#another night Eskel finds him

[frostedwitch]

When Jaskier is left alone to his own devices in Kaer Morhen he plays with the fantastic acoustics of the old keep. He wanders the cold empty corridors and rooms with high stone ceilings, singing and listening to his notes echoing back at him. On long sleepless nights he can be found alone in the great hall, his melodies surrounding him like a ethereal sirens song.

#jaskier #jaskier the bard #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #kaer morhen #like Vesemir walks in one night and Jaskier is there singing #Jaskier is sat alone on top of the long dining table letting out these straight up ethereal ooohs hmmms and ahhhs #First off Vesemir thinks fuck is that a wraith? a siren? #but no his brain clicks and he knows its the bard #but its so beautiful and he understands Geralts obsession with the human #another night Eskel finds him #Jaskier's voice sounds like the sad call of a long dead lover calling for their love to come back #and Eskel finds a way to get Geralt to go to the great hall the next night #Geralt just stands around the corner peeking at his bard #the sound so mystical #that he goes straight up like his under a spell and hugs the bard #have you seen that video of a girl singing the titaic theme in a stairwell??? #you need to see it #thats Jaskier

[echo-bleu]

While I’m staying away from all the speculation, all those posts and memes about Jaskier either being the only one who can see Geralt is different or the only one who can’t and keeps insisting that yes of course, that’s Geralt, are giving me ideas.

Namely: faceblind Jaskier. Bear with me. He can’t recognize any face, including his own in the mirror (when he finds a mirror, it’s not that often). That’s why he flirts with everyone, flirting is just his default mode in case it’s someone he’s met before, because at its core it’s kind of roleplaying. While people may not respond to it well, they mostly don’t bat an eye at cheesy joke-y pickup lines where Jaskier ‘pretends’ to meet them for the first time (”Do you come here often?”). Meanwhile it buys Jaskier time to figure out if he has in fact met them before.

(Demi or ace Jaskier? Who flirts for the reasons above and mostly has sex with people because he figures it’s expected of him?)

It’s also the reason he makes so many enemies. Sure, there are actual cuckooed husbands who hate him, but really it’s mostly former lovers who are horribly offended when Jaskier ‘snubs’ them at a reception because he just didn’t recognize them. Or former lovers horribly offended that he tried to flirt with them again pretending not to know them after they threw him out. There are also plenty of people who were never his lovers at all but are just offended because nobles are Like That.

(There have been some really embarrassing situations. Like the time he tried to flirt with Valdo Marx, his eternal rival, who still laughs about it every time they see each other.)

He latches onto Geralt because Geralt is recognizable. There just aren’t two white-haired wolf-eyed muscular men around. Jaskier never has to worry about seeing him and being unsure if it’s actually his friend and not some random stranger with the same haircut. Geralt also never changes his haircut or his appearance in any way, which is refreshing.

Yennefer is mostly the same, with her violet eyes, although Jaskier does have to get close enough to be sure. They have a few weird encounters where Jaskier starts to flirt with her, gets within a few feet, and immediately backtracks the hell out with a disgusted face. That’s how she figures it out, but it takes her a while. After that she takes great pleasure in teasing him about it, but only in ways that no one else will clock (hence the crows’ feet comment. Jaskier doesn’t even know himself in the mirror. He can’t tell if she’s right. He does obsess over it the whole way up the mountain, but he has other things to think about on the descent).

The witchers of Kaer Morhen, when Jaskier meets them, are so refreshing. They’re all different! Eskel is unmistakeable with his scars, and while they’re within the confines of Kaer Morhen it’s very easy to distinguish Lambert’s red hair from Coen’s shaved head and darker skin from Vesemir’s white beard. Ciri is of course the only kid, so that’s not a problem. For the first time in his life, Jaskier doesn’t feel like he’s playing catch up to a game whose rules he doesn’t know. It’s relaxing.

The witchers, on the other hand, are quite surprised about Jaskier. They’ve been told (many times, over the years) that Jaskier flirts with everyone under the sun. Now Geralt isn’t always the most reliable source, of course, and Eskel never expects anyone to be attracted to him because of his scars (which is a subject for another day), but Jaskier doesn’t even try to flirt, even just friendlily, with either Lambert or Coen. He’s not afraid of them, they would be able to smell that, he seems perfectly comfortable with them, but he doesn’t flirt. At first, they figure that it’s because his newly mended relationship with Geralt is still fragile.

One night they’re all a bit drunk and the witchers are talking about how Jaskier’s songs have helped them on the Path, how many humans are much nicer to them, and in general how hard interacting with humans is. And Jaskier is just nodding along, “Yeah, yeah, interacting with humans is so hard.”

“But you’re always going out of your way to talk to people and flirt!”

“Well yes, I like making friends, but they have so many expectations, and they get angry so easily.”

“That’s only when you flirt with the wrong people,” Geralt growls.

“But how am I supposed to know it’s the wrong people when I can’t recognize them?”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks.

“Faces are hard! I don’t know how people do it, I mean, obviously your scars are distinctive, and I’d recognize Geralt’s hair anywhere, but most humans all look the same!”

Geralt blinks very slowly as it all slots into place in his head. Jaskier’s very strange flirting methods. The way he keeps making enemies without meaning to. Hell, he’s seen Jaskier say hello again to someone they’d seen just minutes before, or completely ignore one of his bard friends at a festival until she came right up to him. “You don’t recognize people?”

Jaskier, who didn’t survive forty-three(ish) years without figuring out that this wasn’t normal, freezes and suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights. “Uh... no?”

“So if, say, Vesemir was to shave his beard, you might confuse him with Geralt?” Lambert asks.

“I’d... probably be able to tell from up close? Geralt’s taller.”

“Wow.” Lambert seems ready to tease him about it, but Eskel stops him.

“How did you never notice?” he asks Geralt.

Geralt just grunts. Jaskier answers for him. “I’m very good at making people feel like we’ve always known each other, I guess. Mostly I just buy time until I can figure out if I’ve met them before.”

The witchers have a million questions, but they never make Jaskier feel like he’s deficient somehow. Jaskier has always been ashamed of it, but to them, it’s just another quirk, like not being able to eat raw meat.

The next time they’re on the road, or at a festival together, Geralt is brooding just as much as usual, eyes darting this way and that, but before Jaskier can go and greet people (with his usual fake-it-till-you-make-it technique), Geralt stops him.

“Your friend Essi’s wearing a yellow dress with red accents,” he mutters under his breath. “Marx has a green doublet, that shade you hate. Avoid the man in the bright purple doublet and the brown pants, you slept with him last time and he threw you out. That woman at the right of the stage with the braid, she has a husband, you tried before.”

Jaskier gets so emotional that he can’t speak for a solid minute, and he ends up hugging Geralt instead. “Didn’t know you paid attention,” he says eventually.

“Just look at me if you’re not sure who someone is, I’ll tell you who to avoid,” Geralt says gruffly.

It’s not a perfect system, but Jaskier doesn’t offend a single person all day.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #faceblindness #i'd like to have a spotter too please #i used to work at a library and when people came in after lunch #i had no idea if they'd been in that morning #i'd say hello and they'd be like uh i was here earlier #echo's fanfiction

[dsudis]

Who wants some sleepy domestic Emhyr/Geralt?

Got a kind of bewildering ask yesterday that I won't bother answering directly as it didn't seem particularly relevant to me, but it did remind me how much I enjoyed writing Witcher fic, and that I still have some bits of Emhyr/Geralt(/Eskel) fic I was working on that I've never shared, and I am in a sharing mood today!

This is from what would have been Urbe Aureā #5, in which Emhyr begins his courtship of Eskel by offering him any witcher's favorite thing: a job in Toussaint. Geralt, naturally, goes along with him, and then they come home to the palace in Nilfgaard, mostly unscathed...

Geralt knew just what to do this time, returning to Nilfgaard in the middle of the night. He parted from Eskel with a mumbled agreement to meet again in the morning, shed his weapons and everything else he could without scandalizing any servants he met, and went directly to Emhyr's rooms. 

He reached up to run a hand over the stubble that was all the hair left on the lower part of his head now. It was two days' growth, because that was how long it had taken him, Eskel, and occasionally Lambert, to deal with every other little problem someone had brought to their attention after the wraiths were dealt with.  

He hadn't been dawdling this time--not like the days he'd spent in Tretogor chasing down stray bandits and necrophages. He just... couldn't go off and leave the place knowing there was a problem with giant centipedes popping out of somebody's vineyard, and a nasty ghost haunting somebody else's well--and then he'd had to make a few patrols to check for signs of any vampires who'd started making nuisances of themselves since he left. Those always turned up again when there had been a lot of them in one place, like seeds germinated by a forest fire. 

But now, at last, he was done and back again. He and Eskel had availed themselves of the baths B.-B. had had waiting for them after they got back from sorting out those fleders, and then they'd agreed with barely a word to head back through the portal. They'd left Lambert asleep under his workbench, knowing well that he'd be happier to bitch about them leaving without a goodbye than to actually suffer through any parting scene. 

And, after all, he knew exactly where to find them if he wanted them. 

Geralt let himself into Emhyr's rooms and hesitated, listening out for a moment, but Emhyr didn't rush out to meet him as he had that time before. Maybe he'd slept a little easier, knowing Geralt had left on Emhyr's own errand, and with backup to boot. Maybe he just didn't expect Geralt to have returned after only a few days. 

Either way, there was no point lingering in the sitting room. Geralt let himself into the bedchamber, and his heart did something painful and fond at the sight of Emhyr sleeping. He tried to ignore it, willed it away, even as he was walking over. He was at the side of the bed when he remembered: he loved Emhyr, and he knew that, and Eskel knew that, and Emhyr probably knew that, and as yet that hadn't brought about any more than the usual amount of destruction.  

He could just... feel it. He could look at Emhyr sleeping, with his head on one pillow and another tucked under his arm like he'd lost the knack of sleeping without another body to lean against, and feel like he belonged there. In Emhyr's bed, in his arms, in his life, because that was a role he could fill, a job he could do. He could be the Emperor's Witcher and like it.  

Emhyr didn't move--didn't give himself away, if the lurker in his bedchamber had been anyone less astute--but Geralt knew the moment he woke.  

"Not an assassin," Geralt said softly. "Just--" 

Emhyr pushed himself up to sit, a wash of delight turning his craggy features almost young, in the little light that reached Geralt's eyes. Mindful that Emhyr could see even less than he could in this dark, he stepped forward, holding his hands out, saving Emhyr the trouble of disentangling himself from the bedcovers.  

"My dear witcher," Emhyr murmured, catching his hands and tugging him closer still, then catching his mouth in a kiss. "Where is your partner?" 

Geralt laughed a little against Emhyr's mouth. "Not so quickly won over as that, dear majesty. But he did come back with me, safe and sound. He's in his own room, probably already asleep." 

"Excellent," Emhyr said, and he genuinely did sound pleased. And he'd asked about Eskel first thing, when he might have ignored the whole matter of him until morning, and that, too, made Geralt's heart squeeze.  

"And yourself?" Emhyr went on, his hands releasing Geralt's and sliding up his arms. "You smell clean enough, but you know I am not as keen as one of you. Any injuries? Any trouble?" 

"Not as such," Geralt said, climbing onto the edge of the bed so Emhyr could reach more of him, and taking Emhyr's hand to guide it up to the base of his skull. "Lost some hair." 

"A pity," Emhyr murmured, running warm fingers over the shorn part of Geralt's scalp before he settled his hand on the nape of Geralt's neck and tugged him into a deeper kiss.  

Geralt leaned into Emhyr's firm grip, his whole body easing, muscles relaxing that had been faintly tensed for days on end. That human-strong hold on him and Emhyr's mint-clean mouth coaxing his open meant that he was home safe, done with the job, and it was finally time to let his guard down. He let himself sway into Emhyr, trusting his weight to the solid warmth of Emhyr's body. 

Emhyr let out a little grunt, though his body betrayed no great evidence of straining under the pressure. He closed his other arm around Geralt and eased them both down, not bothering to sort out the covers or get Geralt naked--as though all that mattered was both of them here, at their ease. As though he needed nothing more than that. 

Geralt sighed, nuzzling at Emhyr's chest, and went out like a blown candle. 

