Nym's Tickleween Event
Series: The Witcher
Characters: Geralt, Jaskier
Summary: Jaskier joins Geralt as he hunts for a wraith. Due to the bard's antics, The Witcher decides to enlist his help.
Word Count: 1,390
A/N: This is my first Witcher fic! I kind of got a little ambitious with this one but it was fun to write. Hope you enjoy a little monster hunting and some tickles~
“Give me the necklace, Jaskier,” demanded Geralt, walking beside the bard.
“In a minute!” Jaskier pouted, admiring said necklace in his hands. Its craftsmanship was plain but it had a dark orange gem on one side, barely the size of a coin. “What do we need this for again?” He raised the necklace to see if he could catch a shine from the setting sun above the tree tops, but it was too overcast.
“To banish the wraith I was hired to dispose of.” Geralt tried to snatch it again, but Jaskier spun around to his other side, still admiring the necklace as if he didn’t notice the Witcher seething beside him.
“Do you think the alderman will let us keep it? I think we could fetch a nice price for this in Novigrad.”
“Depends on what’s left…of it…” Geralt slowed to a halt, noticing his wolf medallion begin to hum.
Jaskier turned on him, “what do you mean by ‘what’s left of–?’”, but was stopped by Geralt’s hand on his chest. He was about to protest the interruption when he noticed an icy chill around them. “Oh shit…”
“Hide,” Geralt hissed, pushing Jaskier aside. The bard quickly moved behind the nearest tree as the Witcher took a cautious step forward. The fog seemed to come to life around them, obscuring their surroundings. A way stone appeared with what appeared to be a shrine in disrepair beside it. Geralt realized they were at the site of the wraith’s attacks and its origins as well. He started to backtrack to Jaskier’s location.
“Jaskier. The necklace–” As the Witcher turned he was confronted with the translucent, rotting face of a pale woman, baring a hideous mouth of sharp teeth. “Fuck.”
With an ear piercing screech the wraith lunged at Geralt.
“Necklace!” The Witcher barked, barely dodging the wraith’s attack. “Throw it! Now!”
“What?!” Jaskier called back, trying to discern Geralt’s demand over the spectral shrieking.
Frustrated, Geralt growled and rolled away from the wraith towards his companion. That was enough to make the wraith hesitate, which allowed Geralt to cast a sign at her feet once he was up. As the wraith screamed in fury within the trap, the Witcher ran to Jaskier, only to find that the necklace was no where in sight. He cursed and grabbed Jaskier, looking for pockets, pouches or any where that the necklace might be hiding on the bard’s person.
Jaskier screeched from Geralt’s assault, suddenly panicked by not only fear but confusion. And not only that… “What are you doing?! W-Wahahait! G-Geralt!” He yelped when Geralt found a pocket in his doublet, “thahahat tickles! Ah! Stop it!”
Ignoring Jaskier, Geralt pulled out the necklace and made for the wraith… only to find that she was gone. The Witcher grit his teeth, stifling his anger in favor of concentrating on the environment. His medallion now quietly humming, the wraith sure to appear again at any moment.
“What the fuck was that about?!” Jaskier cried, stomping over to Geralt, his face flushed.
“Shut up,” Geralt growled through his teeth, trying to step away as his cat eyes stared at the fog.
Unfortunately, Jaskier followed, griping about his ruined sash and Geralt’s “wandering hands” as if the danger had already passed, “–and do you have any idea how much this cost?!”
Geralt had enough of Jaskier’s whining. Without a word, he grabbed the bard’s arm and led them to the shrine. “Ow! What are you doing now, you sodding pervert!?”
“Remember that superstition you brought up last night at the bar?” Geralt gladly let go of Jaskier to set the necklace on the shrine’s altar.
Jaskier blinked, barely noticing that Geralt removed his silver sword from its scabbard and plunged it into the dirt. “Ah, my apologies, but I think you need to refresh my memory, dear Witcher. I said a lot of things last night,” the bard chuckled, his tone already changed to something more suggestive.
Geralt rolled his eyes. And somehow Jaskier had the nerve to call him a pervert. “I’m not talking about what you said to the barkeep’s daughter. I meant your little tale about how a man’s laughter can keep away evil spirits.”
“Oh! Yes, I remember now!” Jaskier laughed just as Geralt noticed something quivering beneath the leaves. “I wrote a ballad about it, actually. Would you like to hear it?”
“No.” Geralt cracked his knuckles. “But there’s some truth to that superstition.” He looked at his companion. “We’re going to lure out this specter. And you’re going to help me.”
