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There is not enough cute little AU’s in this fandom. (There’s never enough) so I decided to be part of the solution, rather than the problem. Fluffy flower shop/tattoo shop au. +Bonus Bookstore owner Yenneferm (eventually)
———- 🌷 🐺 🌷———-
The storefront across from Geralt’s family shop had been empty for months. It used to hold a small accounting firm but the firm had merged with another one and the little show was empty. It was a good space, Geralt had thought. The windows maybe weren’t big enough for a display for, say, a bakery, but it was a good spot.
And, of course, it was right across from Morhen Floral Arrangements, the best florist shop in the whole damn city.
Geralt contained a proud smile as he trimmed a sunflower stem. He’d worked hard to get his shop to where it was. Just recently they’d bought a greenhouse on the edge of the city and Eskel was happily buying as many types of rare and tropical flowers as he could find at various nurseries all around the state. Vesemir, who insisted constantly that he was retired, was keeping the rosebushes in the greenhouse at a painstaking state of perfection.
Along with their partnership with Aiden and Lambert’s event planning business, everything was perfect. Ciri was busy with school, ice hockey, and judo, but picked up weekend shift in the shop when she could. Geralt had life completely figured out.
The fact that they were going to have new neighbors wasn’t going to throw a wrench in anything at all. Nope. Geralt wasn’t anxious or anything.
Eskel had teased him about the vulture-like way he’d been watching the workmen in the shop across the street. They’d been putting in new floors and counters, painting the walls, even changing the front door.
Today, a pretty blonde and a svelte but hirsute man were struggling up on two small ladders, trying to put up a new, eye-peelingly yellow, awning by themselves.
Geralt swore under his breath as he saw them struggling. He had his phone in-hand in case of an emergency as the ladders rocked. Why on earth hadn’t they just had the workmen put up the awning too instead of these obvious amatures?
The man’s ladder rocked again and Geralt set down his sunflowers with a thud. One or both of the idiots was going to get themselves killed. He crossed the street at double speed, eyes locked on where the ladder was set on uneven pavement and rocking dangerously.
Above, the man reached back, trying to stretch the canvas around the corner of the frame. His heel slipped off the step of the ladder and he let go of the awning with a shout.
Geralt dove the last couple feet, catching the man bridal style before he could hit the ground.
His eyes were so, so blue.
His shirt was also undone just unethically low, giving more than a glimpse of the chest hair Geralt had noticed, even from across the street.
He set the man down hurriedly and stuck out his hand. “Geralt,” he said.
“Gesundheit,” said the brunette man, grinning.
“No, I mean, it’s my name,” Geralt rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. The man laughed.
“I know, I’m Jaskier.”
“Gesundheit,” Geralt returned, just to hear that lovely laugh again.
“So,” said the blonde woman, stepping off her ladder. “You’re the florist?”
Geralt shrugged, “that’s me.”
“How lovely, we’ve been dying to meet you. I’m Priscilla.”
Geralt looked up at the awning, still flapping awkwardly. It read Pins and Needles Body Art.
“Tattoos?”
“And piercings,” the blonde, Priscilla, said. “I do the piercings and any American Traditional or Japanese Traditional tattooing, Jaskier does all the rest of the tattoos.”
“Priscilla did her apprenticeship in Japan,” Jaskier explained, obviously proud of his maybe-girlfriend.
“That’s very nice,” Geralt said, at a loss. “Can I help you with the awning?”
With Geralt steadying the ladders, the awning went up in no time, and Geralt was given a very warm thank you by Jaskier which made the back of his neck heat up.
He spent the rest of the day feverishly putting together bouquets and very much not thinking about pretty tattoo artists or their frightening and talented girlfriends.
———- 🌷 🐺 🌷———-
This will be a little series, but I don’t know how long or how frequent the updates will be.
I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled, and for the life of me I could not find the list this was from. So imma just make them hug it out
(considering this ask is 7 months old, something tells me you don't remember which one you asked for either😂)
Edit: I found a hug prompt list on someone else's blog and I'm running with it.
spinning in the air hugs, featuring trans Jaskier and happiness
It was the moment of truth, and Jaskier couldn’t look.