#the witcher #emhyr x geralt #emhyralt #geralt of rivia #emhyr var emreis #urbe aurea #wip

[witcher-and-his-bard]

Love Letters

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): none Rating: general

Fic Summary: Jaskier writes down all his feelings in a letter he never expects Geralt to see - only for Geralt to arrive shortly after, snowed out of Kaer Morhen.

For @jackironsides 💜

My beloved Geralt

Dear Geralt

Geralt, my love

No matter what he writes, it sounds wrong. Too intimate, too casual, too... much in one way or another. Jaskier hasn't even gotten past the introduction and he already wants to give up on the letter. It feels so easy over the summer, when he and Geralt spend long, muggy days walking side-by-side. Jaskier sings and Geralt rides, and occasionally, Geralt will even sing along with whatever he's playing.

Now, in the dark of his room at the academy, those feelings feel dull and distant. Not Jaskier's feelings, of course, but the potential reciprocation. These days, he finds himself thinking about Geralt's relationships with Eskel or Lambert, or even Vesemir. He wonders how different those relationships are to the one he shares with Geralt. Maybe those gentle things Geralt says to him in the comfort of their shared inn rooms are just things Geralt would say to anyone.

Ugh. Jaskier flops backward in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wishes there was an easy way to know these things, and for the first time in a long time he finds himself envying Yennefer. She could just read Geralt's mind, she could just know. And Geralt? He can smell emotions or something like that; at least, he always seems to know when Jaskier is upset about something. Maybe he took the wrong path in life. Maybe he should have tried to get into Ban Ard and become a mage. Surely there is some chaos in him, enough, at least, to be able to read minds.

Briefly, Jaskier considers contacting Yen. They've had a better relationship as of late, and she might be able to give him some insight, if nothing else. But he doesn't want to drag her into something that isn't really any of her business. Not because he's afraid to tell her, but because she might not want to know. She's happy now - travelling with Triss and Istredd last he heard - but there might be some leftover feelings there and he doesn't want to bring up Geralt in a romantic setting if he doesn't need to. Plus, he doesn't want to feel like more of a burden than he already does.

Jaskier looks down at the half-started letter in front of him and angrily crumples it up before blowing out the candle and shoving his chair back. He flops forward onto folded arms, looking out into the blue of the night sky, speckled with snow. Normally, he would take comfort in a view like this, but tonight, it just reminds him of how far away Geralt is.

Is it even worth beginning a relationship when they spend so much time apart? Would Geralt even be interested? Even if he was madly in love with Jaskier, would that be enough? What's the point when you have no one to cuddle with and watch the snowfall? But then maybe Geralt would want to visit some winters if they were more.

Gods, he wants that more than he can even properly comprehend. The idea of falling asleep in Geralt's arms feels like the height of romance. Already, Jaskier treasures the moments he falls asleep listening to Geralt's voice, even if he does feel a bit bad about it in the morning. Despite himself, a dopey smile spreads across his face at the thought. He misses Geralt more than he can say while they're apart in the winter. It's only a little into the season and already the long, dark winter feels endless.

Jaskier inhales deeply, sighs, and sits up to write. He's determined to finish this letter, even if it never reaches its intended audience.

Geralt,

I know it's barely been a month since we parted, but I find myself longing again for your company. Teaching is hectic as always, and my students love a tale of your heroism. I know you don't consider yourself a hero, but I do. Though lately, I find myself recalling different moments from our travels. I find myself thinking of the evenings after a contract has been completed and paid. I think back to the ale or tea and the stars hanging low in the sky. The way the firelight flickers on your face. I miss that. I miss the way your hair falls in your face when you take it down to sleep. I miss how stubborn you are about that awful headband. And I regret to tell you now that I've grown... rather fond of it, actually.

Rather rarely do I find myself at a loss for words, but they escape me when I try to nail down all the things I feel for you. I know I am a mere mortal, doomed to die years or even decades before you, but given the chance, I would happily live out the rest of my life at your side. Perhaps even in your arms.

I know love is not a word you use often, but the way I feel it could very well become something so all-encompassing. I can't promise that love is how I feel now. I find myself mixed up in a way I've never felt before. That's not to say that I don't love you, because I do. As a friend, as a companion, as something more. Perhaps one day, even as a lover. Even if you don't feel the same, I want you to know that you are deeply cared for in every way one person can care for another. I don't mind if you don't want to see me again, so long as it is your wish, and one borne out of intention rather than fear. Because although I've never spoken the words, I've longed for you for days and weeks and months and years, silently staying by your side. Perhaps one day you will have me there on purpose - despite, or maybe even because of, my feelings for you.

Until then, I remain yours, as always.

Jaskier.

Jaskier looks over the letter once more and, feeling an uncomfortable swell of emotion, folds it neatly and tucks it into an envelope that just reads Geralt. He's only just finished hiding the evidence when there's a knock at his door.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Sorry to interrupt so late," the voice on the other side of the door says. Jassa, Jaskier thinks, his assistant at the university. "You have a guest."

"A guest?" Jaskier asks, perplexed. Who on earth would brave this weather just to visit? The only guests he normally has are students or his fellow professors, either of whom would just come to his room and knock themselves.

"He says he's a friend. Geralt? I think," Jassa says.

Jaskier's heart somersaults.

"Right," he says, "of course. Send him up. I'll leave the door open."

"Certainly," Jassa smiles. "I'll send him right up. Have a good night, Professor."

"And you," Jaskier finishes, barely aware of what he's saying.

What is Geralt doing here? Of all the years they've known each other, he's never once come to visit over the winter, so why now? Jaskier turns around, leaning on the door, and is struck by the state of his room. For the last two days, he's done nothing but lie around and sulk, and it shows. He absolutely cannot let Geralt see his room like this.

Given he has roughly four minutes, maybe a few more if Geralt stops to talk to Jassa before coming up, it's not going to be easy. So Jaskier starts with the worst of it: the clothes and things laying all over the bed and floor. There is a surprising amount of mess considering Jaskier is the only one residing in the room, but he manages to get the worst of it tidied before the knock at the door. A final glance tells him only the desk and table are still cluttered, but that much is acceptable so he crosses to the door.

As he pulls it open, Jaskier is struck by Geralt's smile. He always is when they haven't seen each other for some time, but this feels more. Maybe it's because he's been considering his own feelings lately, but looking at Geralt, here and in person, makes his legs weak.

"Hi," he says shakily.

Geralt gives him an odd look, but it quickly turns into a half-smile and he steps into the room when Jaskier moves aside.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he says gently, "it's no trouble to find a room at the inn if-"

"Not at all," Jaskier interrupts. "I'd be happy to host you if you're staying.”

"I had hoped to," Geralt says.

"What brings you?" Jaskier asks.

"The route to Kaer Morhen was snowed over by the time we arrived in Kaedwen," he explains, "I thought this might be the best place to stay."

Part of Jaskier is delighted at the thought, though when he considers it further, Oxenfurt is further than any of the other places Geralt would be more than welcome to stay over the winter. There's no good reason for him to have travelled all the way to the coast, when surely Yen would have taken him in without question. Their relationship may not be romantic anymore, but Jaskier knows there is still a deep love between them. And he's happy for it, which makes it all the more confusing why Geralt is here. He thinks to ask, but reconsiders.

"Please," he says, remembering his manners, "make yourself at home. I can have a bath poured if you're tired? Was Roach properly cared for? Shall I call for supper-"

"Jaskier," Geralt says gently, "Roach is fine. A small meal would be nice, but there's no rush. Right now I'd just like to relax."

Of course, Jaskier thinks. He must have been travelling for weeks if he first attempted the path and then had to turn back. Jaskier had left him just north of the Pontar, between the mountain ranges, so that must have been-

"Jaskier?" Geralt asks, cutting off his train of thought. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Jaskier assures him. "Just wasn't expecting company and I'm not prepared for it- Not that you're not welcome!" he corrects quickly, and with a little too much vigour.

"Perhaps you're the one who needs a rest," Geralt says, half-teasingly.

"Just to get my head on straight," Jaskier assures him. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll go fetch something warm for you to eat."

Jaskier slips from the room, only stopping one he's far enough away that Geralt won't hear him. He stops and sighs, pressing a hand to his chest as if to stop the mad beating of his heart. Surely Geralt has heard it already and he’s given himself away, but he was hardly expecting to be visited like this out of the blue.

He takes another few calming breaths before continuing on down to the kitchen. He's close with the chef - with most of the staff if he's honest - and has more than once helped him out of a sticky situation with less-than-edible herbs, so his request for a private supper is granted with a smile. In the meantime, Jaskier makes his way back up to the room, holding his breath for a moment before opening the door.

Geralt is standing over the desk in the small room, mumbling quietly. As Jaskier approaches, slipping up behind him, he realizes Geralt is reading the poetry he'd been working on. Jaskier has never been so relieved to know how little Geralt thinks about his poems, as these ones are nearly explicitly about him, the only relief being that his name is not used. Wolf, he uses once or twice, but it's a metaphor and Geralt always says he doesn't care for flowery things like metaphors.

"This is... lovely," Geralt says, though he sounds a bit off as he does.

"Thank you," Jaskier says quietly, slipping around to Geralt's side to see which one he's reading.

"You- your narrator sounds sad."

"Ah, yes. Been a bit of a downer lately, I suppose."

Jaskier tries to laugh it off but Geralt turns to look at him, something like concern in his expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing's wrong," Jaskier assures. "I've just not been feeling myself."

"Can I help?"

Jaskier is taken aback by the blunt suggestion and his head jerks up to meet Geralt's eyes.

"I'm not sure you could, love," he says gently.

"If someone has hurt you-"

"No," Jaskier says quickly.

"You reek of heartache," Geralt says bluntly.

"Right. Well." He considers for a moment before deciding against lying to Geralt. "Unrequited love, I'm afraid."

"How do you know it is?"

"Unrequited?" Jaskier laughs, "oh, my darling, he'd have to be the stupidest man alive not to know. Or perhaps the most oblivious. I'm sure he would have said something if he felt the same."

"You haven't," Geralt counters.

"Right, well- He wouldn't want someone like me, surely."

"Perhaps he feels you think the same of him."

Jaskier had considered that option, but it seems unlikely.

"Either way, it's best just to tell him. I'm sure he'll be flattered if nothing else."

The mere suggestion of it makes Jaskiers stomach turn and he nods slowly. Thankfully, at that moment, supper is delivered to their room and he is spared the thought of confessing his feelings - out loud - to Geralt.

His relief is short-lived as supper is finished shortly, but he makes an excuse about taking the dishes away and dashes out the door with them. Jaskier wants to cry. He can't believe he's gotten himself into a mess like this and he can only hope Geralt doesn't continue to bring it up.

He's so distracted thinking about it that it seems like seconds before he's standing back in front of his door. He hesitates before opening the door, keeping his eyes closed until the last possible moment.

When he opens his eyes, Jaskier's heart jumps into his throat. As Geralt turned to see him, a piece of paper had fallen from his hands and Jaskier can't take his eyes off it. He'd been so preoccupied worrying about the mess when Geralt showed up that he'd forgotten to hide the letter. And it was addressed to Geralt, he had every right to read it, but-

"Jaskier?"

Jaskier scrambles across the floor, reaching for the letter, but Geralt catches his wrist, holding him still.

"Is this just another one of your poems?" he asks quietly.

Jaskier shakes his head. There's no use denying it.

"It's… me. I'm the one you were talking about earlier."

Jaskier half wishes he could fall through the floor and never have to finish this conversation. Sadly, despite how hard he wishes, the floor refuses to open up beneath him. He nods.

"I want to hear you say it."

Jaskier's tongue feels heavy in his mouth but he manages, "I don't know what to say. I don't want to make any big confessions I can't live up to."

"Then how about this?" Geralt says.

He leans in, taking Jaskier's face in his hand, and softly presses their lips together. For a moment, Jaskier forgets to breathe and has trouble believing this is real at all. But when Geralt pulls back again, he's smiling, his cheeks a faint shade of pink. Jaskier's first thought is that it's quite a pretty colour on him before he presses forward and kisses him again.

"Yeah," he breathes, barely pulling away to speak, "I think that's a good start."

#rex writes #i just barely managed to sneak in a fic in January #first one of the year #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher

[solcorvidae]

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons (part 2 of ?)

Jaskier was put in a ton of winter sports as a kid. He knows how to ski and ice skate very well. He can snowboard but prefers skiing.

