#Geralt's so in love it makes him look stupid

[kell-be-belle]

You Are the Son of Every Dressing Up Box

(I believe in Geralt’s right to be an absolute simp for Jaskier. Rated T, 2,800K)

Read on Ao3

Geralt loved watching Jaskier dress. This was somewhat unusual since people more commonly took greater pleasure in watching their lover undress, then again, Geralt had never been considered the conventional type. That wasn’t to say Geralt took no pleasure in seeing his lover laid bare, but there was something particularly captivating about watching Jaskier get ready. It was a form of sorcery so utterly beguiling Geralt was helpless to avoid falling under the spell of it. 

And tonight was a rare treat. 

They were in Oxenfurt, the two of them. Jaskier had been awarded some accolade or another from the university and had invited Geralt to attend the reception alongside him. Ordinarily, Geralt hated these sorts of functions. He was mindful to make a show of expressing his reluctance and while he still was not looking forward to exchanging pleasantries with the academic elite of Oxenfurt University, Geralt was looking forward to Jaskier’s preparations. Being on the Path limited Jaskier’s choice of dress. Only so many things could be carried when one traveled as much as they did, but here, in his personal apartments, Jaskier had access to an entire arsenal.    

The process was a meticulous one. Great care went into Jaskier’s decisions of what he wore for an evening. Many things had to be taken into consideration. The season and its current fashion trends, where the event was being held, and the statuses of those in attendance. Colors, textiles, accessories. Not much made it past Jaskier’s deliberation. Geralt lacked the knowledge of such things, but Jaskier never failed to seek his opinion on something or other. Did Geralt prefer he adorn his ears with the sapphire studs or the aquamarine teardrops? Clothe himself in the damask jerkin or the brocade doublet? Trim himself with the boots or the slippers? And a little thrill would unfurl at the base of Geralt’s spine each time as he was asked; it crept up his every vertebrae like a sudden chill as he watched Jaskier don his choice. All night he would catch the glint of the stones in Jaskier’s ears or hear the scuffle of his shoes as he danced and take pleasure in knowing that Jaskier wore them for him.

“Which do you prefer?” inquired Jaskier now, holding up before Geralt two ensembles. The first was a doublet of burnished gold silk, smooth and supple enough to look as though it had been cast from the precious metal itself. Scalloped pickadils trimmed the seams of the shoulders and hem of the waist, their curves adorned in freshwater pearls. There was a matching set of trousers with their seams adorned in the same ornamental trim. The second ensemble was a study in scarlet. The bodice was a rich velvet, cut close in corseted style to accentuate the figure. In contrast, the sleeves were sheer and billowed out in elegant arcs before cinching once more at the wrist with gold filigreed cuffs. Geralt was expecting a pair of sinfully tight trousers, but instead Jaskier held up a skirt.            

The gender of clothing was of no constraint to Jaskier. The bard would just as easily wear a skirt as he would trousers. It earned him praise and disdain in equal measure; he beamed under the praise like a flower turning towards the sun while he attributed the disdain to jealousy since not all could cut a figure in a corset quite like he could. Geralt was inclined to agree. Geralt thought Jaskier beautiful in all things, but he liked when Jaskier wore skirts. He especially loved the feeling of the material pooling around his wrist while he slid his hand up the length of Jaskier’s perfectly toned leg.   

“The red one.” Geralt coughed, suddenly feeling the skin beneath his collar prickle with heat. 

With a fiendish smirk, Jaskier purred, “I was thinking just the same, darling.” Trousers would have surely been better received by the conservative scholars of Oxenfurt’s governing board, but Jaskier was never one to adhere to what was pertinent. He liked for his name to be the one on everyone’s lips and cared nothing for the methods that got it there.

The glimpse of Jaskier’s bare flesh as he divested himself of his chemise still made something stir low in Geralt’s belly, but it was when Jaskier began to swath himself in that lush velvet that Geralt’s pulse truly began to race. Red was a good color on him. Jaskier looked good in all colors, of course, but there was something particularly striking about the contrast of the vibrant shade against the glow of his skin.  

