are you joking? I’ve wanted it for years, please, please.”
Geralt blinks at him.
“You’re serious. You’re sure?”
“Mark me,” Jaskier pants, tilting his chin in offering, clawing at Geralt’s clothes. “Claim me, fuck me, Geralt! I love you, I want you, I’m yours. All yours. I don’t want anyone else.”
“I love you,” Geralt murmurs, pressing against him. “I don’t want anyone else either.”
They’ve only said it a handful of times. I love you. And never like this, never a promise, a claim.
Jaskier laughs in relief, biting his lip to try and stay quiet. And then Geralt’s fumbling with the bow on the back of his trousers, and he lets out a helpless moan.
“I’m not waiting another fucking minute to get my mouth on you,” Geralt growls.
Everything goes a bit fuzzy, a whirlwind of wonder and desire. Geralt drags Jaskier’s pants and braies to his ankles, spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, and sinks to his knees to bury his face in Jaskier’s cunt.
Jaskier tries to muffle his cry in the heel of his hand, his head falling back against the weathered spines of the books. He’s slippery with slick and Geralt eats him like he’s fucking starving, fingers digging into Jaskier’s ass and bringing him as deep into his mouth as he can. Jaskier’s trousers trap his ankles, and even though at first he longs to fling his legs around Geralt’s shoulders like usual, the angle seems to give Geralt pronounced access to his swollen clit, which Geralt uses to his advantage.
“Oh fuck,” Jaskier whispers, “oh fuck, Geralt.”
It’s Geralt, really, who ends up needing to force himself to be quiet. He whines into Jaskier’s pussy, wriggling his tongue as deep as he can between Jaskier’s folds, lapping at his slick and groaning as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, gazing up at Jaskier through eyes heavy with desire. “And you’re all mine.”
“Yours,” Jaskier breathes, his chest heaving, “yours, yours.”
Jaskier’s come to suspect Geralt loves doing this, and bites back a grin as he senses Geralt trying to focus, for once, instead of lavishing Jaskier with his mouth for ages as he usually does, bringing him to the edge over and over until Jaskier’s a sobbing mess, shaking all over and screaming when Geralt finally lets him peak.
This time, Geralt swirls his tongue around Jaskier’s clit in the precise way he knows gets him off quick. Usually it takes at least a finger inside him to bring him off this fast too, but something about Geralt’s hunger for him, the party next door, you’re all mine—
Jaskier comes with a long, high moan, as quietly as he can. Geralt licks him hard through it, eager and reverent, that perfect, rough tongue drawing out his pleasure. Jaskier trembles, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair, grinding into Geralt’s mouth as he peaks a sharper, sweeter second time, Geralt snarling in feverish appreciation as Jaskier overflows.
Jaskier’s still seeing stars when Geralt pulls off him, with one last tantalizing kiss on his sensitive clit.
“You’re gonna fuck me, right?” Jaskier whispers. Geralt kisses him and Jaskier goes weak at the taste of himself, the nudge of Geralt’s perfect tongue making his cunt throb again.
“You’re sure?” Geralt murmurs, thumbing Jaskier’s lower lip. He’s so close, he smells so good, and fuck, Jaskier can feel that big, powerful cock straining through his trousers.
“Yeah,” Jaskier says, his voice breaking on it. “Didn’t you want to…bite your claim into me? So everyone knows I’m yours?”
“Jask,” Geralt says into his jaw, sounding strangled. “We’re going to have to walk past all of them on the way out. You’ve got your congratulatory banquet tomorrow morning, and then we’re going home.” And oh, it makes Jaskier giddy that Geralt wants him to think of Kaer Morhen as home, all the giddier that he already does. “I shouldn’t leave any marks. They’ll see. They’ll all see.”
Jaskier takes Geralt’s face in his hands and looks him in the eye.
“I want them to,” he says. “Don’t you?”
The look on Geralt’s face is something Jaskier will never forget. It’s a blaze of desire, warm love cracking through the last of Geralt’s defenses.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”
And then Geralt spins him, manhandling his front against the bookshelves. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening and brace himself on a shelf as Geralt unbuckles his trousers and slides into his slick cunt, covering Jaskier’s mouth with his palm just in time to muffle Jaskier’s scream of pleasure.
This, this feels like coming home. The way Geralt parts him, opens him, fills him so thoroughly and so fucking good. It feels more right than anything Jaskier’s ever done, every single time.
“Move,” he whispers into Geralt’s hand.