Geralt, on the other hand, never learned to skate. He and Eskel have not been able to find skates that fit their boot size since they were teenagers.

Geralt likes yard work more than other household chores. He likes maintaining the garden and arranging a nice living space to hangout in and Jaskier is very appreciative.

Jaskier is usually super busy in the winter months. He attends get togethers, dinners, parties, etc. Geralt does the opposite. He and his family head home for some time to relax and catch up with one another after being on the road. They don’t often do big activities or social events, mostly staying in the house with each other for the duration of their stay.

Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert shared a room until Geralt started to get into his teen years. Their childhood room had a bunk bed for the two oldest boys and a single bed for Lambert. Lambert eventually took over Vesemir’s office and it was converted to his new room. Now, they each have normal bed frames that sit on the floor.

Geralt wears a dark brown, felt, pinch front cowboy hat. He is very attuned to the etiquette and superstitious beliefs around wearing one.

Eskel and Jaskier are the same height (6’0)

Geralt is 6’3 but often people assume he’s shorter. He slouches when he sits and tries to take up as little metaphorical space in the room as he can. When he stands up, his posture is straight as a board and this adds to the surprise many people feel when they see how tall he really is.

Eskel is the opposite. He has a large but warm and inviting presence when he enters a room. He makes himself known and takes up a lot of space with his big personality. People often assume he must be taller than he really is and are often surprised when they stand next to him and see eye to eye.

Lambert is 5’11 and bitter about it.

Eskel has textured, somewhat oily skin but shockingly left his acne struggles in his teen years.

Geralt was blessed with little to no acne most of his life—including as a teenager.

Lambert hasn’t quite grown out of it and still gets the occasional (relatively mild) blemish. They usually appear when his disposable razor starts to get dull and begins to irritate the skin--Geralt tries to get him to invest in a safety razor, to no avail.

All three boys share a bathroom at Vesemir's house and Vesemir has his own tiny ensuite bathroom. He doesn't care if they trash their own space as long as it doesn't start growing mysterious molds…

Everyone having different hair colours (especially Geralt) meant that it was difficult to blame each other for hair left in the bottom of the tub/sink. But oh did Lambert try.

They are banned from using Vesemir's bathroom unless they absolutely have to. The shower however, is non negotiable. It is off limits altogether.

The only exception to this rule is when any of the boys are sick. When one of them is ill, Vesemir sets them up on the floor with blankets and a pillow so they don't have to keep running to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It also helps that he can keep an eye on them and monitor if they start getting worse or need to go to urgent care—Eskel was particularly bad for lying about not being sick for a long time.

As a child Geralt would wake up every night in the middle of the night from the dead of sleep and be afraid to fall back asleep on his own. He always climbed to the top bunk where Eskel slept and he felt safe. If Eskel wasn't there or he didn't want to wake him, Geralt would walk to Vesemir's room to fall asleep in his dads bed where he felt just as safe. It took him a long time to grow out of this habit.

Even though his boys are all grown up, Vesemir would never turn them away from any sort of "childish" comfort, especially when they're going through a particularly hard time. If they ever needed a hug or wanted to fall asleep in his room, all they had to do was ask.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

#hypothermic ao3 #the witcher modern au #I could write a million of these tbh #kaer morons #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #julian alfred pankratz #eskel witcher #lambert witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher headcanon #sol scribbles

[shy-urban-hobbit]

9. "Did you two..." "Kiss? Depends on what you call a kiss. Personally, being body-slammed into a wall then violently made out with isn't a kiss." with a pairing of your choice pleaseee! and what would it take for it to be a real kiss for them?

Modern au. Drunk Lambert does not make good decisions. C/W for medicinal drug use.

Lambert woke up feeling like something had died in his mouth while its little friends were busy burrowing through his skull and using his brain as a trampoline.

He cursed as he pulled himself upright, the smell of bacon coming from downstairs making him feel both hungry and nauseous as he realised he was still in last night’s jeans and t-shirt. What the hell had he gotten up to?

His head hurt even more as he tried to remember. He had vague recollections of someone’s lips on his, another tongue in his mouth, another body pressed against his and pulling him closer in some dark corner of the club – all the evidence was suggesting he hadn’t bought them home with him this time though (he was never one for getting down and dirty in alleyways or club bathrooms). He shrugged internally, at least he apparently still got some action last night, even if it was just a bit of necking.

Lambert heard Geralt snoring away in the guest room before he staggered past a blanket covered lump on the couch that could only be a still sleeping Eskel and into the kitchen to find his housemate and best friend (and secret crush), Aiden sat at the wobbly table, sweater hood pulled up and looking about as miserable as Lambert felt. Jaskier, his brother Geralt’s occasional fuck buddy, was dancing and singing at the stove, covered in hickies and looking fresh as a daisy as he tried to avoid the grease the bacon was spitting at him from the pan (Lambert wanted to know exactly who the other man had sold his soul to that he never got hangovers. He suspected Yenn).

“Good morning, Lovely!” Jaskier called out, “Fresh bacon’s almost done and there’s coffee in the pot.

Lambert grunted his thanks as he filled a mug and took his usual spot next to Aiden, rather than give him the usual conspiratorial grin and eye roll over Jaskier’s antics, the other pointedly looked away, stabbing and playing with the remains of his own breakfast on the plate in front of him.

Lambert tried to chalk it up to Aiden just feeling shit too – whether through over indulging the previous night or from his old head injury acting up again - but after the third attempt at trying to engage him in conversation it was starting to become crystal clear the other was ignoring him.

“It’s a shame you left early, Aiden. You missed out on the hilarity that was Eskel trying to chat up a cardboard cut-out.” Jaskier sighed, sliding a plate of bacon in front of Lambert as he took one of the free seats, resting his coffee on a bent knee, “Speaking of though. Correct me if I’m wrong but,” He got that look on his face he always wore when he sensed good gossip and waved a finger between the two of them, “Did you two…”

“Kiss? Depends on what you call a kiss. Personally, being body-slammed into a wall then violently made out with isn’t a kiss.”

Aiden got up from the table while Lambert choked on his bacon. Fuck, no wonder Aiden was giving him the cold shoulder this morning! But wait…Aiden had reciprocated, right (Lambert would be wearing the evidence on his face if he’d overstepped. He’d personally cheered over witnessing Aiden break the nose of more than one creep). So why exactly was he mad?

He threw a confused look at Jaskier, who wisely took a large gulp of coffee and said nothing.

He found Aiden outside in the yard, hood still up against the light rain and the dregs of a joint in hand as he stared at nothing in particular. Lambert hadn’t been completely off about the head injury then - the result of a serious case of mistaken identity years ago.

“Look, I get it if you’re mad about last night-”

“I’m not mad, Lambert.” Aiden sighed, the first words he’d spoken to him all morning, “Right now, I’m feeling kind of sorry for your past hookups. That wasn’t a kiss, that was a mauling.”

“Well, I’ve never had any complaints before.”

“Well, maybe I just have higher standards than your usual Jonny Six-Shots.”

“Didn’t stop you from sticking your tongue in my mouth.” Lambert snapped, too hungover for whatever game this was, “So what the fuck do you call a kiss then if you’re such a god damn connoisseur?” Aiden’s mouth was pressed into a thin line as he avoided his eye, “No, no. Why so silent suddenly? C’mon. Show me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Fucking charming.”

“I don’t want to, because I like you too much.” Aiden told his shoes.

Now it was Lambert’s turn to fall silent.

Aiden gave a sad smile as he crossed his arms over his chest, “I thought last night when you kissed me, maybe you...but then I realised how drunk you were and for Christ’s sake, you’ve thrown yourself at Jaskier before he and Geralt were a thing when you’ve had too much.”

“Jaskier was a one time thing, and a mistake.”

“Exactly.” Aiden arms had migrated so they were now wrapped around his torso in a semblance of a hug as he looked up at Lambert, “So was the guy before him, and the guy before him. I’m not going to be considered another mistake, nor do I want to be kissing you just to prove a point. And you’re an asshole if you decide to push that now you know how I feel.”

Lambert felt like he’d just taken a sucker punch to the chest as all the air left his body.

“Aiden, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine. Forget it, I’ll get over it. I’m going back to bed, migraine. Say bye to the others for me when they leave.”

“Its fine. Forget it.”

Except it wasn’t and Lambert couldn’t. He stayed glued to the armchair he’d been sat in since his brothers had left mid afternoon, not caring that it was now growing dark. He was more concerned with this morning’s little revelation. Since when had Aiden liked him too??

His stomach rumbling gave him an idea and he reheated and plated up some leftovers for Aiden. The movement from his room let Lambert know that he hadn’t been asleep for a few hours now but still felt like he needed to avoid him. That was fine (it wasn’t) but pesky emotions aside, he still needed to eat. Maybe Lambert could say what he wanted before Aiden slammed the door in his face, assuming he’d open the door in the first place.

A shirtless Aiden opened his door before Lambert had even raised a hand to knock, jerking in surprise as he dropped his armful of clean pajamas and almost upending Lambert’s offering of yesterday’s Chinese food.

“I was just going to grab a shower.” He mumbled to the empty space over Lambert’s shoulder.

“Can we talk first, please?” Lambert held the plate up slightly higher, “I bought noodles?” it had the desired effect and Aiden made a little noise through his nose that may have been a laugh before stepping aside and letting Lambert in. He hovered awkwardly, despite having been in the others space too many times to count it suddenly felt like there unspoken rules about where he couldn’t sit, what he couldn’t touch. He settled on placing the plate on Aiden’s desk before turning to face him. It didn’t escape his notice that Aiden was still stood by the open door.

“I can go if I’m making you uncomfortable”.

“No it, it’s fine. What did you want to talk about?”

As if that wasn’t glaringly obvious, but it looked like Aiden was treading water here too. Fuck it, if this went wrong they’d drown together at least.

“You didn’t let me finish what I was going to say. Out in the yard.”

Aiden suddenly looked wary, “Lambert-”

“Aiden, please. You said we could talk so, let me talk?”

Aiden nodded but he didn’t look the least bit happy about it.

“I was going to say, I didn’t know you felt like that. About me, and...I like you too much too.”

Aiden made a noise like he’d been hit, “Please don’t joke about that, or just tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m really not. I’ve liked you since we were out celebrating your twenty first and you beat the shit out of that guy twice your size. I thought it was a passing thing and it would go ‘cos that was hot as fuck but. It didn’t.”

Aiden moved further into the room, “Lambert, that was six years ago.”

Lambert threw him a ‘no shit’ look, “I’m aware. Believe me. All those guys at bars, they were great at the time but they were always going to be mistakes come morning because they weren’t you. And then I totally had to go and balls it up by making you feel like...you know.”

He glanced away, taking a moment to concentrate on the colours of one of Aiden’s random knick-knacks before continuing, “But now. I’m sober, I know how you feel, and I would really like to know what you consider a kiss. A proper one.”

“I mean, you’re halfway there already.” Aiden remarked, coming even closer.

“And the other half?”

As Aiden pressed their mouths together Lambert decided he was totally Justified in his ‘mauling’ verdict earlier. He didn’t think he’d had a kiss this chaste since he was a teenager still figuring stuff out but that didn’t take away from the intensity. Hands stayed firmly around waists rather than wandering over backs and groping asses, when Aiden finally deepened it there was no biting teeth or aggressive tongues, only languid strokes as they played rather than chased.

Chaste or not, the need to breathe was still an issue and they parted slowly, breathing only slightly heavier than normal rather than the heaving chests Lambert had come to expect.

“I still need to take that shower.” Aiden muttered, Lambert nodding dumbly as the other stepped away, “Want to join me?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He was very much already looking forward to more of Aiden’s interpretation of a kiss.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #lambden #lambert x aiden #lambert/aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[court-of-fairytales]

The female Witcher

Summary: Geralt and Ciri are back in Kaer Morhen for the winter. But what happens when Ciri finds out about the only female Witcher who used to be close to Geralt?

Warnings: Poisoning

Words: 1850

A/N: I am back to writing after a 5-year-long break. I hope you like it!

____________________________________________

„Geralt? Who is Y/N?“ Ciri asked when she got into the same room as the famous Witcher. Curiosity was written in the young girls face. “Where do you have that name from?” 

“Doesn´t matter, who is she?”

“No one of importance” Geralt grunts out and leaves the room as fast as he could, leaving a confused Ciri behind.