Geralt’s direct gaze paralyzed Jaskier in place, as well as the realization that the wraith was still a threat. “Surely you’re not suggesting I perform a comedy act in the middle of a specter-cursed forest, are you?” He giggled nervously. As the bard rambled on, Geralt moved behind him. “That would be silly! Besides, you never laugh at my jokes. In fact, your laughter is so rare that the last of this poor altar would collapse upon hearing–EEK!”
Geralt said nothing as he grasped Jaskier’s sides and squeezed them repeatedly. The bard yelped again, grabbing the Witcher’s hands to try and pry them off. “Have you gone mad?!”
“You said you wanted to help,” Geralt stated, keeping alert even as his fingers began digging into the bard’s sides. “That’s why you came along, isn’t it?”
Failing to remove Geralt’s hands, Jaskier could only writhe and yelp. “I am hehe– I’m h– I’m hehehehere to observe y-y-your heroism!” Not help you bait monsters at my expense, he wanted to shout but he was too tickled to finish. Of all the Witcher’s many skills, he never expecting tickling to be one of them…
“And this will be a great tale for your next performance.” Geralt smirked, unable to help himself, “The Mighty Witcher and His Ticklish Bard.” Then his hands quickly ascended to dig into Jaskier’s armpits.
“GAHAHAHAHA!” Jaskier fell back against Geralt, cackling and squirming. “D-DAHAHAMN YOU!” With his arms clamped down, he was now helpless with hysterical laughter worthy of upsetting any ghost.
A gust swept by their feet moments later and Geralt’s medallion rattled viciously. The wraith manifested before them. Geralt shoved Jaskier out of the way and spun out the specter’s reach, grabbing his sword in the process. Jaskier whimpered and scrambled to hide behind the way stone.
Geralt performed a series of slashing towards the wraith, drawing her closer to the altar as he removed a pouch of moon dust from his belt and threw it at the ground. She shrieked as the dust settled, recoiling from its effects. Geralt raised his sword once more and plunged it into the necklace, shattering the dark orange gem.
The wraith dissipated with a bone chilling howl, leaving a fleeting image of a kneeling priestess at the altar before the autumn wind whisked it away.
Jaskier poked his head out from behind the way stone, “did it work?” The dismal fog around them was fading, revealing a warm-colored forest coated in twilight. “Ha! It worked! It actually worked!”
“Of course it did,” Geralt sighed, sheathing his sword. He walked over to the altar, scooping the necklace’s remains into an empty pouch.
Jaskier pondered, “‘the key to a specter’s demise is a little chuckle… enough to make one’s knees buckle’… hm, I think I’m onto something here.”
“Your laughter didn’t do anything besides make my ears ring,” Geralt said as he approached Jaskier, furrowing his brow as usual.
Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “You must be joking, surely…” But when Geralt did nothing but stare, Jaskier instantly blushed. “Then why–why did you–?!” He held his head and shouted, “you were fighting a monster, Geralt!”
“Because you pissed me off,” Geralt said, shoving the pouch of broken necklace into Jaskier’s hands. “Next time I’m given anything to help with a job, don’t touch it, understand?” He started to walk away, grumbling, “I don’t care how much it matches your boot laces.”
Jaskier looked at the pouch in his hands, simultaneously troubled and amused by the events of their recent adventure. Perhaps they were both mad…
“Okay. That’s fair,” he replied eventually. “But next time–oh! Wait! Geralt!” Having recovered from his stupor, Jaskier noticed Geralt was already some distance away and rushed to catch up with him. “Don’t leave me here!”
Hi!! I was wondering if you could do 22 from the prompt list for the witcher? Geraskier with maybe lee!jaskier but honestly whatever you think is best :)
Sure thing!!
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Break
Fandom: The Witcher
Ship(s): Geraskier
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt
Word Count: 290 words
Summary: Jaskier had been staring at that notebook for far too long.
[ao3 link]
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Jaskier had been glaring at his notebook for the past hour. There was just something off about the lyrics of the latest song he was working on, and for the life of him, he just could not figure it out. And considering this song should’ve been complete weeks ago, he would not be moving until he figured this out.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and Jaskier startled a little. When had Geralt gotten back from his hunt?
Jaskier hummed back in question.
“Dinner.”
Jaskier hummed again and muttered. “In a moment.”
He heard a sigh. “Glare any harder and you’ll burn a hole in it.”
Jaskier hummed noncommittally, trying to block Geralt out. If he could just figure out where things were going wrong, then…
A squeak escaped from Jaskier’s lips as he felt fingers skittering up his spine through his thin chemise. He bolted upright from where he’d been hunched over his notebook, trying to arch away from the fingers without leaving his seat.