His eyes roll back as Geralt does, fucking him in long, hard strokes, his free hand yanking Jaskier back onto his cock with every thrust. Jaskier almost never comes from penetration alone, but he’s still tingling from his orgasms, and then Geralt sinks his fucking teeth into Jaskier’s throat just beneath his jaw, sucking a hard, obvious bruise there. Something about the sharp ache of it makes everything feel extra wild and wonderful, Geralt’s hunger for him and the way Jaskier had loved him in secret for so long, and now Geralt wants the whole world to know. And another on his shoulder, and another just behind his ear, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin as his cock hits Jaskier’s g-spot at exactly the fucking angle that makes him bright with pleasure, and Jaskier comes harder than he has in his life, writhing in Geralt’s grasp, sobbing into his palm as the ecstasy pulses through him.
“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “please.”
Geralt snarls in his ear, pleased, possessive. He pulls out of him and Jaskier whimpers, but it’s only to yank Jaskier’s trousers off of one foot and lay him out on his back on the nearest desk, sinking into him so deep. He works his thumb over Jaskier’s clit and Jaskier arches, muffling his cry in his fist as he comes again, sweating and twitching and alight with it. Geralt fucks him hard as he’s coming down, bending over him, his hips stuttering in a way that tells Jaskier he’s close.
Jaskier wraps his arms around him and holds him, reveling in the stretch and the rhythm of it. Over Geralt’s shoulder, he can see the familiar starry designs etched in the ceiling. He used to spend evenings reading in this very room as a student, but more recently, he used to spend tortured winters here writing sad, angry songs about Geralt. He’d been so defined by his heartache for so long, and now, fuck, now—if he’d known then what he would get to have, oh.
He squeezes Geralt tight, moaning in delight as Geralt wrecks another bit of his throat with his teeth.
“You’re so fucking good, love, fuck,” Jaskier tells him, shivering and grinning helplessly. “You make me feel better than anyone else, no one fucks me like you, no one loves me like you. I love you, I love you, I’m yours.”
Geralt groans, thrusting harder.
“I’m yours,” he murmurs. “Fuck, Jask—I’m—”
It occurs to Jaskier very suddenly that perhaps they’re not entirely equipped for him to walk back to their room with his pussy dripping come.
“Ah—here, love. Let me.”
Geralt pulls out of him with a regretful sound, but it turns rakish when Jaskier slips off the desk and onto his knees, wrapping his lips around Geralt’s throbbing cock.
“Jaskier,” Geralt says, in something like awe.
He barely has time to savour the taste of himself before Geralt’s spilling down his throat and the two tastes mingle perfectly, thick with sex and sweet with love. Jaskier’s intoxicated by it, hollowing his cheeks to get every drop.
Geralt sinks onto the floor to join him, gathering Jaskier in his arms. Their breathing slows, the passionate heat of the magic between them easing to a glowing, familiar warmth.
“I love you,” Geralt murmurs. “Fuck.” He nuzzles the bruises on Jaskier’s throat, petting over the marks on his chest in wonder. He makes a low, growling, beautifully possessive sound, and Jaskier grins in his arms.
“I know,” he whispers, and kisses him.
Presently they tug on their clothes, trying to rearrange each other into something only moderately scandalous. There’s no mirror in the library, but Jaskier’s beginning to ache all over in the best way, so he suspects he looks quite wrecked indeed.
“Congratulations again, Jask,” Geralt says, earnest. “You really did well tonight. I—” he grins, somewhat sheepish. “I love your singing.”
They will walk back through the party, and Jaskier will wave a gracious tonight to all his jealous admirers, wearing Geralt’s bite proud on his throat. Tomorrow, he’ll be celebrated again, and then he’ll get to go to Kaer Morhen and have Geralt show him off to his whole family.
It’s not the first time Jaskier’s taken home the grand prize, but it’s the first time he really, truly feels like he’s won.
🐿️⚜️
The meme
it obviously proves that it's very dangerous for the two of them to be together lol
🐿⚜️
🐿⚜️Iorveth and Vernon are now allies
If Vernon meets Seherim again
And if Cedric is alive.
I’ve been having some thoughts about sub!Eskel. For he is a rare and elusive creature. Geralt? We all know he loves to be tied up, spanked and called baby. But Eskel? He’d look away and grit his teeth.
I usually write him as a dominant partner if I’m going to write D/s (and I know many people are the same, because he exudes the energy), but I think he would be a very good submissive in a very specific set of circumstances. No pet names, careful negotiation and framing of the scene.
Influenced by discussions I’ve had across several servers about different dynamics, so thanks to anyone who has ever chatted with me about this, you the real MVPs.
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High Toxicity 💀
(Full image under the cut)
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