____________________________________________

Meanwhile Y/N lips left one curse after another one. Her grey hair was falling into her face as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were scanning the surroundings searching for one of the monsters she lost moments ago.

Oh, did she wish that another Witcher would have accompanied her. Vesemir told her to take someone with her, but she refused. Y/N wanted to show them once again that she was as good as them. Even though everyone knew that Y/N was one of the best Witcher out there. Some whispers even dared to say that she was better than the great Geralt of Rivia.

Just as she turned around to search further for the monster, the creature sprang out of the woods. Even a skilled Witcher like Y/N was, wasn´t able to react that fast and so the monster was able to bight right into Y/Ns neck, poisoning her blood with its venom.

Y/N let out a scream of pain before she was able to pull up her silver sword and push it right through the creature’s heart. Only in the background Y/N could make out the dying scream of the monster. The venom already taking control over her body. She went unconscious even before the monster fell right beside her. But before everything went completely blank the young Witcher´s lips left one single word “Geralt…”

____________________________________________

Geralt stormed through Kaer Morhen searching for Eskel, Vesemir or any other Witcher who was currently in the old keep. Searching for answers why Ciri knows of Y/N.

He just turned around the corner the exact moment as Eskel, nearly running him over in the process.

Eskel chuckled about the broody behavior, knowing exactly what got Geralt into that mood.

“Why does Ciri know of her existence?”, he practically growled out.

Eskel smiled knowing exactly where Ciri had that name from. And as a good friend of Geralt he won´t keep that information from him.

“Oh, she was in the dining room with us. Lembert asked Vesemir when Y/N is coming back from her mission. Vesemir told him, that she should be back soon. Ciri immediately perked up when she heard a female name and started asking questions if she is a mage and stuff like that. We didn’t give her answers, obviously. So we told her to ask you about Y/N. She immediately stormed off and I bet on your behavior that she already asked”

Geralt sighs taking in the news off her coming back to Kaer Morhen. “She is coming back? I thought she would never step into this keep again…”

“Geralt, Y/N visits our keep regularly. It was just about time that you meet again. It´s time to talk with Ciri about her before she runs into Y/N herself.”

The grey haired Witcher looked out of the window, thinking about the words of his dear friend.

“You are right. Thanks, Eskel”

____________________________________________

That night right before Ciri went to bed, Geralt walked into her room.

“We need to talk”, he stated while walking to the chair besides Ciris bed.

“About what?” “Y/N”

Ciri immediately set up again in her bed, waiting for Geralt to start talking about the famous Y/N.

“Before I tell you the story about her, you must know that there is no way that we are trying it again with you. Y/N was one out of a lifetime.”

The girl only nodded, confused about what Geralt just said.

“Y/N is a female witcher just like me. Vesemir took her in, not knowing that she was a girl. Y/N was and still is one of the most intelligent people gracing this world. She knew that Vesemir wouldn´t take her in if he knew that she was a girl. So she cut her hair, wore boy clothes and talked in a deeper voice. No one suspected a thing. She did all the same quests as we did and most importantly, she survived the trial of the grasses. No other girl ever did, it´s also the trial where most of our people who wanted to transform died a painful death. Only after that trial Vesemir found out that the young boy was in fact a girl. He punished her, throwing her out of the keep in the middle of one of the deepest winters Kaer Morhan has ever seen. He thought that the girl died but when spring knocked on the keeps door, not only the warmth came back but also Y/N. Vesemir was too stunned to speak, he was sure that the girl wouldn´t survive the winter. They barely managed it and they were in a keep. Impressed with the young girl he took Y/N in again, knowing that the girl was way more powerful than he thought and therefor way more useful. He talked to some mages how it was possible that a girl survived the trial of grasses. But no one had an answer. After talking with every Witcher and Mage he knew, they all decided to let Y/N do the last two trials. The trial of the Dreams and the trial of the Mountains. She passed both with brilliance. So they did one more trial just like they did with me, and she passed again. Owning her the same grey hair as I have. Y/N grew up to be one of the best Witchers the world has ever seen, and it seems that she comes back to the place where everything started… Kaer Morhan”

Ciri couldn´t believe her ears. A female Witcher? An exceptional one on top? Why did she never hear of her and why did no one talk about her?

“Why weren´t the others answering my questions about her?” the girl asked confused.

“Y/N and I have some history together. We spent most of our years together. We used to travel together, tried to get jobs at the same place or even got together on the same job even though only one Witcher was needed. You could say we were inseparable. We shared more than only work if you know what I mean…”

Ciri of course understood. She needed a moment to take all those information in. She thought about what question to ask next, especially now that Geralt was in a talkative mood.

“What happened between you two? Why isn’t she with you anymore?”

Geralt groaned, he was waiting for this question.

“I fucked up, I…” but he didn´t get the chance to continue the story because Eskel was storming through the door.

“Geralt… it´s Y/N, she is here… but it doesn´t look good…”

Eskel didn´t even get the chance to catch his breath or step aside when Geralt jumped up and pushed his friend aside. Running towards the gate where Y/N just arrived moments ago.

Ciri and Eskel were following him hot on his heels.

When he arrived at the gate. Vesemir where already by her side. He took in her current state and how far the poisoning already went into her body. The old Witcher asked Geralt to help him bringing the woman to their laboratory, hoping that they would be able to save Y/N.

 ____________________________________________

Geralt put Y/N down as slow as he could. Looking her over and over again if her status has changed. He looked at the spot where the creature was able to bite you. Wincing when he saw the black poison in your blood veins.

Vesemir hurriedly searched for the anti-poison when he started talking. “I told her to take Eskel or someone else with her. That the job would be too dangerous. Especially after we knew that more than one creature was in the forest. But she refused… she said that she could take it, so I let her go…”

Geralt sighed, knowing how stubborn Y/N could be. He looked up to Vesemir, who finally found the little bottle with the liquid, which could save her life.

Geralt held down your shoulders when Vesemir took the antidote and pressed it on Y/Ns lips, trying to get her to drink it. After some struggles from both, Vesemir and Geralt, they finally got Y/N to drink it. Geralt relaxed immediately looking up to his mentor.

“She will survive, right?” To that Vesemir had no real answer, just time could show if Lembert was able to bring back Y/N right in time or if he was too late. It already was a miracle that Lembert was able to find her.

 ____________________________________________

Geralt wasn´t leaving Y/Ns side at all. Vesemir looked after the woman every day, giving her a dose of medicine, and praying that she would wake up soon. Every time before he leaves the room again, he looks back at the couple, giving Geralt a look of sympathy.

Right after his mentor left the room another knock on the door brought Geralt out of his thoughts. Ciri walked in with a tablet of food, putting it down on the table.

“Is she going to be okay?” Ciri whispered behind Geralt. After Lembert showed up with Y/N at the gate the other Witchers told her many stories about the woman. Especially Eskel had the best stories about his friends. And after every story Ciri heard she liked Y/N more and more, but no one wanted to tell her what happened between Geralt and Y/N a few years back. Getting the same answer every time she asked: “It´s not our story to tell…”

Geralt looked back to the young girl, he treated like his daughter. “We think so. Her body just needs time to recover from the poison. Lembert found her long after the fight. The poison was able to get deep into her body. It´s going to take some time still its all out again.” Ciri nods in understanding. Vesemir told her about the creaturs Y/N thought off that day.

She gives Geralt a comforting squeeze to his shoulder to show him that she is here for him before the young girl leaves the room again. Leaving the two Witchers alone.

  ____________________________________________

The full moon was shining through the window at the sleeping figure of Geralt of Rivia.

Exhaustion finally took over him, after being awake for nearly a week.

But his deserved rest was of short-term when a cough waked him in the middle of the night.

Geralt immediately set up straight and looked over to the bed where the coughing was coming from.

Y/N finally opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings when she landed on the grey haired-witcher.

“Geralt? Is that you?” Geralt sprang up and walked the distance to the bed, kneeling down beside it.

“It´s me, yes” Y/N let out a whimper, taking his hand in hers. “Never leave me alone again” Y/N whispers. “Never”, Geralt answered and gave Y/Ns hand a comforting squeeze.

Never.

#geralt imagine #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher x y/n #the witcher netflix #geralt x y/n

[annmarcus63]

An ugly, translucent shape opened at the gates of Kaer Morhen. A portal. Mercenaries and a mage, the firefucker.  The witchers defend their home and their cub, but they're too many. Ciri gets badly wounded and Rince is about to drag her through the portal, away from her home, away from her family. Geralt feels terror, they can't take her. The wizards fight with all their might, eliminating them one by one in a matter of second. A defeated Rince mocks them and before fleeing, he reaches into the portal to pull out a person who instantly falls to the ground. 

"This one sang beautifully, witcher. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have found Princess Cirilla. And her blood" the mage's face twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at his blood covered dagger. Blood holds power, especially Ciri’s. But before Rince can escape, Lambert appears out of nowhere, taking him by surprise to cut off his head instantly. 

On the ground there's a shaking figure. 

A pair of frightened eyes looks around. Jaskier. Geralt had not seen the bard for years, he tried not to think about him either. But Ciri is wounded, bleeding and whimpering for Geralt because it hurts too much. The witchers carry the princess inside without looking back, to the shaking man on the ground. Geralt and Eskel heals Ciri as much as they can. She's going to be alright.  

Later, he sees Vesemir, through Ciri's bedroom window, approaching a shrunken figure at the stables and after a few breaths said figure following the aged witcher inside the fortress. 

Jaskier is there the next morning, sitting in the dining hall, shoeless and wearing simple clothes that are too big for him. But he doesn't want to see him, he can't, Ciri almost died because Jaskier was the one who gave the information to Rince. With a shrinking heart, Geralt turns away to find something to occupy his mind while Ciri recovers. 

-

Guilt is eating Jaskier up, even the pain cannot compensate for his heavy conscience. He hides his hands in a pair of thick gloves that rub against his burned skin, but it is worse to have them exposed. He had never been to Kaer Morhen before, but he had never imagined it would be like this. He never imagined he would be an outsider, a traitor. 

He finds a pretty good room, it's small and only has a hole in the wall, so it's not so cold. The wolves are uneasy, uncomfortable with his presence and he totally understands it. Geralt has barely given him a glance. Eskel is kind, he smiles at him whenever they run into each other and even gives him a pair of boots and a cloak.

The day after his arrival he spends the day working on the stables, cleaning and feeding the horses, it's not an easy task due to his damaged hands but he can manage. In the afternoon, Jaskier goes inside and sits down in front of the fire in the hall to warm his freezing bones. Not too close, of course. 

Geralt and Lambert enter speaking in hushed voices, Jaskier makes himself as small as possible so as not to attract attention. He's the prey. They are talking about Ciri, she is apparently well and that is reassuring. And suddenly...

"Shh, It's not safe to talk here." It takes him a few seconds to register what Lamber said.  Jaskier looks up to find two pairs of yellow eyes, predator's eyes, looking down at him with weariness. Something breaks inside him, something essential, it could be his core, his heart at the very least. In a hurried move he stands and leaves the room to find another place to get warm. 

At night the pain is too much to bear. He can't sleep and he's so damn tired so he cries for a while until he decides he’s had enough. He leaves his room barefoot so as not to alert the witchers and a single oil lantern to light the dark corridors of the keep. He wanders around for a while until he finds the lab, surely there must be something here to help ease his pain? he sniffs every jar and bottle whose contents seem familiar when a voice calls "If you smell that one you'll die" Jaskier yelps, turning around. 

Vesemir is at the door 

"I...I...I wasn't doing anything wrong, and maybe that's not the smartest thing to say. I'm sorry, I’ll just...go" 

"...what do you need?" 

"Something for the pain" The witcher approaches a cabinet 

"What kind of pain?" 

Jaskier is biting his lips to decide whether to tell the truth or... "Bard" Vesemir scolds him. 

"...burns" Vesemir stops to turn to look at him, his heavy eyes landing on the gloves on his hands. The witcher resumes his search and in a couple of minutes spent in silence he hands Jaskier a vial full of white stuff.  

"Thank you" Jaskier smiles sincerely. 

"Put shoes on or you'll lose your feet too" 

He cries all the way back to his room. 

The salve helped a little, but he still couldn't sleep. He's so tired and he doesn't want to be here anymore. He wonders if the snow is thick enough to kill him if he leaves in the night. 