Except he couldn’t wait, either. Not for the first time, the medical portal told him he’d been sitting idle too long, threatening to log him out. He quickly hit the reset button on the timer, fighting with the mouse pad to recognize his sweaty fingers, and then pushed his laptop away again to stare at over his bunched up knees.
He held them close, fingers playing with his baby blue sweats, and chewed on his bottom lip.
This was something he’d been waiting on for years. Literal years, and he’d already told Eskel that he’d gotten a response from his doctor. Eskel had promised to be there for him when he opened it, for better or worse, and it honestly wasn’t wise for Jaskier to open it alone.
So much of his life had been building up to that moment, to reading what his doctor’s decision was. His toes curled and the light on his laptop dimmed, the news waiting for him. Right there, right in front of him - but Eskel wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes.
That was assuming traffic was bad, and Jaskier had lived in the city long enough to know it was always bad. Well, besides for 3 in the morning, which it was not. He squished his cheek against his knee, fidgeting in his spot, but even looking away from the laptop for a few seconds was too much.
Maybe he shouldn’t wait. Chin on his knees again, Jaskier squinted at the heading of the alert he’d gotten. It didn’t give him any more information than the last several times he’d given it a stink eye, though that didn’t stop him from trying. Was it really too much to ask for medical privacy to be damned and for it to just spill its secrets already?
He threw his legs out and grabbed the laptop, pulling it closer. His fingers hovered over the mouse pad, eyes staring the alert down. “Appointment results from 11-4” - that’s it, that’s all it said, but all he had to do was click it and he’d know.
Jaskier shoved his laptop away, swung his legs over the sofa, and stormed off to make some tea. He’d already waited over a decade to get rid of his tits, he could wait ten more minutes to figure out if it was happening soon or not.
Before he could even manage to get a mug out of the cupboard, Jaskier was scampering back to the laptop, squatting down in front of the sofa to squint at it.
Ten minutes. He could hold it together for ten minutes, no matter the news. And then Eskel would be there for him.
Jaskier clicked the alert, and skimmed it as fast as he could, his heart beating in his throat as his hands shook.
When Eskel got there, he didn’t even have time to unlock the door before the door swung open and he had an arm full of crying Jaskier. At first he didn’t know if the tears were good or bad, but after Jaskier blubbered out the brilliant news - “I’m approved, I was approved” - Eskel laughed, picking him up and spinning him in circles as Jaskier happily cried into his shoulder.
Years. He’d waited for years, and finally, soon, he’d be able to look in the mirror and see himself instead of someone else.
"Would you like to become a Witcher, child?" He asks her.
She gapes at him, speechles at first.
"Aren't all witchers… Men?" She asks hesitantly. Vesemir nods, watching her carefully.
"So they are."
—
They say all Witchers are men, and it's true in a way. But not all of them need to have started as such.
written for @thepassifloradiscord trans week
ao3
A newborn baby cries out their first cry. The mother, her face red and puffy, looks desperately at the midwife.
"It's a girl!" The other woman announces with a big smile. The mother sighs with relief, almost in tears. A girl. It's a girl . They don't take girls, do they?
Her baby is safe, isn't she?
—
The girl grows up with two older brothers and a younger sister. The boys are very protective of them both—that's annoying but normal, she supposes. But the way her mother sometimes looks at her, with fear and sadness in her eyes. The way she hesitates before letting her out of the house, the reluctance with which she agrees to let her wander off down the mountain—even after her sister is easily allowed the same privilege—that is strange.
—
She loves reading books and listening to fireside stories about the travels and adventures of brave knights and scary witchers. She wishes she could be just like them.
She envies their freedom, she thinks.
—
She doesn't like spending time with the girls, not because she dislikes them or because they bore her, but because of how much she doesn't belong.
It's not even that they like different things, precisely—she just knows that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be one of them. She will never belong.
