Muse musings

HERE you will find 101 gifs of madeleine madden in pine gap. all of these are made by me from scratch. you can use and edit them as you wish (@ me if posting). just do not repost and claim as your own. like/reblog if you find these helpful and consider buying me a coffee. thank you! trigger/content warning: police

“That was really kind of you, you know Geralt?” The bard had said one night as they were getting ready for bed. The Witcher had gotten a job getting rid of a pesky monster on a farmer’s property but had refused the money once he had seen the state of his home and his sickly child. Geralt had startled at the compliment, dropping his bag accidentally. He simply looked away and grunted in response, bending over to pick up his bag.

“I’m serious, Geralt.” 

Another grunt. Still no eye contact.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice came out whiny, “look at me when I tell you you’re a good person.” He skipped around to face Geralt with a smile, eyes widening when he saw the blush dusting the Witcher’s features. “You’re blushing.” Jaskier said giddily.

“I don’t blush.” Geralt growled, still in fact blushing. 

“You’re blushing because of my compliment.” Jaskier continued, the realisation dawning on him.

“Fuck off, Jaskier.”

“I am serious though, Geralt, you’re good and you’re kind and you care about people despite always saying you don’t.” 

“Jaskier.”

“What?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Go to bed.”

The bard didn’t stop grinning for the rest of the night.

And so, it became a thing. While Jaskier had never been shy when it came to dishing out compliments, after all, he was a lover of most things, he made sure to praise Geralt especially.

“You’re looking very rugged today, Geralt, very handsome indeed.”

“Did you know that your hair shines like silver in the sun?”

“That was a very smart move back there, Witcher.”

“That monster was taken down in record time, very impressive.”

Geralt hadn’t noticed how dependent he’d grown on Jaskier’s compliments. He’d always said them like they were obvious, like it wasn’t a big deal to be saying it, like Geralt hadn’t had gone nearly a century hearing mostly hatred and cruel words.

Once they had reconciled after the incident on the mountain (with much apology on the Witcher’s part) Jaskier hesitated with his praise, unsure of the boundaries between them anymore. But even the bard had gotten used to his compliments, so much so that he hadn’t even noticed when he’d said “you’re a good man, Geralt, better than most” after they had passed through a particularly hostile town. He stumbled a bit after he realised that the Witcher had stopped. Jaskier turned around to find those amber eyes shining, an unusually vulnerable expression on Geralt’s face.

“Geralt?” He asked worriedly, afraid that he had crossed some unknown boundary before being pulled into a hug. He wrapped his arms tentatively around the man, heart fluttering at their proximity.

After they had gotten together, the praise only grew. Geralt had very many things he liked in bed, all of which Jaskier discovered and took full advantage of. As it turned out, not only did Geralt have a thing for Jaskier’s voice in bed, but he also had a thing for when that voice was showering him in praise, encouraging him, begging him. It was absolutely filthy and it would always garner a low growl from the Witcher, something from deep within his gut, as well as a particularly swift thrust. 

They also became softer, sweeter. He’d say little things like “oh you look lovely today” or “I like it when you smile, Geralt” or “you make me feel safe” and Geralt would melt at the dulcet sound of the bard’s praise.

So yes, Geralt had a praise thing and Jaskier was more than happy to oblige. However it also meant that when they argued, all of it was swiftly cut off, leaving Geralt on edge. 

And oh, did the bard know this and oh, did he use it to his full advantage.

He’d go complimenting others, turning to Yennefer and saying a very pointed “your eyes are gorgeous, Yen, like pure amethyst”, leaving a very stunned Yennefer and a fuming Geralt behind him as he continued on through the marketplace. Her surprise would quickly fade, of course, at the sight of the Witcher.

“You two lovebirds arguing?” She’d ask, earning a quick grunt from the man. “Well, take your time solving it, I don’t mind the compliments.”

Not only that but he’d compliment complete strangers. He’d tell the barmaid that her hair was “the colour of passionate flame” or he’d thank the stable boy for “his hard and dedicated work” and while Jaskier did frequently compliment others, he’d do this in a particular way, in a way Geralt knew was pointed at him. It would leave the Witcher huffy and pouty, as Yennefer had once pointed out. 

Of course, once the two would reconcile, the praise would return as usual and Geralt would go back to feeling that warm, sweet feeling that he’d get whenever the bard complimented his eyes or his arms or his smile. 

The thing was that he’d want to return the many compliments that Jaskier paid him. He’d think them, as he always did. Whenever the bard was around, his mind very rarely strayed from him, focusing on his laugh, his eyes, his hands, his voice, his absolutely everything. 

Jaskier knew though, like he knew so much about the Witcher. 

Occasionally, Geralt would manage a soft “I like your eyes”. 

Once, Jaskier had received a “your voice is like honey” and he didn’t stop thinking about it for hours afterwards. 