It's hard to peel potatoes and Eskel notices upon entering the kitchen. "Are you ok?" says signaling the odd way in which he's holding the knife. Jaskier smiles at Eskel with a nod, afraid that if he speaks he won't be able to stop. The witcher is handsome even with the scar that splits his face. He has a quiet air about him that makes the bard sure that if they had met in different situations they’d surely be good friends. 

"You should go to the springs, the one in the middle will help you heal. Just don't go to the one on the right or you'll be burned alive" Jaskier flinches "Thank you, Eskel. I'll be sure to save you an extra portion of broth." the witcher laughs and pats the bard's shoulder before leaving. Jaskier wants to ask about Ciri but knows he has no right. 

-

Geralt is watching over his cub when he hears a door opening outside followed by unsure steps. Jaskier. He still hasn't decided if having the bard here is a good idea, he doesn't trust him, not quite. Eskel says he is too hard on him, also says he's injured to some extent. Geralt makes sure that Ciri is completely asleep before he follows the bard. He's in the springs. It is too late at night for another witcher to be there too, so Geralt decides that this may be the perfect opportunity to finally talk to him. To question him about his betrayal, even if it pains Geralt to know the answer. But he stands frozen in the entrance, Jaskier's back is turned to him, naked.  Hand marks decorate the bard's back, ugly burns across his arms that have not fully healed. 

Something breaks in Geralt and he is overcome by an unbearable grief and anger towards himself, towards Rince. The witcher watches as Jaskier removes one of the gloves. How had he not noticed the gloves? To reveal a completely burned hand, missing pieces of flesh and blackened areas beyond repair. The bard is weeping quietly, even the touch of the air causes him immense pain. Geralt gulps, wishing he could rewind the time, lift Jaskier off the ground and ask him if he was all right. He wants to turn back time to never shout those cruel words at him on the mountain.  

#geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #the witcher netflix #hey it's me again #with yet another angsty prompt #In this one #Yennefer doesn't save Jaskier from the hands of the firefucker #our baby bard is hurting #as in all my stories #i'm sorry

[hrefna-the-raven]

Another friendly one?

Masterlist

Words: 1215

Summary: Eskel learns the difference between an unusual and friendly mount and a beast

Notes: after ignoring this WIP for almost a year, I finally finished it 😅 while writing this, I had Netflix!Eskel in mind, because 🥵🔥 but he has the soft personality of Game!Eskel, because let's be fair here, Netflix did our witcher dirty in their show

Eskel had been on the road for days, Scorpio carrying him through the vast meadows. The sun had begun its descent, casting a warm golden hue across the landscape. Just as he was about to end his search for the perfect place to set up a camp for the night, he saw something unexpected, a huge griffin landing gracefully on the meadow next to his path, ruffling its majestic raven feathers and mane. Intrigued and cautious by how careless and relaxed it seemed to be, Eskel dismounted from his horse, his silver sword drawn, gleaming in the fading sunlight. He knew he had to be prepared for anything, so he slowly crept closer to the beast, trying to steady his breath and relying on his heightened witcher senses. With each step, he mentally prepared himself to unleash his magic as a last resort. Ten meters away, Eskel steadied himself, his sword poised to strike, held firmly in his grip. In one swift motion, he sprinted towards the creature, his eyes fixed on its powerful wings and razor-sharp claws. But just as he was about to launch his attack, a sudden surge of a potent spell struck him, sending him sprawling backward through the air.

Confused and disoriented, Eskel struggled to regain his bearings. And then, a commanding voice pierced through the air, demanding attention.

"No!" a female voice shouted, "Talon is my mount, not a monster!"

Eskel looked up to find you standing beside the griffin. Your bright amber eyes were filled with concern and frustration as you defended your companion, your hand holding your own sword tight, ready to draw it if needed. Talon, seemingly intrigued by the commotion, looked from Eskel to you and back again, its eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and confusion before finally slumping down in a curled up position and closed its eyes.

The witcher's initial confusion turned into a mix of awe and admiration. He had encountered countless beasts but this encounter was unlike any other. The usual ferocity he had expected was replaced by a surprising harmony between the griffin and you. Silent questions swirled within Eskel's mind. Who were you and why in the name of Melitele's tits did you ride upon a creature typically feared and hunted? What kind of bond did you share that enabled such a display of trust and friendship? Eskel rose from his position, sheathing his silver sword and calling for Scorpio while cautiously approaching you, his palms raised.

"I mean you no harm", he stated calmly, "I just sought to protect, I'm-"

"A witcher", you interrupted him, earning a chuckle from Eskel.

"Is it that obvious?"

You affectionately stroked the griffin's head before continuing to unpack, preparing to establish a small camp for the night.

"You tried to attack a grown griffin so there are only two options", you smirked, glancing at him, "you're either an idiot or a witcher."

"Well I suppose I should be grateful that I don't look like an idiot", Eskel laughed, "I'm Eskel."

You playfully curtsied before the witcher, theatrically announcing your name with an air of mock elegance.

"Formidable huntress, whether with a blade or through magic", you chuckled as you conjured some firewood and ignited it, "care to join me for the night?", you offered.

Eskel felt the heat rising in his cheeks, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as his hand anxiously rubbed at his neck.

"I meant set up camp here together", you said with a playful grin, finding amusement in his understanding, "it's safer that way."

The witcher let out a sigh of relief. He couldn't deny your beauty but he knew better than to take chances, especially after he'd gotten his ugly scars in the face. He had learned from painful experience that passionate encounters, if not paid for, often led to feelings of disappointment and sadness the following morning. As he was about to remove his swords from his back and set up his sleeping bag next to the fire, the griffin suddenly perked up, its head lifting in agitation as it peered into the surrounding darkness. A piercing cry shattered the stillness of the night, growing louder and closer as another griffin, larger and more imposing, descended onto the meadow.

"Another friendly one?", Eskel asked hesitantly.

"Oh no no no", you exclaimed, raising your hand and tracing a symbol before releasing a blazing fireball towards the ferocious creature, "not friendly, not friendly!", you shouted as you swiftly darted towards the left, signalling Talon to stand back.

Eskel stumbled backwards, unsheathing his sword and sprinting towards the right, attempting to outmaneuver the menacing beast. With swift reflexes, he leaped aside, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp claws. The griffin, with its magnificent wingspan and piercing eyes, had clearly marked Eskel as its prey. The witcher's piercing blue eyes locked with the griffin's fierce stare, a silent challenge between predator and prey. He conjured a swirling vortex of fire, hurling it towards the griffin with a thunderous scream.

Sensing an opportunity, you charged from the opposite side. Distracted by Eskel's attacks, you managed to clash your sword into the griffin's side, digging it deep into its flesh as it screamed in pain. The creature fought back with unmatched strength, lashing out with its beak and talons that you barely managed to dodge by casting a protective spell.

Eskel and you fought valiantly, blow after blow, spell after spell, the battle raged on until the beast's once-mighty wings faltered and it let out a final, guttural cry. The creature, exhausted and defeated, collapsed onto the grass, its life force fading away. Exhausted from the ordeal, you made your way back to the warmth of the crackling fire. As you glanced over at the witcher, a silent understanding passed between you, assuring each other that neither of you had been harmed. In response, he offered you a reassuring smile, prompting you to truly take in his appearance for the first time. There he stood, tall, his ripped and bloodstained tunic clinging to his chest as he breathed slowly, the flickering flames danced across his scarred face, casting a soft glow. His wavy brown hair was haphazardly tied at the back of his head, while his piercing blue eyes seemed to radiate with an inner light. Despite the deep scars that marred his face, he possessed an undeniable beauty that remained untouched and you quickly averted your gaze back to your backpack. After searching around, your hands eventually located the object of your desire. 

"Let's share", you offered, presenting a bottle of exquisite wine to the weary witcher. 

"Talk about impeccable timing after an intense battle," he laughed, taking a generous swig from the bottle before returning it.

"You know," you said, giving him a quick glance and a warm smile forming at the edges of your lips, "I can't help but wonder if the tales I heared about witchers were entirely accurate."

"About us being mutants, monsters, snatching children away, and never being satisfied?" Eskel inquired, attempting to mask a hint of sadness in his tone.

"Yes, although," you playfully nudged his arm, "I must admit, I'm not entirely convinced about the last one. Perhaps that particular rumour could benefit from a more thorough examination."

#the witcher #witcher #witcher eskel #netflix!eskel #eskel #eskel x reader #eskel x female reader #griffin #pet griffin #fighting alongside eskel #eskel deserves all the goodness he can get

[winters-mistress]

Cuddle pile

It's cold. It's so fucking cold that Ciri thinks she may honestly ask the gods to take her to the next world, because nothing can be as cold as this. She's got two pairs of leggings on, two pairs of socks, one of Geralt's tunics, her pair of gloves that Eskel had found for her, and she's buried underneath several blankets. Yet, she's so cold. She's so fucking cold.

The door opens, she can hear the squeak of the hinges. Footsteps come towards her, she can tell by the gait that it's Geralt, he's trying to be quiet, but he knows she's awake.

"Ciri?" she peaks out of her cocoon of blankets, one eye blinking up at him. His lip twitches, and he reaches towards her. "Cone here, it's too cold for you to be here alone. Especially with the fire refusing to catch."

She realises that the fireplace and the torches are dead. How many times has somebody came in and tried to warm her, only for the wind to blow it out?

Her thoughts distract her enough that Geralts breath upon her cheeks startle her, but she doesn't jump when his arks finally pick her up, blanket cocoon and all.

She makes a questioning noise, but never says no to Geralt giving her a hug. She's carried like a baby out of her room, out of the wing, down two flights of stairs, down another corridor, a third set of stairs, before they end up at the kitchens.

She makes a confused noise. It can't be breakfast time yet, the keep is pitch black to her puny human eyes.

"Why're we here?" she asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

"It's too cold, even for us. Gotta rest." Geralt says. Ciri blinks at him.

All in all, the witchers are good when it comes to her sleeping. When her nights are plagued with the horrors of her past and future, and she wakes up screaming with wet cheeks, the witchers let her sleep in whenever her rest finally turns peaceful and dark. They allow her afternoon naps after training and chores are done, and send her to bed when she stumbles into the dining hall with dark circles under her eyes. Early nights and late starts aren't punished, and as long as training and chores are completed at some point in the day, the witchers don't particularly care when it happens. Hell, shes been wrapped up like a baby by Lambert of all people when they had determined she needed a sleep.

Which is why it shouldn't be surprising when he turns the last corner and finds five Witchers laying a couple feet away from the cracking fireplace underneath the stew pot. They've got blankets and pillows and furs, and look rather comfortable. Laying all over each other, looking rather like a puppy pile. Even Aiden joins in with the snuggling.

"Pups." Vesemir rumbles when he sees them both. Geralt puts her on the floor, kneeling down next to her.

"Come here, girl, get comfortable. Gonna be making camp here for a couple'a days." Coën clarifies when he sees her confused face. Ciri blinks, but nods. These things make sense, and she's seen all the men here hug, but admittedly, this is the first cuddle pile she's been privy to.

She turns upon her side, feeling Geralt curl behind her, trapping her in with his arms, wrapping her in another blanket. She hums, wrapping her hand over his, before Eskel pulls them both close, and she smiles, closing her eyes, feeling the warmth seep into her.

And tonight, she will sleep sweetly indeed.

#geralt and ciri #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #ciri is his baby #cirilla of cintra #dadralt #fanfiction #geralt is the best dad #i love him #witcherfanfiction #eskel #lambert #coen #Aiden #vesemir #kaer morons #cuddle pile #witcher cuddles #witcher fanfic #season 2

[pumpkin-stars]

Reunion

Geralt of Rivia/GN!Reader

AKA Cottagecore!Geralt 2: Springtime Boogaloo

This can be read as existing in the same universe as Delay if you want to, works as a prequel or a sequel :)

Reblogs are very much appreciated 💕

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings/Content: Beefy!Geralt, soft!Geralt, established relationship where they still pine for each other a lot.

You wait by the window, watching the pink cherry blossoms coat the branches at the edge of the treeline, speaking of spring, the welcomed thaw.

The snow had melted two weeks ago, much to your goat’s delight - he’d grown tired of hay in the winter months and could finally snack on grass whenever he was outside the little barn. Your bees are busy too, pollinating all the flowers on your small patch of land, and soon you’ll have enough honey to harvest and sell at the market in the nearby village.