It's different with the boys. Whenever she's with them, she feels more true to herself, somehow. Occasionally, she gets mistaken for one of them and her heart flutters with joy.
Eventually, she thinks that she may like being a boy better, so she tries it out, crops her hair short and dresses like one.
Her mother doesn't seem happy about it, but she tolerates it—until she- he decides he does like it better, asks her to use the masculine pronouns and call him her son.
That's when something breaks inside her.
She pales, her mouth working silently, then suddenly begins to sob uncontrollably and yell. No and you can't, calling him my little girl as she tears the clothes off him and begs him to change back .
The girl is so scared she doesn't try to be a boy again.
—
Something changes after that. Her mother becomes more and more anxious to see her disappear from sight.
She tries to argue of course, but no amount of pleading or yelling changes that. I'm trying to keep you safe , her mother always says. You'll understand one day.
She doesn't understand.
She runs away a few times, but her mother always has such a wild look to her, cries so hard with relief when she's found, she eventually resigns herself to her fate and stops.
—
One day In the late afternoon, when she's eleven, there's a knock on the door. There's no one else at the house—her mother is tending to the animals and her father and brothers had gone to town, so she runs to open it.
It's a man, his hair long and starting to grey. He looks like a dangerous sort, wearing leather armour and two swords at his back, but his smile looks amiable enough and, more importantly, genuine. She looks at him questioningly, and he speaks in a kindly tone.
"Are your parents home?"
"Mother is at the barn."
"Would you fetch her for me? Tell her Vesemir has come to collect what he's owed."
That makes her more cautious—debt collectors are usually not a friendly lot—but that smile is still on his face, so she obligingly runs to get her mother.
When she repeats the stranger's words, her mother blanches and goes stiff, then hugs her very tightly.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispers into her hair, stroking it lightly. "I tried. I tried to keep you safe." She holds her for a very long time and when she pulls away, her eyes are wet and puffy.
"What's wrong, mother?" She asks, but her mother only shakes her head.
"Perhaps you'll be happier there."
Where? She wants to ask, but by then her mother is already grasping her hand tightly and pulling her back towards the house and the smiling stranger—Vesemir, he had said his name was.
He nods at her mother.
"Is your son well?" He asks, but her mother shakes her head angrily.
"Spare me the pleasantries." She snaps, still tightly clutching her hand. It hurts, and she winces a little. "My husband thought he was saving my child, but it turns out all he did was exchange one for another."
Vesemir's smile turns sad, but he doesn't say anything. He simply waits. Her mother sighs and her hand slackens, then falls to her side.
"I will not fight you. I know there's no cheating destiny."
She looks questioningly between her mother and Vesemir. She doesn't fully understand what is going on, but she understands enough to know that it's something that will overturn her life. A deep sense of unease settles low in her stomach—but there's curiosity there as well.
Vesemir nods gravely at her mother.
"Very wise of you." He crouches in front of her, to be nearer to her eye level, and simply looks at her in appraisal for a long moment.
"Would you like to become a Witcher, child?" He asks her.
She gapes at him, speechles at first.
"Aren't all witchers… Men?" She asks hesitantly. Vesemir nods, watching her carefully.
"So they are."
Her heart flutters in her chest. Surely he can't be serious, and this is some kind of jest…? She blinks at him, trying to figure out his angle, but he simply continues looking at her with the same solemn expression.
"Yes." She finally says, her voice small and shaky at first, then repeats it with conviction. "Yes!"
Her eyes are wet. She hadn't noticed.
"It's a difficult process, and the training is harsh. Not all make it out alive." Vesemir says, his tone gravely serious. Her mother makes a choked off sound, but she doesn't care . If she can be a Witcher, if she can be a boy—it is worth all the risk.
Vesemir smiles and stands up, then reaches out his hand.
"Then come with me, boy."
She- he grasps Vesemir's hand. It is warm, warm like hope.
—
"What is your name, boy?" Vesemir asks as they walk towards his horse. Her- his heart almost leaps out of his chest with joy at those words—until the full meaning of them sinks in.
His face falls. His old name, a girl's name feels wrong somehow, and yet—what other name does he have?