He didn’t need much praise though, instead finding affection in Geralt’s names for him. Sometimes the Witcher would call him things like “buttercup” or “my bluebird” and it filled the bard with such emotion, it was practically saccharine. 

And I hate to say I need you

I’m so reliant

I’m so dependent

5 ‘mistakes’ and the one time its anything but.

1- The tavern has a well stocked and it’d been a good night, a really good night. Jaskier’s songs had only grown in popularity, he’d even tried out some new tunes and gotten quite the reception. The drinks were flowing. Mostly for once, on Jaskiers coin, many patrons happy to toss a coin to the silver tongued lark and his brooding Witcher. The women were wondrous, several crowded into the space with the two men, giggling at Jaskiers inflated tales and mooning over Geralt’s brooding silence. It was as he has promised in the past, women and wine. There had been food, but Jaskier was a little too drunk to remember if it was any good at this point.

‘Once again Geralt, I bring you women and wine!’ He sung, wininking at his quiet friend, happy to see the tense lines of his fave smooth a little with the ease of a woman in his arms.

After many tankards of ale and a little red wine, the group giggled away, their fingers already toying with the many laces and buttons that held Jaskiers fancy doublet together, suggested ‘Why don’t we play a little game boys? Help us decide who gets to bed who?’ Jaskier grinned, his cheeks pink with drink and arousal as he nodded in agreement, mostly ignoring the way Geralt looked the other way and said nothing in a silent protest. An ancient pack of cards was drawn from one of the many wenches belts and the queen of Hearts was presented. The game was easy enough. Pass the card from one player to the next. Keeping it against your lips via suction, each time the card was dropped the group drank as the person who dropped the card kissed the one they were supposed to pass it onto.

All went well, drinks were thrown back, people laughed and each man kissed several women, rather enthusiastically. However as the last rping was played and the card slipped Jaskier felt time slow, his eyes watched as it tumbled onto the table between them, the girls cheering, the one in Geralt’s lap slapping his shoulder gently, as if chiding him for ‘cheating’. Jaskier felt the golden gaze rest heavy on him as his fingers, shaking a little, surely from all the drink, fumbled for the card. ‘Well this won’t be fun for uh, anyone. S-surely the beautiful creature seated in your lap should have the honour.’ Jaskier stumbled, his voice going a little high as he tried to finish, watching as the girls began to tease and refuse. After all several of them had kissed one another, how was this any different?

Jaskier couldn’t meet his eye, it wasn’t until he felt the strong fingers beneath his chin that he drew in the sharp breathe he hadn’t been aware he had been holding. Geralt’s fingers were calloused but gentle, guiding their mouths together as the girls all whooped in excitement, egging they two on. Geralt tasted of liquor and the too sweet tang of woman, but then, as Jaskier felt his lips part, as Geralt shifted a little, drawing him closer, the screams of delight from the women around them were deafened. All he could hear was his own heart in his head, tripping over itself, beating impossibly fast. The strangely tender nature of the kiss felt so wonderfully right.

He could taste the road on him now and things that were unmistakably Geralt. Camomile and pine, leather oil and the tang of steal. As Geralt drew back Jaskier took a moment longer before opening his eyes, blinking a little as one of the women ran her fingers through his hair, chattering beside him.

It wasn’t as if the two men hadn’t shared a room before in which they had both had women. Neither were rich and when the needs were true what did it matter? But this was different. Jaskier watched Geralt as the girl crawled deeper into his lap, making quite a show of it all, murmuring something in his ear as Jaskier watched on, unable to meet his eye and yet, as Geralt watched him he felt pinned beneath the gaze. He could still feel those strong fingers ghosting across his skin. He reached out for the closest woman, a laugh drawn from his lips at whatever she had said, assuming she was trying to be amusing, her lips already seeking the tender flesh of his neck. Their display had sent the women into something of a frenzy, the two other women were putting on something of a show themselves, something Jaskier would usually relish and yet, even as those clever fingers of his woman for the evening found their way beneath his belt, as he took her in his this time, private room upstairs, he was unable to shake the taste and feel of his white wolf from his sense.

“Yen, it’s two in the morning, what the fuck do you want?”

He heard the rustling of fabric and then, “Have you heard of the Humble Bards?”

Geralt sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. The room was pitch black but he had no trouble seeing. The benefits of being a Witcher: enhanced senses. Honestly, that was one of the only benefits. “No, you know I don’t listen to much music.”

“It’s a new group. They’ve been blowing up as in they’re top of the charts and they just released their first album out of nowhere.”

Geralt leaned over and turned on the lamp, anyway, mostly just for something to do. “Interesting,” he drawled, dry as a desert. He heard footsteps. “Yen, where the fuck are you?”

Then, a fucking portal opened in his room and the line went dead.

“Yen,” he growled as she stepped through the portal, brushing her hair behind her back, “I’ve told you how I feel about you portaling into my fucking room.”