“Geralt!” He said, whipping around to scowl at the man. “What do you think you’re do-oing!” Jaskier’s voice tilted up into a squeal on the last syllable, as Geralt had started scratching ruthlessly at his ribcage.
“Getting you to take a break,” Geralt replied, his voice calm as ever, as if Jaskier wasn’t shrieking underneath his fingertips. “You can try again after you eat.”
Jaskier finally remembered he had legs, jumping up from his seat and turning quickly on his heel to face Geralt, holding his hands out in front of him protectively.
“Geralt, come on, I’ve almost figured it out–”
Geralt raised an eyebrow. “And to think I was going easy on you. You better give in before the food goes cold.”
Could you maybe do number 16 for the witcher? Preferably geraskier with lee!jaskier but it's up to you!
Of course, sure thing!!
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Knowingly
Fandom: The Witcher
Ship(s): Geraskier
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt
Word Count: 192 words
Summary: Jaskier should know better than to test his luck.
[ao3 link]
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Jaskier couldn’t wipe the nervous grin from his face. He backed against the wall, raising his arms in surrender as Geralt prowled closer and closer. He shrunk in on himself a little, swallowing down the anticipatory giggles as Geralt’s fingers flexed.
“Wait,” Jaskier said, his voice wavering in his attempt to hold back the little laughs. “We can talk about this, right?”
Geralt raised his eyebrows. “No,” he said after a moment. “We cannot.”
That’s all the warning Jaskier got before Geralt finally lunged, latching his hands onto Jaskier’s ribs and scratching away where they met his back. Jaskier burst into laughter, toppling into Geralt’s chest and pressing his arms to his sides in a futile attempt to shield himself from what was already happening.
His legs buckled out from underneath him and Geralt used his grip on Jaskier’s ribs to gently lower him to the ground. Then, his hands were everywhere, drawing out every sound Jaskier was possible of making.
Geralt grinned down at his mirth-stricken face. “You should know better than to test your luck.”
On the contrary. Jaskier was rather certain he knew exactly what he had been doing.
Hi! For the prompt thing could you do 2 for the witcher? (Geraskier, lee!Jaskier) thank you so much :)
Of course of course, sure thing!!
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Unfair
Fandom: Witcher
Ship(s): Geraskier
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt
Word Count: 379 words
Summary: Jaskier has to face the consequences for his actions.
[ao3 link]
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Jaskier yelped as he barely dodged Geralt’s swiping hands once more, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was all too aware that Geralt was just toying with him, letting him work himself up until Geralt thought he was sufficiently nervous and jittery.
And honestly, Jaskier thought, that should really be against the rules.
“Hold still,” Geralt grunted, still playing along with the idea that he couldn’t catch Jaskier. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.”
But if he stopped running, stopping working himself up with the chase, Geralt would find some other way to make Jaskier a big bundle of buzzing nerves. Pin him down and hover wiggling fingers over his sensitive spots. Or, Melitele forbid, copy what Jaskier did with Ciri recently and count down to his demise, slowly as possible.
Ciri’d almost blown Jaskier’s eardrums with that one.
“This is not fair,” Jaskier shrieked as Geralt finally gave up his game, snatching Jaskier by the waist.
“What’s not fair?” Geralt asked. “You were a smartass, you get tickled.”
Not a very good deterrent, in Jaskier’s opinion.
“Geralt, let’s talk about this–”
“I think you’ve talked enough.”
And then Jaskier was howling as Geralt forced him to the ground and started kneading at his thighs. No buildup, no more teasing, nothing else that Jaskier was expecting, simply straight into the main event. Which was also more than unfair, going straight for his worst spot without warning. He kicked wildly, cackling and fighting as much as he could, but really, Jaskier was no match for a witcher.
Even when his foot caught Geralt in the jaw.
Jaskier gasped, unrelated to the gasping for air from all his laughter, and froze. Geralt froze, too, but only for a moment. Then, he growled and snatched Jaskier’s foot right out of the air, holding it firmly in his grip.
“And to think,” Geralt said, his voice low and dangerous, “I was going easy on you.”
Jaskier’s eyes widened. That was easy?
Geralt grinned down at him, sharp and dangerous, and Jaskier wondered if this was what rabbits felt like when the wolves closed in. There was no way he was getting out of this one with his dignity, not this time.
and then in contrast to that one some jaskier being absolutely manhandled lol - the downside (or upside) to having a witcher for a boyfriend, you can't win any fights ~ 🌵💞
I did not edit this sdkjfhdsjkf
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Handle With Care
Fandom: Witcher
Ship(s): Geraskier
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt
Word Count: 1210 words
Summary: There's a reason Jaskier can never win a fight, and it's that his boyfriend is a great big brute of a man.