Fortunately, Vesemir seems to notice his hesitation and, more importantly, to understand his dilemma even before he can articulate it out loud. He puts a heavy, comforting hand atop his head and ruffles his hair.
"Don't worry, if you don't have it picked out yet, boy. You will find the right one in time. You'll see."
—
Vesemir helps the boy cut his hair along the journey. It looks much better than anything he was able to accomplish by himself, and it feels so right when he sees his reflection that he nearly weeps with joy.
—
They arrive at Kaer Morhen after a few days, late in the afternoon. Vesemir shows him to a big room full of bunk beds. The boy counts 30, allowing for 60 occupants. It's empty when they enter, but many of the beds look to be in use.
"This is where you will sleep until the end of your trials." Vesemir explains. "If you survive, you will be given your own room in the castle that you will be able to come back to whenever you need or want to after your training finishes. It… Most likely won't be comfortable." Vesemir chuckles. "But it will become your home, if you allow it."
If you survive. A chill runs through the boy at those words—but he knew this beforehand, didn't he? He had made the choice voluntarily. He nods, trying to show a brave face.
"Okay."
Vesemir nods back, seemingly satisfied with this reaction.
"Today you can stay here. In your own time—which you will not have a lot of, starting tomorrow—you are free to explore the ground floors of the castle as you please. Other floors are off limits to new recruits."
Vesemir goes on about the training, about the meal times, about the special diet and many other topics.
The thing that the boy remembers best is that after all the trials, he will not yet fully be a Witcher (too much to learn still)—but he will fully be a man.
—
Mindful of Vesemir's warning concerning his leisure time, the boy spends the first evening exploring the castle's ground floor.
He meets a few yellow eyed men in the corridors. A couple of them are friendly. One ignores him completely. The others just give him pitying looks.
—
As he meets the other recruits, he makes many friends and learns that there are more sharing his circumstances than he expected—some already with new names picked out, others, like him, simply known as the boy.
There are four such recruits in particular he becomes steadfast friends with, all sharing his age—Geralt, Eskel, Janos and another boy.
The odds are against them, of course. After all, it is said that only one in ten receuits lives through the trials. They cover up their nervousness with humour, betting on who will be the last one standing. As the most sturdy of them all, Eskel is the favourite. Geralt, the poor sickly-looking sap, is immediately labelled the least likely survivor.
But it's Janos who dies first, his body unable to bear the strain of the preparatory diet of strange mushrooms and herbs.
Then the other boy dies in an unfortunate accident during training.
The fact that three of them make it to the Trials of Grass in one piece is still impressive.
—
They can't sleep the night before.
Plenty of the bunks are fully vacant by then, so they push two empty ones together and sit there, huddled up.
"When did you pick your names?" The boy asks quietly. It nags at him, that he still hadn't been able to find one that fits.
Geralt shrugs.
"Vesemir picked mine. I live in Kaer Morhen ever since I can remember. It felt… Right. "
"I found mine in a fairy tale." Eskel smiles and shrugs. "I just… Liked it so much, I've decided to use it."
The boy nods.
"It's a beautiful name. I wish I found it before you did."
Eskel grins at him.
"Why don't you use it too, then?"
The boy chuckles.
"Two Eskels from the School of the Wolf? I don't know, it sounds like a bit much."
Eskel shrugs.
"Well, I don't know if I'll be keeping it yet. Maybe a fairy tale name isn't such a great pick for a Witcher."
The boy laughs loudly, soon infecting Geralt and Eskel and waking some of the sleeping recruits. They glare at the three of them until their laughter subsides into quiet giggles.
—
It's difficult to face the Trial of Grass with optimism and a brave face, yet Eskel somehow manages to do so.
He squeezes the boy's hand and gives him a cheeky smile.
"See you on the other side!"
—
Passing out is a mercy.
Whenever he's awake, he can feel his body changing.
It's torture.
Fire is flowing through his veins. His bones are stretching, breaking and mending all at once. His joints and muscles throb with pain, as if he was overexerting them again and again. His insides feel like they're liquifeing and reforming over and over.