Spring doesn’t always bring the Witcher to your door - sometimes his work keeps him busy well into June and you spend over half a year worrying for his health… or you would, had he not gifted you a magical stone connected to a charm he wears on the chain of his medallion that glows a deep blue when he’s well and turns puce if he’s injured badly.

You know, even if he doesn’t visit, that he’s in perfect health after the long winter, the stone in pride of place on your mantel, glowing blue. He may not come for a long while, but still you wait, kneading bread with practised technique that means you can keep your eyes on the gate at the end of your garden and a few feet beyond for the tell-tale ripple of a disrupted ward.

He may not come yet, the blossoms mean nothing more than the start of his journey to you, but you will watch by the window until he does.

~~~

Geralt navigates the path easily, his well-trodden route a second nature after so many journeys down it. He travels it easier than the path to Kaer Morhen, there’s less danger in this patch of wood than on snowy cliffs, and the faint blue glow beneath his shirt settles any nerves about what he may find on the other side of the gate. Unlike his journey at the start of winter, when he doesn’t know how many brothers will have perished in the months since their last meeting, he can be certain that you will be waiting.

He doesn’t always visit so soon, but he had missed you more this past season than he had thought he would. Bidding farewell to you in mid-September and working on the other side of the Continent for a month before returning to the Keep and a colder winter in the mountains than usual had left too long since he had last seen you, your smile, your eyes… since he had last smelt your scent and laid beside your warmth.

It didn’t help that Jaskier had pilfered the floral, honey, and goat’s milk soap from his pack without him noticing, taking the soothing reminder of you. His ability to smell like you all winter gone. Even Eskel’s soap, made from Lil Bleater’s milk, didn’t smell enough like you to calm him down - he’s sure his brothers will tease him for (at least) the next decade after he’d spent the winter grumpy, pouty (as Lambert had put it), and a little short tempered - not that anyone other than his brothers would’ve noticed much difference in the length of his fuse. Except for you.

He’s missed you - he always does - but this time more than ever, and while he’d usually take jobs on his way to you, this year he’s refused to be distracted - if the problem is large enough, another Witcher can deal with it. He has somewhere more important to be.

~~~

He hadn’t intended to arrive at night. He could’ve timed his journey better and emerged from the treeline mid-morning after spending a night at the village inn. But he was restless - to be so close - and he was sure that, even if he’d directed her toward the village, Roach would’ve continued on her path to you - to your warm and uncrowded barn with the best quality hay and oats - far better than a tiny, cramped stable that wouldn’t even offer her the faintest sniff at an apple.

He always arrives in the day so, when they pass through the wards blocking out the rest of the world, he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

When the sun is out, you run to him, hug him tightly and urge him to get Roach settled while you draw a bath… but now, with the stars lighting his way, he knows you’re sleeping, that a bath isn’t on the cards until you wake - and he’s unwilling to draw you from slumber before you’re ready.

Roach huffs, nudging his shoulder impatiently.

He smiles, nodding, guiding her to the barn, removing his pack and her saddle before grabbing a bag of oats. The goat is sleeping, thankfully, the little creature is always at odds with him for stealing your attention away.

He gives his horse another once-over before heading to the cottage, being careful of your ever-growing herb garden as he walks.

You always look so peaceful when you sleep, he thinks, that small smile a semi-permanent fixture on his face - at least when he’s here.

He’s careful not to wake you as he strips down, sniffs himself quickly (a little stale from the road, a bit horsey, but not too bad - not as bad as the last few times he’s arrived anyway), and moves to your bed, climbing under the covers carefully, not wanting to disturb you.

He frowns when he realises there’s a pillow between you both, lifting the blankets to get a better look, judging how easy it will be to extract it. You’re spooning it, face nestled into one end, a leg thrown over the other… and… his shirt around it… the one he’d left here after a Kikimora had slashed at him and torn it.

You’ve mended it, shoved a pillow in it… missed him so much that you needed to hug it and soak up the remainder of his smell.

He suddenly cares less about letting you sleep, shifting closer to kiss your forehead and swap places with the pillow, to give you the real thing and not some poor substitute that no longer carries any whiff of him.

“Mm,” he breathes as your head settles on his chest, his arms coming up to hold you, about to get his best night’s sleep since the year began.

~~~

You’re warm. Incredibly warm. You haven’t been this toasty beneath your covers since before winter. Since…

Your pillow moves under your head, rumbles with a snore, faint hair tickles your nose.

You smile softly, nuzzling into Geralt’s chest, letting your eyes open slowly, savouring the last moments of sleep and the first (conscious) moments of his company.

“Mm.” He hums, the heavy arm around your back tightens its hold, keeping you pressed against him - as if you’d ever want to leave.

“When did you arrive?” You whisper.

“Only a few hours ago.” He admits, “Go back to sleep.”

“And waste more of our time together?” You hum, “I’m sure you’d agree there are better things to do than sleep if you don’t want to get up.”

“Haven’t bathed.” He denies you.

“And you slept in my bed!?” You feign offence.

“Mm.” He smiles, cracking an eye open to look down at you, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You settle back against him, kissing his chest, “I don’t.”

He’s put on weight over winter - like a hibernating bear, bulking up on months of regular meals, training with his brothers, keeping warm in the Great Hall and not having to worry for his life or anyone else’s. It looks good on him, the extra muscle, the slight softness around his middle - the signs of prolonged relaxation. Though, compared to most others, a Witcher’s relaxation isn’t… entirely relaxing - logging trees to fuel fires in the Keep would be most men’s idea of a hard day’s work.

But Witchers aren’t most men.

“I missed you.” He says quietly.

“I missed you too,” You kiss his chest again, marveling at the difference a few months can make. He’s never scrawny - not by any means - but you’ve not seen him this bulked up before. “Did you come straight here?”

“Mm.”

“You didn’t even stop on the way? There’s a Wyvern-”

“Eskel will take care of it. I told you: I missed you.”

You smile, “How long can you stay?”

He tightens his hold, “Not long. A week at most. But I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”

“I know. You always are.” You sit up a little, just enough that you can look down at him, “Always.”

“Mm.” He smiles, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek, “I would stay forever if I could.”

“I know,” you cover his hand with yours, squeezing gently as you look him over, “But we both know you can’t.”

“One day.” He promises.

“Once all the monsters in the world are taken care of,” you nod, “or once you grow too old and tired for the job. We can sit on the porch wrapped in blankets and watch the bees all day.”

“Mm.” He pulls your head down, kissing you sweetly, “I’ll make sure I’m not too broken and old to fuck.”

“Good.” You smile, “that is the only reason I keep you around.”

He laughs, kissing you again, “Then you’d best let me up to bathe, dearest, else I shall overstay my welcome.”

~~~

He bathes quickly and thoroughly, washing the journey from his body with pleasured groans, delighting in the warm water and the scent of your soap. He tells you how Jaskier had pilfered his, and you promise to give him several bars when he leaves, so he shall never run out, even if the troubadour steals some more.

You give him breakfast as he sits in the tub, bread baked yesterday, freshly churned butter, some salted meat. The two of you sharing the simple plateful to get your energy levels up before you undoubtedly exhaust each other.

He tells you of his life since he left you, the new scar from a Striga on his shoulder, some still-healing yellowed bruises on his torso from brawling with his brothers, the stiffness that still infects his knee in the cold. He speaks of his joy at seeing his fellow Wolves again - no new losses to report, though all of them are beginning to feel their age.

You tell him of your time - leaving out the last few weeks spent watching the path from the kitchen window - how there were some prematurely born lambs at market recently that you’d considered buying, but had settled on stocking up on oats for porridge (and for Roach), how the goat had chewed through his tether during a storm and you’d spent a week clearing up the mess he’d made…

You both make mention of how you’ve missed the other, and upon his rising from the cooling water, promptly fell back into your bed to truly demonstrate your backlog of affections.

#i wrote this a while back and found it in my drafts today lol #geralt of rivia/reader #geralt/reader #geralt/you #the witcher/reader #geralt of rivia/you #the witcher/you #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x you #geralt x reader #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #stuffiwrote

[flowercrown-bard]

“Here, you can have mine.” Jaskel, please 💕

thank you for the prompt! I love it!

word count: 1690

AO3

Jaskier's shirt was plastered to his chest and Eskel was not looking. If he had been anyone else, it would have been different. Everyone always looked their fill of the bard and Jaskier didn't seem to mind, but with Eskel it was different. Jaskier had said so himself, one summer evening years ago, when they had both taken off their sweat soaked shirts. Jaskier had slouched his shoulders lazily, hadn't tried to make his body look more appealing - not that that was necessary or even possible - and then he had thanked Eskel. Thanked him that with him, he didn't have to make himself into something desirable. The implication had been clear. Jaskier saw him as a dear friend he could trust, but certainly not someone he would ever consider taking as a lover. 

So Eskel wasn't looking. He kept his eyes on Jaskier's face, though that proved even more dangerous. His damp hair was curling at the ends and some droplets were still dripping down the strands and onto his cheeks. Eskel had to clench his hands into firsts to stop himself from reaching out and wiping then away. 

"Look at this!" Jaskier lifted the wet sleeping bag up and pulled a face. "I get that the drowner pulled me into the water, but couldn't it wait until I had let go of my sleeping bag? It's going to take forever until this is dry again." 

Eskel swallowed the words that were fighting their way up his throat. 

We can share mine, he wanted to say. I can hold you at night and keep you warm.

Instead, he said, " Here!" and tossed his own bedroll to Jaskier, who struggled to catch it but managed to do so eventually. When he gave Eskel a confused look, Eskel shrugged. "You can have mine."

"Don't you need it?" 

"I'm good. I don't mind sleeping on the ground. Besides," he threw a glance at their surroundings. "I should probably keep watch. Make sure no more drowners show up."

Jaskier frowned and for a moment it looked as if he was going to protest, but then he set the bedroll on the ground without another word. 

Eskel didn't find any sleep that night. But the next day, when Jaskier handed him his bedroll back, it smelled like ink, lute wood and lavender and that was better than a full night of sleep. 

--

Eskel stared at the plate in front of him. He should count himself lucky, he knew that the innkeeper had given him any food at all. Still, his plate had barely been half full when he had received it and now it was already empty. Judging by the growling and painful twisting of his stomach, so was Eskel's belly. He scraped uselessly at the crumbs left on his plate with his fork. 

Jaskier, who was sitting opposite of him, frowned. He looked at his own plate, which was still laden with potatoes, bread and some vegetables. His scowl deepened and he pushed his plate toward Eskel. 

"Here," Jaskier said, "You can have mine."

"What?" Eskel's stomach did a flip. "But you -" 

"I'm not the one who has to fight some ghouls later. You'll need your strength. I'm full anyway."

When Eskel hesitated, Jaskier snatched up some of the bread and held it up to Eskel's lips. 

"Eat something," Jaskier said softly. "Please."

Eskel, weak as he was, complied. 

--

"I am an empty shell of a man," Jaskier lamented dramatically and dropped the book he had been reading onto his face. "A fool and a doomed soul."

"What's wrong?" Eskel asked. With his finger he marked the page he had been reading and looked to Jaskier, who was lying next to him amidst the flowers. 

"Valdo Marx. That's what's wrong."

"Of course." Eskel's lips twitched upwards. "What has he done this time?" 

"He asked me to proofread his newest poetry collection and it's just so bad . I cannot read a single sentence more or I'll lose any poetic ability in my possession." 

"Then don't." 

"Yeah, but I don't have any other book with me, I'll be bored."

Eskel snorted and rolled his eyes fondly. 

"Here," he said, took another look at the page he had marked to remember where he had stopped reading and handed it to Jaskier. "You can have mine."

"What, really?" Jaskier perked up. "But you have been talking about this for weeks! You were so excited to read it!" 

Eskel's cheeks began to glow and he had to look away. At the tip of his tongue lay the suggestion that Jaskier could simply read it to him. But that would be too intimate and it would only solve half of Jaskier's problem. So instead, Eskel snatched up Marx' book. 

"I'll read this instead. Let's see if I can give Marx some criticism."