[ao3 link]
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Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh as he was tossed onto the bed, the wood of the frame creaking beneath him. For a moment he was worried it would break under the force, Kaer Morhen wasn’t exactly young after all, but when it held up when Geralt leapt onto the bed after him, Jaskier’s nerves relaxed. Geralt caught one of his hands as he tried to climb off the bed, dragging him back to the center of it and pinning that hand next to his head.
“Geralt, come on!” He said, though his voice was filled with laughter.
Geralt only raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t start fights you can’t finish.”
Not that Jaskier could really finish any fights, considering his boyfriend was as immovable as a stone wall and as strong as a dragon– well, maybe not that strong, but it certainly felt that way when Jaskier was being tossed around like a sack of potatoes.
Jaskier let out a wordless shout when Geralt clawed his hand into Jaskier’s vulnerable underarm, tossing his head back with a laugh. He struggled to pull his hand out of Geralt’s grip, tugging at Geralt’s tickling fingers with the other with no luck. Geralt grinned and tickled down the taut skin of his ribs and sides, not protected at all by Jaskier’s thin chemise.
Jaskier gasped in a breath and managed a particularly strong tug to Geralt’s wrist, making Geralt twist to grab that hand as well. Jaskier panted for breath as he shot a nervous glance up at Geralt’s face. His expression was absolutely devious.
He tugged gently on both wrists. “Can’t we talk about this?”
Geralt stared. His nostrils flared, and Jaskier knew he was scenting the air, checking for discomfort. Damn him. They both knew Jaskier wasn’t uncomfortable, that he loved this. They both knew if Jaskier actually said stop, then Geralt would without hesitation. But Jaskier didn’t, nor did he want to, and Geralt could clearly smell his giddiness (once, he managed to get Geralt very drunk and sleepy and stupid, and got him to admit that Jaskier’s joy smelled like a field of blooming flowers and fresh, crisp apples), so his torment continued.
Geralt narrowed his eyes at Jaskier and, with a quick tug of his trapped wrists, rolled Jaskier onto his stomach. At first, Jaskier thought it was a mercy, blocking off so many sensitive spots with the mattress. Then he realized Geralt’s true intentions: it was a lot harder to defend himself or fight back when he was on his stomach. It became all the more evident when Geralt dug his fingers into Jaskier’s sides from behind, vibrating them into the sensitive muscle.
Jaskier shrieked and let out frantic laughter. He tried to reach behind himself to stop Geralt, but without being able to see, and with the awkwardness of trying to reach behind himself, he couldn’t maneuver his arms the way he needed to. Apparently, Geralt had been counting on his futile defense, because his fingers quickly tripped all the way up Jaskier’s sides and ribs and back into his helpless armpits. Jaskier wheezed out laughter as he tried to press his arms to his sides, but it felt even less effective than usual. He tried to roll over, but Geralt quickly swung a leg over him and straddled his hips, trapping him face-down.
“Damn it!” Jaskier shouted through his laughter.
He kicked his feet behind Geralt, searching for any way to free himself. He tried to kick up at Geralt’s back, and not only could he not reach, but Geralt reached back and snatched his foot, tucking it up under his arm and pinning it there. He used both hands to tickle the newly trapped limb and Jaskier howled, spitting out curses as Geralt worked his fingers underneath and in-between Jaskier’s toes.
After several moments of that, Geralt finally freed his leg and slid off Jaskier’s hips. Jaskier rolled over and grunted as he kicked out again, trying to shove Geralt off the other side of the bed so he could make his escape, insinuating another chase. He really should’ve learned from his most recent torment, because Geralt easily snatched his kicking feet, pulling him across the bed by his ankles.
“Shit!” Jaskier said and kicked more frantically, but Geralt’s grip was too strong to free himself from.
Then, when Jaskier was close enough, Geralt grabbed his wrist again. Jaskier expected another pin, but instead, Geralt dragged him even further across the bed.
“Wait— Geralt, wait! Don’t! Hey—“
Jaskier yelped as Geralt pushed him over the edge of the bed, carefully controlling his fall with the grip on his wrist and pinning his legs. When Jaskier found his bearings after his world was upended, he found himself just barely hanging off the bed, his head the only thing touching the ground. The rest of his torso was stretched out, dangling from the bed, as his hips and legs still rested on the mattress, pinned there with Geralt’s weight on his knees.