After a while, he starts hallucinating.
He sees his mother, sitting by him and alternately crying and singing an old mountain lullaby. Then his father and siblings, and then the other village children. They flit around, a face or two coming closer to tell him to be brave, to tell him that he's making a mistake, to say that they miss him. At one point he thinks he spots Janos and the other boy, but the pain makes it difficult to see and their faces are quickly lost in the crowd.
—
Eskel comes to him last.
He sits in the place previously occupied by his mother—that's when the boy realises that everyone else is gone, even the mages and elder Witchers—squeezes his hand and repeatedly whispers encouragement. You're almost there. Don't give up. Be strong. It makes the pain just a little more bearable.
And then, just once, he says, keep the name. It suits you. Then he kisses his forehead, waves goodbye and disappears through the door.
The boy loses consciousness.
—
He wakes up shortly afterwards, tired and in pain—but it's different than before. Much more subdued.
It's still an effort to open his eyes. They feel dry, like sandpaper.
The light is painfully bright, and everything seems somehow sharper and clearer—too much. It makes his head spin.
He notices he's no longer in the underground, but instead in a small room with a narrow bed he currently occupies, a bookcase, a wardrobe and a writing desk, a Witcher he doesn't recognize sitting in the chair.
He tells the boy that he's the third one to wake up, then forces some stew and a foul-smelling concoction into him.
"Tomorrow you'll feel much better." He informs the boy.
When the boy asks about Eskel and Geralt, the man is quiet for a long time. It's not a reply he offers when he finally speaks.
"Rest up for now, boy."
Too tired to protest, he falls into a dreamless sleep.
—
It is only later that he learns that Eskel had passed away during the trial.
—
Many years pass before he visits the desolate mountain village he came from.
They don't seem to recognize him—why would they, after such a long time? But an older woman with a braid like his mother used to wear beckons him close.
"What is your name, sir Witcher?" She asks.
"I am no sir, there's no need for formalities. My name is Eskel."
She nods.
"Eskel. A good, strong name." She simply stares at him for a while, and he grows a little uneasy. "Do you regret becoming a Witcher, Eskel?"
He smiles and shakes his head.
"No."
Her eyes are a little wet, but she wipes the tears away quickly.
Written for the “Gift” prompt for @witcher-bows-and-arrows. This is part of my Kitten Jaskier au, though no actual kitten play happens. It’s mentioned, though!
Teen, No Warnings. 1,700 words.
Geralt/Jaskier
—
Jaskier normally gets home from work before Geralt, so he’s thrown off when he enters their apartment and finds it filled with the scents and sounds of cooking. He toes off his shoes and sets down his bag before padding into the kitchen. Geralt is hovering over the stove and doesn’t acknowledge him at first. When Jaskier clears his throat, his boyfriend jumps and spins around to glare at him.
“Sorry love,” Jaskier says, though he can’t hold back his giggles. “Thought we agreed not to go all out for Valentine’s Day.”
“We did, but cooking dinner for us isn’t going all out. We gotta eat, right?” Geralt asks, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. He pretends to be all gruff and aloof, but Jaskier adores how secretly sweet he really is.
This was written for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows prompt: Proposition.
This is also the start of something I’ve wanted to do for some time now. I’m making a D/s modern AU to play around in. It will start as friends with benefits, but you all know me, so that won’t last forever.
A lot of kinks are mentioned, but none of them are preformed, so I’m not tagging this post. Read the kinks below, please.
Mature, Warnings Kink Negotiation but no actual sex. Kinks mentioned: pitting, Cock warming, Feet, Slut shaming, Dirty talk, Breeding, Spanking, Collars, Biting, Lingerie, Praise kink. 2,800 Words
Geralt/Jaskier
—
Sometimes it’s absolutely maddening to sit in his room with his headphones on while he knows full well what Geralt is getting up to in his room. They’ve been roommates ever since he and Yen finally got drunk and admitted they work better as friends, and Geralt never hid this side of him. But knowing his best friend - who he happens to be helplessly in love with - is on the other side of the apartment fucking someone? Sometimes that hurts.