He pretended to be immediately engrossed in his new reading material, though he felt Jaskier's gaze burning into him. After a while, Jaskier began reading. Still, Eskel found it hard to concentrate, as every once in a while, Jaskier let out little laughs or gasps as he read. Out of the corner of his eye, Eskel caught sight of him reading. Maybe finishing this book could be a reason why they should travel together a little longer. And maybe, once they inevitably parted, they could write each other letters, discussing the book. It wasn't as good as getting to hear Jaskier read it to him, but it was pretty damn good nonetheless. 

--

"This really isn't the right festival for people with allergies." Jaskier let himself fall onto the bench beside Eskel. A bead of sweat ran down his temple and his eyes were alight with joy. "You never think about how hard it is to dance while wearing a flower crown. Let alone three. Those things are really difficult to balance."

Eskel rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. 

"Maybe if you weren't so charming, people would stop giving you all those crowns." 

"You think I'm charming?" 

Eskel choked and flustered as he was, he failed to explain himself any better than, "I mean… people think you are. I assume. Or else they wouldn't give you the flowers, would they? I mean. Not that I don't think -" with a groan, he broke off and covered his face with his hands. 

Thankfully, his rambling didn't insult Jaskier, who merely laughed and nudged Eskel in the sides. 

" Don't worry," he said lightly, "I know what you mean. I would say the people have good taste, but - where is your flower crown?" 

Eskel snorted at the absurdity of anyone giving him such a token of affection. 

"I don't have one." He tried to make it sound as if he didn't care, but even as the words left his mouth, they tasted bitter. 

Jaskier stared at him, his brow set in a determined frown. 

"Here," he said and pulled one of the crowns he was wearing off his head. It was the one with little blue blossoms that had almost the same shade of blue as Jaskier's eyes. "You can have mine."

Eskel's heart skipped a beat. 

"Really?" 

"Of course. It's not right that you don't have one. You're handsome and generous and kind. Why wouldn't I give you a crown?" 

Because of what comes after, Eskel didn't say. There was no need to make this uncomfortable. Maybe Jaskier had forgotten about the tradition and Eskel wouldn't hold him to it. 

Slowly, he took the crown from Jaskier snd placed it on his head. 

"Beautiful," Jaskier whispered. He pushed the crown a bit higher up, so that no leaves would tickle Eskel's forehead. His hand came to rest on Eskel's cheek and before Eskel had time to ask what Jaskier was doing, Jaskier was leaning in and brushed his lips against Eskel's scarred cheek. It wasn't quite the kiss tradition demanded, but it still left Eskel stunned. Jaskier cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Alright then," he said with a strange smile. "Guess I'll leave you to it then. Happy Belleteyn."

"Happy Belletyn," Eskel echoed, but Jaskier had already disappeared back into the dancing crowd. Only the memory of his kiss lingered in Eskel's skin. 

--

It took Eskel a while to find Jaskier. Instead of mingling with some folks at the bar or singing in the middle of the room, Jaskier sat at a table in the corner, away from any prying eyes. In front of him stood a concerning amount of empty tankards. In his hand, he was gripping another one. 

He had deep bags beneath his eyes and his tousled hair looked as if he had spent the past hour running his hands through it. 

"Jaskier."

At the sound of Eskel's voice, Jaskier looked up at him with bleary eyes. 

"Oh. You're back." Jaskier tried for a smile, but it was shaky and his eyes were glistening. 

Eskel frowned, uncaring of the way the expression tugged at his scars. As gently as he could, he pried Jaskier's fingers off the tankard and held his hand.

"How can I help you?" he asked, lost for what else to do. "What is wrong?" 

Jaskier gave him a long strange look that slowly wandered to their linked fingers. 

"Nothing," he eventually said, so softly that Eskel would have missed it, were it not for his witcher hearing. "I just lost my heart."

Eskel's blood turned cold. He had seen Jaskier fall in and out of love so many times, but this was different. Normally, Eskel's heartbreak at least meant that he got to see Jaskier laugh and smile and have that beautiful shine in his eyes when he talked about his paramour. Seeing Jaskier like this, so miserable in his love felt like his chest getting pierced by a blade. Eskel wanted to help, wanted him to be happy. 

Here , his foolish hope was screaming at him to say, you can have mine! 

But that wasn't the heart Jaskier wanted, even though it had been his for years already. 

So instead, Eskel gave his hand a helpless squeeze. With a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he said, "Yeah. Me too." 

#jaskel #jaskier #eskel #witcher #fic #eskelxjaskier #my writing #thank you for the prompt!

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

23 geraskier? feel better soon! <3

23. Covering them with a blanket when they’ve fallen asleep on the couch

Geralt knows that he doesn’t need to bother with stealth as he lets himself in through the front door of his and Jaskier’s townhouse. His boyfriend can sleep through just about anything, especially when he’s been spending lots of late nights working on his and Priscilla’s next album. Geralt could probably fight a kikimore in the foyer and Jaskier would be snoring away happily upstairs.

Except as Geralt shucks off his boots and his armor—Jaskier gets grumpy if he tracks gore on the Metinnan rugs—he realizes that the snoring that echoes through the house isn’t coming from upstairs. Geralt peers into the living room to see Jaskier sprawled across the couch, his head tilted back and his mouth open. The TV is on, playing a rerun of an old sitcom, and there’s an untouched mug of coffee cooling on the end table.

Geralt’s lips twitch into a fond little smile. Tonight’s hunt for a leshen had the potential to be a nasty one—and would have been, if Eskel hadn’t been able to come with him as backup. Jaskier must have been worried if he attempted to wait up for Geralt’s return. He never stood a chance of staying awake, not after two late nights at the studio with Priscilla in a row, but it makes Geralt feel warm inside that he even tried.

Geralt crosses to the couch, bending to brush a kiss across Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier responds by snoring loudly right in his face and snuggling back into the couch. There’s no point disturbing him now, not when he looks so ridiculous and adorable with his mouth hanging open and his face slack in sleep. Geralt will wake him in a bit, after he’s washed the mud and blood out of his hair and had something to eat.

He snags the quilt that Jaskier’s mother gave them as a housewarming present when they bought the townhouse, tucking it around Jaskier. The quilt is the same blue as Jaskier’s eyes, embroidered with little yellow buttercups. His boyfriend makes a contented noise, eyelashes fluttering, but doesn’t wake. Geralt smooths his hair out of his face, smiling when Jaskier lets out another snort, and starts to head upstairs to shower.

“Geralt?”

Geralt pauses on the stairs and turns to find blue eyes peering up at him.

“You’re back.” Jaskier smiles sleepily. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because you were asleep.”

“Asleep? No, I waited up for you. I even made coffee to stay awake. See?” He gestures to the mug, eyes already fluttering shut again. “Good hunt?”

“Good enough.” Geralt can hear the fondness in his voice. “Go back to sleep.”

“Told you, I wasn’t asleep. I always wait up for my witcher.” He snuggles deeper into the quilt. 

“Sure you do, Jask,” Geralt says softly, but his boyfriend is already snoring again, cocooned happily in the buttercup quilt.

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 10

Chapter 9

--------------Kaer Morhen---------------

Back at the keep, the witchers were doing their own thing when they felt faint vibrations from their silver medallions.

The ones from hanging from the memorial to their fallen brethren were vibrating as well.

Back in the library Vesemir, who had fallen asleep after spending the better part of the night researching the books Tris gave him, had slowly woken up the moment he felt his medallion start to hum.

Jaskier, who was holding Aemma, noticed the concerned looks on the witchers' faces. "What, uh, what's going on?" the bard asks in concern.

"It's not another leshen is it?" Eskel asks, concern on his face after what happened with the last one.

"I don't think so," Geralt says, "but just to be sure," he turns to Jaskier, "give me the baby."

Jaskier does as Geralt says and the witcher takes Aemma back to her room. Jaskier follows.

-------------the forest------------------

You could only stare at the man before you in horror, not sure what he was going to do.

The look on his face said he'd spend quite a while looking for you. Now he has found you.

Daemon looked down to you, no change in his facial expression to betray what he was thinking about. He slowly approached you as you tried to get your stuck foot out of the exposed tree root.

Ciri managed to get back on her feet by this time. When she saw the man approach you, she runs and grabs the dagger that fallen off your person when you tripped. She stood between you and Daemon, having the dagger pointed at the prince. 

"Don't come any closer," the young girl warns.

"Ciri, what are you, doing?" you whisper to her, "get out of here."

Daemon stops, and merely tuts in a condescending manner, "point that dagger away, girl. Do you even know how to use it?"

"I'm warning you," Ciri sneers.

Daemon just laughs lightly, amused by this girl's foolish bravery, "do you even know who I am?"

"...do YOU know who I am?" Ciri challenges back.

During this standoff, you managed to wiggle your foot out, finally standing up.

"Ciri, go back to the keep," you tell her, "it's me he wants." "But he-" "Ciri, you need to trust me on this" you scold, "do as I say. Go."

Ciri was reluctant, but she did as you told her. Right as she turned and left, you quickly leaned down, grabbing some snow mixed mud and hurled it at Daemon's eyes, temporarily blinding the man.

"Run!" you shout to Ciri as you and her sprint through the woods once more.

Ciri was the faster runner, so she managed to get a good distance. You on the other hand had some trouble due to the foot that got caught in the tree root. You felt the heavy armor against your back when Daemon caught up with you.

The two of you trip and tumble down a hill. Once at the bottom, you try to get back up, but the prince was faster and pinned you to the ground on your belly. One hand on your back, the other on your head.

"Let me go!" you demand, panting from the chase.

"Thought you could get away from me, Little Lark?" Daemon speaks, panting just as hard as you were, "thought I would never find you?"

"What do you want, Daemon? Why are you here?" you turn your neck as far as you could so as to face him.

"You know why, I'm here," the prince sneers, "you didn't think I would find out?" "I don't know what you're-" "You damn well know what I'm talking about!" Daemon pushes your head back down, "I know, (y/n). I know why you left King's Landing. I know about the child...OUR child."

"No..." was all you could say.

At that moment, you hear Triss calling out for you.

The sorceress had been in the woods collecting herbs when Ciri ran into her and told her what had happened.

"Triss! I'm over here! I'm-" Daemon yanks you to your feet and places a hand over your mouth.

You bite his hand, forcing him to let you go.

"Triss!" you call out, climbing back up the hill. 

Daemon grabs you again, as you struggle to get him off you

Suddenly, vines and tree roots spring up from the ground and wrap themselves around the prince. Daemon struggles to pull them off, giving you the chance to escape.

You get to the top of the hill to see Triss had just cast a spell on the vines to help you get away. "Triss, you found me," you say. "(y/n), who is that man? What's going on?" Tris asks.

"No time to explain. Where's Ciri?"

"I'm over here," Ciri runs up to meet the two of you.

"We need to get back to Kaer Morhen," you say, right when Caraxes swooped in to help his master. Triss' eyes widen at the sight before her.

"Is that a dragon?" "Triss! We need to get out of here!" you insist. Triss shakes out of her trance and opens up a portal to take the three of you to Kaer Morhen.

Right after the portal closed up, Caraxes managed to burn the last of the vines and roots off of Daemon.

Having seen you had escaped once more, Daemon could only growl out in frustration.

-------------Kaer Morhen----------------

When you, Triss, and Ciri had gotten back, you notice the witchers had their armor on and their weapons sharpened. You notice Vesemir was mixing various potions in haste.

"What's going on?" you ask, "where's Aemma?"

"In your room with your brother," Eskel assures, "a monster may have invaded the keep again." "Monster?" Tris frowns.

"(y/n)?" You hear Jaskier's voice as he comes to the main hall, "oh thank the god you're alright," he pulls you into a hug, "Geralt said a monster had invaded the keep."

Your eyes widen a bit when you realize what that monster might have actually been. "The keep is not being invaded by a monster," you say, getting the wolves' attention, "at least not yet."

"What do you mean, by that?" Lambert demands, "how do you know?"

All eyes were on you now.

"(y/n), who was that man that was attacking you?" Triss asks.

"Man?" Geralt raises an eyebrow, "What man? (y/n), did he hurt you?" "It's not-" "A man with silver blonde hair ambushed us in the forest," Ciri blurts out, "he was riding a giant red dragon. He would've taken (y/n) away if Triss didn't show up and stop him."

"Silver blonde hair?" Coen points out, "that sounds oddly familiar."

"It's him, isn't it?" Ciri asks, "it's Aemma's father."

"Wait, Aemma's father is here?" Jaskier frowns in confusion, "I thought you said he didn't know."