Geralt’s fingers landed on his thighs, just a few inches above his knee. Jaskier sucked in a harsh breath. He tried to sit up, he certainly had the strength for it, but Geralt started pinching at his muscles right at that moment and all of Jaskier’s strength wooshed out of him with his ticklish laughter.
With Jaskier sufficiently weakened and his escape attempts sufficiently thwarted, Geralt really went to work. His devious fingers crawled up Jaskier’s legs and moved inward, searching for sweet spots on Jaskier’s horribly sensitive inner thighs and using them to draw out every ounce of laughter Jaskier had stored up in his body. He howled and cackled and shrieked and screamed. Frankly, he didn’t know how he was staying sane through it all. He felt like he would go mad from the unbearable sensations zinging through his body, consuming all his thoughts.
Eventually, Jaskier hit his limit. He drew in a big gasping breath as Geralt lifted his hands briefly to switch spots, and just before Geralt started in again he managed to call out, “Okay! Enough!”
Geralt immediately dropped the claws his fingers had formed into. He let Jaskier catch his breath slightly before reaching down and slowly pulling him up, holding him upright as the blood rushed away from his head.
“Okay?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier huffed out a small, breathy laugh. “I’m great, dear heart.”
Geralt hummed, pulling Jaskier to lay down with him on the bed. “I believe I won.”
Jaskier scowled, opening his mouth to retort before stopping, blinking up at the ceiling. “Uh, Geralt?”
“Hm?”
“What were we fighting about again?”
Geralt didn’t respond for a few moments. “I have no idea.”
Jaskier snorted and buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt chuckled and squeezed him tighter.
“Either way, though,” Jaskier continued, “you cheated, therefore your win is forfeit.”
Geralt grumbled under his breath, but didn’t refute it. Instead he settled in against the pillows, seemingly gearing in for a nap, and Jaskier certainly had no complaints on that. He curled up onto Geralt’s chest and slipped into sleep in only a few minutes, making a note to get his revenge when he woke.
Not that that was likely to work out in his favor.
hm how about. while ciri is a little too old for this phase i think she's just belated in it, so - ciri constantly being full of Fight and trying to spar, and geralt picking her up and tickling her while she fights like a bobcat lol ~🌵💞
@inconveniently-placed-cactus yes! Thank! I am very tired and barely edited this dkjfndkf
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Fandom: Witcher
Ship(s): PLATONIC!!!!! FAMILIAL!!!!!! don't be nasty
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Ciri, Ler!Geralt
Word Count: 1105 words
Summary: Ciri's been pushing her limits and working too hard. Geralt tries to convince her to get some rest.
[ao3 link]
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Ciri had been taking her training seriously. She worked hard, perfected everything Geralt showed her, and practiced at every spare moment she had. If Geralt had been half so dedicated when he was her age, he probably would’ve gotten in much less trouble with Vesemir. That being said, Geralt was starting to wonder if she didn’t take her training a little too seriously.
She was late for meals, only not missing them entirely half the time because he came out to fetch her. She wasn’t taking breaks, working herself past the point of productivity. Geralt was even beginning to wonder if she was getting enough sleep, or if she had been sneaking out at night to squeeze in more practice, trying to improve faster.
Which was why Geralt didn’t even try telling her to stop when he came out that evening to check on her, the chill setting in even more heavily with the slow setting of the sun. She really shouldn’t even be outside this late. She didn’t have the stamina or the sturdiness of a witcher. She was going to catch her death out here in the snow.
But instead of chastising her, instead of commanding her to go to bed and rest, all Geralt said was, “Let’s spar.”
Ciri, ever-dedicated, finished the series of moves she was practicing, before lowering her sword and turning toward him. “What?”
Geralt tugged the wooden sword out of her grip and tossed it aside before backing away and lowering himself into a fighting stance. “Let’s spar.”
Ciri frowned, but mimicked his stance. “But you haven’t taught me how to fight hand-to-hand yet. And you’re so much bigger than me.”
Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Do you think all your opponents will be as small as you? If you want to learn, then watch carefully. And use your size to your advantage.”
Ciri’s eyes narrowed as she scanned Geralt’s form. He allowed her those few moments, watching the fight build up in her eyes. She was full of it, it always rose to the surface so easily, and that’s what Geralt had been betting on. It was time she learned what happened when she worked past her limits.
Geralt telegraphed his moves carefully, taking a few light steps in her direction. She immediately hopped backwards, trying to circle around him. He allowed her to start flanking him before suddenly lunging in her direction, grabbing hold of her arm. She yelped and tugged on the limb, but while gentle, Geralt’s grip was secure and strong. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Let go of me,” she growled, trying to twist out of his grasp.