It’s not like Jaskier has ever told Geralt how he feels, because they’re dreadfully incompatible. Geralt has his normal job down at the shop, and then he comes home and hangs up his jumpsuit for…a paddle or leather or whatever he wears. The thing is, as much as Jaskier knows Geralt is a dom with a few steady subs, he doesn’t actually know what they get up to.
There, another story hidden in the depths of my wip archive! This time from November something! Thank you beloved Ebs for beta reading, you are a gem!
please enjoy! <3
On Ao3 here
“Jaskier, Hocus Pocus doesn’t count as a scary movie.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier says, matching his tone, looking down his nose for good measure. “They eat children. They are witches. I was terrified. It counts.”
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Geralt leans on the arm rest on the couch, while Jaskier sits curled up in the other corner.
“So what makes you think you can deal with Paranormal Activity?” he questions, looking so completely unimpressed Jaskier can’t help but feel a little offended.
“I got you? And it’s not real! Right? I can tell the difference between a movie and reality, I’m not a child- stop giving me that look, I am a man grown! Ish! Grown enough, shut up, I’m almost as tall as you.”
“I literally said nothing,” Geralt huffs, not even trying to hide is smile, but gives in and settles back more comfortably as he starts the movie. “Do you have your pillow, mister Man Grown?”
“Locked and loaded.” Jaskier beams, opting to ignore whatever Geralt is insinuating, but with his Protection Pillow firmly set in his lap.
To exactly nobody’s surprise, the movie is scarier than Hocus fucking Pocus.
This week, 19-25th Feb 2023 is Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week, so I have created a list of my favourite AO3 Aro witcher fics
Mending the Rift (T) by @kueble - Jaskier comes home to a grumpy best friend and they sort things out. This has an Aro!Jaskier and Ace!Geralt, who have retired to Corvo Bianco
Date Night (T) by @himbo-half-orc - Aiden and Lambert meet again after a few weeks separation. Lambert has made some special preparations, but it takes Aiden a long time to realise that this might in fact be a date.
Of Love and Hate (T) by @jaskierswolf - Jaskier always assumed Valdo hated him after the troubadour spurned his advances in their youth, but nothing is ever quite so simple. This is Aro!Valdo, who explains a few things to our bard
Knocking on the Wrong Door (M) by tinymacaroni - Geralt finally brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier finds some solace as he works on getting over a crush he knows is going nowhere. Mixed canon, primarily books and Netflix sorta mashed together lol. This is Jaskier/Eskel with Aro!Geralt
Did it Work? (G) by I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee - Aro!Jaskier tries taking a love potion to see what it is like to fall in love. This is hilarious and a great take
Aperture (E) by grassylampshade - Gloryhole fic with Aro!Jaskier and various witchers.
Arrangements (G) by @himbo-half-orc - Jaskier is told by his parents he must find someone to marry - tonight, or they will choose for him. They have organised a ball for all of the eligible singletons in the area. The problem is, Jaskier is aromantic. Will he find his match?
Here are a few collections of Aro stories:
An Aro Through My Heart - this is a collection of stories by people from the @thepassifloradiscord from 2022
Aro fics by @himbo-half-orc- this is a collection of my stories on AO3
Here is an extremely late fill for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows prompt “More.” This is dedicated to @jaskierswolf who requested some thigh love. Thanks for an amazing prompt!
Once the last email is sent, Geralt closes his work laptop and stands, stretching his arms up over his head since he’s been at it for so long. He checks the clock and realizes he maybe went a little too long, but he knows Jaskier will still be right where he left him. With a smile on his face, he leaves his office and heads back to the living room.
Jaskier is indeed right where he left him, kneeling on a yoga mat in front of the couch. They’ve tried pillows, but Jaskier doesn’t like the way they make him fidget, claiming they’re too lumpy to work. Geralt reaches down and runs his hands through Jaskier’s hair, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. He’s completely naked, clasping his own wrists behind his back.