You were at a loss for words, looking down in shame.

"...I think it's time you told us the truth," Vesemir speaks to you, handing you the book he spent last night looking at, "the whole truth."

You knew then and there you couldn't hide your past anymore, so you decided to come clean.

"After spending a year or two in Westeros, in King's Landing, I was brought into the service of the royal family," you begin, "House Targaryen. Descendants of Old Valyria, the blood-"

"The blood of dragons," Vesemir finishes for you, "that's their words, isn't it? Fire and Blood?" "Yes," you nod before continuing, "I became the personal Bard to King Viserys' daughter, princess Rhaenyra, after performing at her name day feast."

"Oh, wait a second," Jaskier interrupts, "Aemma is this king's daughter? You caught the man's attention?" "No," you shake your head, "Viserys isn't the father...It's prince Daemon, the king's brother. He's the father."

  The witchers exchanged looks, clearly shocked by this revelation.

"Oh, gods help us all," Jaskier mutters. "Jaskier please-" "Him?" Jaskier exasperates, "of all the people you had to get involved with, it had to be THIS man? (y/n), what were you even thinking?!"

"You're hardly in a position to judge me on my choices!" you point back.

"What do you know about this man?" Geralt asks.

"Oh, not that much, if I'm being honest," Jaskier simply answers, "but based on friends across the sea, this man has a reputation for brutality and lechery. He is known as 'the Rogue Prince'. I never imagined my sister would get involved in such a man."

"I'm not proud of it," you get defensive, "but...Daemon was the reason I got that position in the first place."

"So what, you felt like you owed him something?" "It wasn't like that! I never owed him anything!" you argue back at your brother, "I made my choices, I'm living with the consequences, that's more than what I can say about you." 

"Alright, that's enough!" Geralt breaks the two of you up, "(y/n), you're right. The choices you made in the past are done. We need to plan for right now. If what you say is true, it's only a matter of time before this Prince Daemon finds this place. We need to be prepared."

Right on cue, the witchers' medallions started to hum again.

"Witcher!" a man's voice was heard from outside the keep.

You immediately recognized the voice.

"Come out, witcher! Come out, White Wolf!" Daemon calls out, "Come out and face me!"

Chapter 11

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher geralt #eskel #lambert #coen #vesemir #daemon #daemon targaryen #geralt x reader

[shy-urban-hobbit]

There it was again; Aiden’s fingers tapping out a now familiar rhythm against Lambert’s bicep before sliding down to rest on top of his hand as they dozed in the sun. It had started shortly after they’d been reunited on The Path, a scarcity of jobs forcing them apart for a few weeks in an effort to cover more ground to find paying work (a gamble which ended up paying off as they both found pretty lucrative contracts in opposite directions).

Tap – pause - Tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

Lambert mentally shrugged, too comfortable to think on it too closely.

Lambert could feel himself slowly going crazy. He’d finally asked Aiden about his new habit after he’d been tapping against Lambert’s chest incessantly during their drawn out goodbye. The Cat had merely smirked in response and told him “You’re a smart pup, figure it out.” Before kissing the end of Lambert’s nose and mounting up, turning his horse Southwards. Lambert had stayed where he was until the other was just a speck on the road.

That was how he’d found himself in Kaer Morhen’s library, surrounded by books and paper and tapping the rhythm out again for the thirtieth time that hour.

“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d be met with. Lambert reading. Should I be checking you with silver about now?”

“Fuck off, bard.” Lambert sighed like an exasperated parent.

Jaskier merely grinned impudently from where he was leaning against the back of one of the chairs, “What’s all this?”

“Research.” Lambert answered curtly.

“For....”

“Nothing.”

“Research for nothing. Melitele’s bosom you must be bored.”

“Jaskier. Either sit down and shut up or go and bother Geralt.”

Jaskier mimed locking his mouth before taking a seat opposite the youngest Wolf, making a show of leaning back and looking around at the overcrowded shelves, “Soooooo....how was Aiden when you parted ways?”

“Fine.” Lambert put down the old journal he’d been flicking through in an attempt to find clues (maybe it was some old Witcher thing Vesemir had forgotten to teach them seeing as it wasn’t directly linked to monster slaying) before tapping the rhythm out again.

“What’s that?” Jaskier asked.

“Something that damn Cat told me to figure out and when I see him, I'm throwing him to the nearest drowner.”

“Oooooh, a riddle!” Jaskier gave an excited wiggle, attention well and truly caught, “Perhaps I can help? I am a master wordsmith after all.”

“No words involved in this, master wordsmith.” Lambert said, just to be contrary.

“Don’t be too sure.” Jaskier leaned forward slightly, “Humour me.”

Lambert tapped it out once, and then twice again at Jaskier’s request before the human’s expression morphed into one of childlike glee.“I do know this! Oh, I haven’t used it since I was at Oxenfurt, but I know it.”

Lambert felt his eye twitch, because of course it was just his luck Geralt’s bard would know it.”

“Well, what is it?”

Jaskier’s smile shifted, “Aiden told you to figure it out. I’ll help you, but I’m not telling you the answer. Oh, Lambert.” The Wolf swallowed. He'd had no idea the bard was capable of looking devious as he continued, “I think you’ve just become my main source of entertainment for the winter.”

Lambert shared a look with Eskel as Jaskier left the hall, throwing another declaration of love towards their white haired brother as he did so. They had nothing against the casual displays of affection per se, but you knew it was becoming a problem when even Eskel the not so secret romantic was starting to find it a bit much. Geralt had merely shrugged in the way that meant he was just as clueless as the rest of them when his brothers questioned him about it.

“Alright, what are you playing at?” Lambert had asked him one night, the bard blinking up at him guilelessly, “You said you’d help me with, you know, and all you’ve been doing is swooning over Geralt.”

“Lambert, love. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Jaskier replied slowly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The other day in the library.”

The bard sighed through his nose petulantly before walking away, muttering something about how he was this close to pushing certain dumb Wolves down the mountain.

Lambert stared at the note. It was actually for Geralt but was it his fault Jaskier had left it out on the main table in the hall for the whole world to see? He blinked as he took in the last three words, the thick black line of ink underneath them making them impossible to miss. Melitele’s arse, now that he was seeing it written down, Jaskier wouldn’t have to push him: Lambert would quite happily throw himself down the mountain, cursing himself the entire time for missing something so simple.

“You’re early!” Aiden exclaimed happily as he leaned down to throw his arms around Lambert, letting the other man pull him down from his horse and into a proper embrace, the taps quickly following, as expected.

Lambert tilted the Cat’s face up with a whispered, “You too.” Feeling Aiden grin into the kiss as Lambert tapped gently against his temple.

Tap – pause – tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

I – love - you

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[on-a-lucky-tide]

(Aiden/Lambert; the morning after; kissing and fondling; the Witcher Game canon)

If there was one thing Vesemir had drummed into their heads the moment they could understand spoken language, it was manners. Not etiquette. There was no need to know which fork you used to eat salad with and which was for picking your nose. But manners. Elbows off the tables, back straight when you're talking to someone, return kit you've borrowed in good nick. The list was endless.

It had been a bit hit and miss with Lambert. He weaponised his manners when they served him most, often when it made someone else's life a touch more difficult. Every other time, they were just another courtesy no one deserved. As a result, he elbowed his way through life being as blunt and unbearable as possible.

So, imagine his fucking surprise when he had woken up that morning, his body aching and his limbs tangled around the most handsome bastard on the Continent, and the first thing he had thought of was how fucking impolite it would be to not make breakfast. Because that was a normal and well-adjusted thing to do after having your backside blown out so well you'd called to the gods, despite being a faithless cretin your entire life.

It was better than standing in the shower and staring at the tiles in post-fuck bewilderment, Lambert reasoned as he flipped the bacon over in the frying pan. Imagine waking up to find your hook up standing in your shower looking like something out the fucking Shining 'cause you made him scream-cum.

Hook up. That didn't really track anymore, did it?

Hook ups didn't go on endless dates or spend time actually watching Netflix on cosy winter evenings. They didn't help you paint your shitty one bed apartment or give you their old couch so you didn't have to eat your takeout on the floor, and they certainly didn't get invited to the niece's birthday barbecue which was due to start in five hours. "Bollocks," Lambert murmured as he shimmied the bacon out and replaced it with an egg.

It had taken Lambert this long to sleep with Aiden because the truth was he had never been a hook up. Lambert didn't do that. He wasn't Eskel, who went cruising and came back with a new pretty face every other week. He had said those stupid fucking words last night to try and reduce the gravity of it all, to make it less... intimidating, and Aiden had the good grace to laugh it off before kissing Lambert so thoroughly he forgot who the king of Redania was.

"Mm, smells good."

Lambert startled, so lost in his thoughts that he had missed Aiden walking up behind him. His body was still bed-warm, his firm chest covered in soft hair pressed to Lambert's back. "Me or the bacon?" Lambert asked, a little breathless as Aiden kissed the soft skin beneath his ear.

"Both," Aiden replied, bumping his hips to the top of Lambert's arse. He was about seven inches taller, which made the sudden and vivid daydream that popped into Lambert's head of Aiden bending him over the counter a little unrealistic. He thought about it anyway. As if he could taste the flush in Lambert's skin, Aiden's hand wandered beneath the apron Lambert had thrown on, fondling Lambert's hardening cock through the soft cotton of his boxers. "Still eager after last night, baby. What a treat for me."

"I'm... There's--ahh, there's bacon."

Aiden rested his chin on Lambert's shoulder to peer down at the pan, his hand still stroking slowly. "I can see," he said, and then after a brief pause, "are you stress cooking?"

"No. I'm being a courteous fucking houseguest. I think I owe your brothers a gift basket after the noise I made last night."

Aiden chuckled. "Yeah, you were so loud."

Lambert tensed, his cheeks warming.

"Hey." Aiden flicked the gas off and tilted Lambert's chin up. "You ashamed of what we did? You didn't feel, uh... pressured, did you? I thought..."

Oh, shit. How had he managed to ruin it already? Lambert swallowed and threw the spatula down. The partially cooked yolk smeared through the base of the pan, fat sizzling, and he kissed Aiden right on his worried frown. It would have given him enough time to gather his thoughts, but they all scattered the moment Aiden moaned softly in pleasure.

They stood kissing for some time, one of Aiden's hands slipping into Lambert's ruffled hair to knead and tug gently. His other hand remained on Lambert's cock, which throbbed needily with every passing stroke. Lambert's knees wobbled, and Aiden's arm lifted to his waist to steady him. "Easy, baby. Going a little weak at the knees there." The fact clearly delighted him.

"Don't regret it, wanted it, want... want you." Lambert managed a few broken sentences through the croak in his throat as he looked at the mutilated fucking egg in the pan. "Not... sure how to process it."

"Should've figured that big brain of yours would overthink itself into a rut." Aiden nuzzled into Lambert's dark nest of hair as if he could kiss said brain through Lambert's skull. "Did you have fun last night?"

"You know I had fun last night, arsehole."

"Mm, but I wanna hear you say it," Aiden purred. "You had a lot to say at the time."

"I didn't talk..."

"Ahh--ahh, Aiden, fuck, fuck, ahh, shit, mmm, that--oh my fucking gods, what--"

Lambert elbowed Aiden in the stomach and whirled around to face him. He didn't get to lay in with his rebuttal, because Aiden scooped him up and kissed him again through a chuckle.

When he pulled away, Lambert felt thoroughly gentled and Aiden licked his neck. "Just teasing. No regrets, Bertie. I want you. Have wanted you so bad for so long. But if you need to slow down, need some more time, you're worth waiting for."

And that. That was enough.

The weird tension Lambert had been carrying since he'd woken faded. He wasn't a one and done to Aiden. Not now to be discarded for a new and less complicated conquest. Not another hook up--why had he said such a stupid fucking idiot thing? He'd done this to himself, he was such a dickhead--but someone Aiden would wait for, even without the sex...

No, no, Lambert definitely wanted the sex.

"Bacon reheats, right?" Lambert murmured into Aiden's shoulder.

"Yeah, egg's fucked though."

"Fuck the egg--wait, no, fuck me. Fuck me instead."

Aiden chuckled as he scooped Lambert up by the thighs, guiding muscular legs around his waist. "My pleasure."

#witcher lambert #aiden #lambden #laiden #tw3 #the witcher games