“Be resourceful,” he said.
Ciri grunted and tried to kick at his arm, but Geralt was faster. He snatched her ankle, holding it tight in his grasp as well. She growled again, tugging hard at her limbs.
“Geralt!”
“Cirilla.”
He used his grip on her to tug her close, dropping her ankle when she was near enough and using his grip on her arm to twirl her around. Then, he leaned down and wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her into the air while she kicked and cursed, shoving at him.
“This lesson is a very important one,” he said, and her struggles died down somewhat as she listened. “I’d advise you to listen carefully.”
Then, when she had turned to glare at him over her shoulder, he smirked. And he attacked. The arm hoisting her up by the waist started pinching at her side. Her eyes went wide as she shrieked, her struggles renewing tenfold. She twisted and kicked and spat curses, but the childish giggles poured easily out of her mouth despite all her fight. He wrapped his other arm around her so that he wouldn’t drop her in all her squirming, letting those fingers scratch at her lower ribs.
“Geralt! No!”
“This lesson,” Geralt said, “is about knowing your limits. And when to stop and rest.”
She shrieked again as Geralt bounced her up in his arms, hoisting her back up from where she had been slipping. She was quick, though, having taken so well to her training, and she used those few moments where his arms were looser to twist herself around in his grasp.
His arms wrapped more than far enough around her back to keep plucking at her sides, but now he had to try and dodge her weak swipes at his face as well. She bit down on his shoulder, not hard, but certainly enough for him to notice, while her boots searched for purchase on his frame.
“I don’t think you’re listening very well,” he rumbled, chuckling as she managed to plant her boot against his hip and push herself up.
“Maybe your lessons are just boring,” Ciri replied, still giggling even though he had stilled his fingers to instead steady her as she tried to climb up onto his shoulders.
Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess I’ll stop boring you.”
He bounced the shoulder she had been climbing up to unbalance her and make her shriek before letting it dip and crumple completely beneath her weight, sending her toppling toward the ground as she laughed. He caught her by her legs, tossing her knees over his shoulder and barring his arm right above them to hold her there. Then with his other hand, he reached down and clawed into her belly, smiling as she cackled and shouted obscenities at him. She slapped and pushed at his hand without success, eventually giving in to her tired muscles and just hanging there, laughing wildly.
“Are you ready to go inside and go to bed?” Geralt asked after a few more moments.
“Yes!” She shouted through her laughter, drumming her heels against his back.
Geralt slowed his fingers to a stop, waiting for Ciri to get her bearings before slowly lowering her to the ground and helping her to her feet. She was panting and leaning against him heavily as they walked back toward the keep, but there was a smile plastered to her face and no sour anger in her scent.
“Remember to rest and take breaks from here on,” Geralt told her as they climbed the icy steps. “Or I’ll have to repeat this lesson.”
Ciri snorted. “I doubt any monsters or men will be using that against me. Not a very good lesson, is it?”
Geralt gave her side a few pinches, making her squeak and dance away from him as they walked into the keep.
“Careful,” he said with a smirk. “The monsters out there aren’t the only ones you need to be worried about.”
May I humbly request some wolf bros tickles? Like maybe they’re all drinking & Jaskier’s there & he’s just kind of stirring the pot to watch them bicker & fight with each other until Lambert or someone says something that’s the last straw so they have to show him who’s boss? If not that’s fine, I just love them all & I need my witcher boys to be reduced to a giggly mess
Bro you have been so patient and this is not necessarily up to standard I am so sorry dkjfhdjkf
I meant to post this a day or two ago before s2 went up but oh well lol. Also, it's not my best work because I was rushing it to try and get it out before s2. Also also, I haven't had a chance to watch any of s2 yet so don't say anything about it to me lol. Oh also also also, this is unedited because i'm chronically exhausted.
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Fandom: Witcher
Ship(s): Geraskier (loosely)
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Lambert, Ler!Geralt, Eskel. Brief Lee!Geralt and Lee!Eskel
Word Count: 1199 words
Summary: Lambert's been accused of being a bit too surly on the night of their reunion. His brothers decide to fix that.
[ao3 link]
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At this point, Lambert couldn’t say how it started. It was all a haze between the drinking and teasing and arguing. Geralt was busy making doe-eyes at his shiny little bard, and then doing a horrible job at pretending he wasn’t when he was caught. Eskel was being far too earnest for how little they’d had to drink, trying to catch up on the events of the year. And Lambert had no patience for any of it, becoming grouchier by the second as he tried to drown himself in his ale.