Dust whipped around Geralt’s feet as he strolled along the outskirts of the district. It was a hot day, and people were milling around slowly, idly meandering down alleyways as they went about their business. Currently, Geralt didn’t have much to do- no instructions, no plans…and no Jaskier. His lover had crept out of bed that morning with a sad little grimace and promised to try and spare him a few more precious hours later in the week. And that had been it, off he went to his meeting on Metellos. Leaving Geralt with little to do but wander around listlessly and consider returning to the Temple for some training.
As he ambled back through the streets of the Federal District, one foot in front of the other, sighing to himself as he thought dismally that it could be weeks now before he got a chance to be alone with Jaskier again.
Rounding the corner, still lost in thought, Geralt almost crashed into two small boys running around in the road, shrieking and giggling, arms sticking out besides them as if they were starfighters. Grunting, he skirted around them and continued walking. It was only a few minutes later, as he began to go up the steps into the Jedi Temple that a thought struck him. There was nothing stopping him from just happening to visit Metellos today, and by some strange coincidence finding Jaskier there. Yes. That’s all it would be - a coincidence.
The journey to Metellos didn’t take long, at least, it being within the same sector. As Geralt sat down in the pilot seat and buckled himself in, he couldn’t help but smile softly, and run a fond palm across the dash. Roach was a sturdy, reliable little vessel, and fast too- really it had been too long since he had taken her out for a spin. Well, now was better than never he thought to himself as he pulled her up into the sky, and shot off towards Jaskier.
It was as the planet came into view, however, that Geralt realised something was wrong. Smoke was billowing from a central point in the capital- Geralt’s knuckles went white as he sped up, guiding the ship down as fast as he reasonably could, heart racing as the wreckage loomed before him. His heart jolted in his chest as he finally caught sight of the origin of the smoke, and it was all he could do to stop safely before Geralt was bolting out of Roach, robes flying out behind him as he sprinted towards it. One of the stratblocks was on fire, and he had a sinking feeling that Jaskier might be inside it.
“Fuck,” Geralt snarled, lungs burning as he charged across the plaza and towards the wreckage. This wasn’t supposed to happen- it wasn’t supposed to end like this, so soon- not when he hadn’t even told Jaskier that he loved him for fuck’s sake-
People were screaming, crawling from the rubble and clinging to each other, tears streaming down their faces, leaving tracks amongst the soot. This couldn’t have been an accident, but Geralt couldn't bring himself to care about how or why the structure had fallen until he knew Jaskier was safe. He scrambled across the fallen bricks, amongst the carnage, frown deepening as every passing second went by and he still hadn’t found the senator. Fuck, the backlash from the Senate if anything had happened to him- Geralt shook his head to clear it, nearly tripping as his foot caught against something solid.
Something solid groaned and coughed on the smoke lingering around them. Shit. Geralt leapt up, heart in his mouth as he worked carefully to unbury the figure from the rubble, slowly revealing a head of soft, brown hair now filthy with soot, and dark robes, torn in places but unmistakably Jaskier’s.
“Jask?” His voice was rough, eyes wide as Geralt waited for some kind of response.
Jaskier groaned, and coughed, head lolling to the side before bright blue eyes blinked open to look at him.
“Geralt…” he mumbled, before launching himself forward and pulling Geralt into an embrace. Like this, Geralt could feel just how fast his heart was racing, how much Jaskier was shaking in his arms- he couldn’t take it anymore. The Jedi surged forward, tugging Jaskier by the hair to meet him in a bruising kiss, uncaring of potential witnesses. He doubted anyone would notice, and even if they did- well. It was worth any consequences that awaited him for the way Jaskier gasped into his mouth, hands falling to grasp Geralt by the hips and push their bodies impossibly closer. Just getting to touch him, hold him so close had set Geralt’s heart ablaze, and this- this-
All logical thought fled his brain the moment Jaskier pressed those plush lips against his neck. Geralt squirmed, a gasp escaping him as he tipped his head back further to give Jaskier more room. Just as his mind began to cloud over with the comforting haze of lust, Jaskier drew back. Geralt would deny the whine that escaped him for the rest of his years.