Because they couldn’t have anything actually decent, not with Geralt’s precious bard around. Because apparently bards have no self-preservation skills and would demand to have drinks not meant for humans.
But it was Lambert’s grouchiness that was his downfall.
“Really, Lambert,” Jaskier said, some of his drink sloshing over the edges of his tankard as he gestured with it. “Would it kill you to lighten up? To smile a little?”
Lambert glared at him, taking a long sip of his ale. “Yes.”
Eskel shook his head. Geralt scoffed and muttered something under his breath to Jaskier, who burst into giggles. Apparently even with the ale, Geralt was gone enough to forget that Lambert had a witcher’s hearing just as much as he did. Either that, or he just didn’t care if Lambert heard him.
“Lambert, Lambert, what a prick.”
If he heard that fucking limerick one more time--
Jaskier looked up at him and burst into a new bout of giggles. “Oh, dear, darling, I don’t think your brother likes your poetry very much. Now he’s even grumpier than before!”
Lambert sneered and turned away, busying himself with chugging what was left in his tankard, hoping it would finally bring him over the edge of just buzzed and at least into the tipsy category.
“You know,” Eskel said in a far too contemplative tone for a night of drinking, eyeing Lambert in a way he absolutely didn’t like, “there used to be a way we could always get him to smile.”
Lambert felt his scowl drop into a face of open shock. Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt was already starting to smirk. Eskel’s expression had yet to change, but he had started shifting closer to Lambert on the side of the table they shared.
“Don’t fucking come near me,” Lambert bit out, scooting backwards until he had no bench left to scoot backwards on.
“Do you remember, Geralt?” Eskel asked.
Geralt huffed. “Oh, I remember.”
“Should we give it a try?”
“No!” Lambert shouted, launching himself off the bench.
As usual, Lambert had forgotten how much sitting still made you feel less tipsy than you actually were. He stumbled back when he stood, tripping over his own feet as he tossed his empty tankard onto the table. In the time it took him to gather his bearings and catch himself from falling, Geralt and Eskel had already wobbled their way toward him, fully prepared to tackle.
“Not that this isn’t entertaining and all,” Jaskier called out from the table, craning his neck to get a better view, “but what, exactly, is going on here?”
“We’re going to tickle Lambert until he cries,” Geralt said.
Jaskier grinned. “Oh, carry on, then. I’m sure his smile is very handsome.”
Geralt frowned and turned around to face Jaskier. “Hey--”
Lambert, desperate for a way out of this, did a very stupid thing. With Eskel watching Geralt, waiting for him to be ready to lunge again, and Geralt watching Jaskier in offense, Lambert himself lunged for Geralt. He squeezed rapidly up and down Geralt’s sides, hoping to weaken Geralt enough to buy himself some time to get away. Geralt doubled over slightly and scrabbled at Lambert’s hands, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.
Jaskier lit up. “Geralt, dear heart, I had no idea you were ticklish! Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Geralt didn’t answer his bard, he simply growled and whirled around fast enough that Lambert lost his grip. He barely had time to think shit, before he was tackled to the floor by both of his brothers. He’d missed his chance to run while Geralt was distracted, and now his fate was sealed.
Not that he necessarily hated the sort of playful bonding with his brothers, as much as he might put up fronts that he did. It was just embarrassing being pinned to the ground and tickled by your brothers, and mortifying to do so in the company of one of said brother’s possible lovers.
Lambert fought off their fingers as best he could, but when it came down to it, they had four hands to attack with, and he only had two with which to defend himself. Two hands that very quickly got pinned to the stone floor, leaving both Geralt and Eskel with one hand each to tickle him silly with. He almost wished he had kept his armor on, it would provide him with so much more protection than just his simple shirt and trousers. At least he’d kept his boots on, but feet were more Eskel’s weak point than his, anyway. And boots were easily removed, in any case, if the thought happened to occur to either of them.
Geralt and Eskel’s fingers were clumsy, courtesy of how much alcohol they had consumed, but unfortunately that did not make a very big difference in Lambert’s torture. He’d always been unfortunately ticklish, and the fumbling touch made him cackle just as much as their usual seeking fingers did. It didn’t help that they didn’t bother with any buildup, going straight for his lower ribs without any hesitation.
“Aww,” he heard Jaskier coo over his cackling laughter. “His smile is handsome!”
“I’ll kill you, bard!” Lambert roared, though he knew he probably looked as threatening as a wet kitten right now, all giggly and stupid.
Then Eskel’s fingers, even while drunk, managed to search out that horrible little spot on the front of his bottom ribs, and Lambert knew he wouldn’t be doing any more speaking for a while. Geralt chuckled over him.
“That’s what you get,” Geralt slurred – and how did he manage to get so drunk when Lambert was struggling to get tipsy?
Jaskier hummed playfully above the three of them. “Be careful, dear heart. You’re getting cocky.”
Eskel looked up with a grin. “We wouldn’t want that.”
For the first time in several minutes, Lambert could suck in a full breath as Eskel lunged for Geralt. He knew better than to lie there and recover, it would only further make him a target, so he quickly sat up and joined the fray again. After all, Geralt would want his own revenge on Eskel after this, and Lambert would be happy to dish out his own there, as well.
Lambert’s eyes flicked up to Jaskier while Geralt wheezed under their fingers. The bard looked far too proud of himself, smirking smugly and watching them with no small amount of glee in his eyes. Lambert narrowed his eyes at Jaskier.
“Careful,” Lambert said. “You’re getting cocky.”
Jaskier’s eyes went wide at his own words being thrown back at him.
The last four tickletober fics i had written are all VERY late because i was out of town and then got a killer cold that snowballed into bronchitis, so get ready for a fic spam lol
Also, this is unedited
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Fandom: The Witcher
Ship(s): Geraskier
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt
Word Count: 640 words
Summary: Jaskier put in a lot of work to let Geralt know he liked the fangs. He just didn't see this particular problem arising out of it.
[ao3 link]
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When Geralt and Jaskier first got together, the fangs were off the table. It was all closed mouth kissing and cutting things off when Geralt would start getting too heated and forget, and no matter what Jaskier did, he couldn’t convince Geralt that the fangs were super fucking hot.
And then Jaskier decided to start biting Geralt with his dull, human teeth and it was all uphill from there.
Now, Geralt never shied away from bringing the fangs into play, especially when it made Jaskier moan like that (and maybe the first few times Jaskier had exaggerated his noises, wanting to make sure Geralt knew he was into it, but they certainly weren’t faked now that Geralt had confidence). There was only one issue with the fangs, now, and it was that Jaskier was incredibly, debilitatingly ticklish.
Which, it wasn’t actually an issue for the most part, except that it meant that Jaskier couldn’t stop giggling when Geralt was trying to tease him in a completely different way.
Geralt nipped at Jaskier's lip in the middle of their kiss, tugging at it a little so that he could feel the pinch of the sharp teeth against his skin before slowly releasing it. Jaskier let out a quiet little moan and dove in for another kiss, burying his hand into Geralt’s tangled hair, except Geralt dodged his lips and leaned down to kiss at Jaskier’s neck instead.
Jaskier bit his own lip as Geralt mouthed at his neck, having memorized the exact spots to target to make Jaskier shiver. Then, Geralt brought out the fangs. He nibbled and nipped at Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier tried desperately to hold himself together. One hand stayed tangled in Geralt’s hair while the other flew up to press against his mouth. He was trembling with the effort it took to not shrug his shoulders up or scrunch his neck down. It wasn’t that it felt bad or that he didn’t like it, he was just too ticklish.
He felt Geralt chuckle against his neck, the warm air fanning against the cooling saliva on his skin and making goosebumps prickle across his body.
“Really?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier risked pulling his hand away from his mouth to answer, “I can’t help it!”
Geralt hummed. “I know.”
Then, he grabbed Jaskier’s hands and pinned them down next to his sides before diving back in to nibble at his neck once more.
Jaskier’s resolve broke with the surprise of it. Ridiculous, high-pitched giggles tumbled out from his lips as the fangs dragged across his skin. He tried his best not to scrunch up his neck, but it was a fruitless endeavor. It felt like every new scrape of those teeth got more and more ticklish. When he did give into the urge, he tried his best not to slam his chin into Geralt’s head.
“Please!” Jaskier cried, even though he didn’t even know what he was pleading for. “It tickles!!”
Geralt just hummed, moving around to the other side of Jaskier’s neck, where the skin was fresh and sensitive and ripe for ticklish nipping. Jaskier squealed and shook his head, tugging at his trapped wrists even though he knew there was no way he could overpower a witcher.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Jaskier said through his giggling.
“What gave it away?” Geralt asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jaskier snorted and flinched as Geralt targeted an especially ticklish spot, just behind his ear. “I thought you wanted to make out!”
Geralt pulled back so that they were nose to nose and grinned down at him. “I don’t see why I can’t do both.”
Jaskier leaned up and captured Geralt’s lips in a languid kiss. “Both it is, then.”
Needless to say, Jaskier’s neck was coated by bruises the next morning, and he didn’t regret one bit of it.