“We can’t,” Jaskier whispered, not looking at him, cheeks flushed. “We can’t keep… we have to leave,”
Geralt’s heart sank. “You’re right,” he said- because what else was there to say? With a deep pang of regret, he stood up and hauled Jaskier to his feet. “You need to get back to the Senate- I’ll take you,” Jaskier’s brows furrowed, eyes wide and hurt looking- and Geralt had to look away, climbing back out from the rubble, leading the way back to Roach.
The ride back was quiet, Jaskier’s hand ghosting over Geralt’s knuckles as he guided them home, sharing soft, sad smiles as they drew regrettably closer and closer to home. As he pulled up, Geralt hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words.
“I- I’ll look for your message,” he said, weakly instead, the words he so desperately wanted to let out trapped in his chest. Jaskier threw him a watery smile back over his shoulder as he stepped out and onto the ground.
“I’ll see you when I can,”
It was as close to a promise as either of them could make. It didn’t make it hurt any less.
Entry #4 for @thepassifloradiscord's drabble challenge!
Ciri/Cerys. Rated T.
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The crown fits as though made for her; in another life, it might have been. Cintran royalty had often enough been wedded to Skelligen steel.
Studying her reflection, she wonders what Calanthe would think of her now.
A flash of auburn in her periphery; she turns. Laughing, Cerys eyes her crown. “Been looking for that, little bird.”
Ciri ducks her hand, teasing. “What’ll you give me for it?”
High in Kaer Trolde, a queen catches a princess (by the arm; by the lips; by the heart). And in that moment, the princess decides there is only one opinion that matters.
Last one for the night I think. @thepassifloradiscord
Explicit. Warnings: none. 100 words
Lambert/Jaskier (implied Geraskier)
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"Geralt said you had a mouth on you, though I doubt this is what he meant," Lambert says, laughing as he struggles to hold his hips I check.
"He knows better than most," Jaskier replies, smirking before swallowing him down again. He grabs Lambert’s hand and brings it to the back of his head, begging him to fuck him harder. He looks filthy on his knees, happily gagging around Lambert’s thick cock.
Lambert had reservations about letting the bard join them this winter, but as he slams his hips into Jaskier's hot wet mouth, he can't seem to remember them.
Warrior’s Blues STANDALONE Special! Happy extremely belated birthday!!
Hey fam! @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde had a birthday many months ago, and ON THAT DAY I became very inspired to write them a short standalone from Warrior’s Blues. Just a little softness and sentimentality, with a side of smut. Or is it smut, with a side of softness and sentimentality? EITHER WAY FRIEND, HERE IS YOUR BIRTHDAY “CAKE” FIFTY YEARS LATE PLEASE ENJOY!
Chapter: STANDALONE
Tags/warnings: Smut, internalized homophobia
Beta: @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog
Ao3: Sunlight and Silver
Geralt floats, listening to the mourning doves cooing outside the window and enjoying the subtle rhythm of his lover’s breath. His skin tingles with warmth where their bodies press together, unaccustomed and maddeningly sweet to his starved senses. Between his thighs he can feel his cock slowly hardening, a lazy but insistent pleasure that he’s all too ready to give in to. He opens his eyes and sighs, too dizzy with desire to think. He doesn’t want to think anyway. For once in his life, for one stupid, stolen moment, he just wants to enjoy the gift of a lover’s presence…
A @thepassifloradiscord drabble for @luteandsword.
Explicit. Warnings: none. 100 words
Yenskier
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Jaskier kneels between the altar that is Yennefer's spread thighs, his hands lightly caressing her smooth skin as he looks up at her with reverence. Her skin is radiant, practically glowing as she smiles at him. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and he longs to run his hands through it.
But not tonight. No, tonight she gave him a mission, and he aims to succeed. His face is wet with her slick, his short beard coated in it, and she grins before tugging on his hair.
"Worship me," she whispers, yanking him into a harsh kiss.