Glancing at Geralt over the curve of his shoulder, Jaskier cooed, “Give me a hand, won’t you, my love, and lace me up?” Confronted with the flutter of those dark lashes, Geralt would have been helpless to refuse even if he wanted to. It took him no time at all, so practiced were Geralt’s fingers, and all the while he took as great a pleasure in threading up the ribbons as he would in pulling them back out later. 

As he fixed the loose ends into a bow, Geralt took a moment to press his nose to the nape of Jaskier’s neck and drink in the scent of him. He had yet to put on any perfume so his skin carried no smell other than his natural musk; bright and soft like orange blossoms. Geralt could not resist taking a playful bite at the soft flesh of Jaskier’s neck, sweet like ripe fruit, and the breath of laughter it earned him had Geralt practically drunk with devotion. Oh, the things he would do just to hear the sound again; the fire he would walk through, the mountains he would climb, the beasts he would fell. 

Jaskier’s hand reached up and carded briefly through Geralt’s hair, the rounded edges of his nails scraping against Geralt’s scalp in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, Geralt believed Jaskier was going to indulge him, allow him a taste of what was to come, but within the next breath he pushed Geralt back with an impish grin.     

“We’re behind schedule enough as it is,” he chided, “and I’ve not even done my makeup yet.” With a flourish of his skirt, Jaskier swept himself into the chair before the vanity and began arranging his various oils and pigments.  

Make-up was a regular affair with Jaskier. Some days it was just a bit of rouge. Others it was a full production. Jaskier was a handsome individual – perhaps the most handsome Geralt had known, which may or may not have been a biased opinion – and had no true need for any of it. But he liked it and Geralt was not one to stop him. Through the reflection of the mirror, Geralt watched as Jaskier took up his thinnest brush, pressing it between his lips to ensure a clean, precise point. With a deft flick of his wrist, Jaskier drew winged lines of kohl at the corners of his eyes sharp as the edge of any blade. The blackness of it illuminated the blue of his irises, electrifying it like a strike of lighting. All night those eyes would find Geralt through the mass of the crowd piercing him with the same lethal precision as an arrow.  

Fingers flitting over the handles of his brushes, Jaskier took up a new brush with broader, squared-off bristles. He hummed jauntily to himself as he dipped the brush in a familiar pot of color. Geralt found himself leaning forward on the balls of his feet. Jaskier played coquette and pretended not to notice Geralt’s anticipation in the mirror as he brought the brush once more to his lips. In the wake of the brush, color stained Jaskier’s mouth. He followed the dips and curves with broad, deliberate strokes. When finished, Jaskier turned and lifted his chin, inspecting the quality of his handiwork in the reflection of the mirror. Satisfied, he finally glanced back at Geralt through said reflection. Jaskier smacked his lips together in imitation of a kiss and it made Geralt’s heart flip behind his ribs.       

Jaskier was customarily generous with his affections, but he was especially so when he painted his lips and Geralt wore the shapes of Jaskier’s mouth like badges of honor. Like favors tied to the end of a jouster’s lance. It was a custom made color, Jaskier once explained, mixed especially for him by a cosmetologist in Novigrad. One could travel the whole world over and never find the exact same shade. A deep currant red with the barest hint of apricot complimentary to the warm undertones of Jaskier’s complexion. Its presence on Geralt’s person presented the irrefutable truth that Jaskier had been the one to lay claim to him and the thought of that alone was enough to make Geralt shudder with exhilaration.

Between one breath and the next, Jaskier had risen from his seat at the vanity; the hem of his skirts whispering against the floorboards as he sauntered across the room to stand before Geralt. Jaskier smoothed his hands over the swell of Geralt’s chest. Smirked with his teeth sunken into the tempting curve of his lower lip. He looked tremendously delighted with himself as he slipped his fingers between the buttons of Geralt’s collar and one by one released them. 

The breath hitched in the back of Geralt’s throat and his heart thundered with anticipation as Jaskier’s hands spread apart the fabric, exposing the hard ridge of his throat. Geralt groaned at the sensation of Jaskier’s warm, damp breath ghosting over his skin. Jaskier fluttered his lashes blithely as if he had not the faintest what it was he was doing. Oh, but he did. None could undo Geralt in the way Jaskier could. Geralt was reminded of this as Jaskier leaned forward and pressed his painted lips into the hollow of his throat. A flush blossomed over Geralt’s face spreading all the way to the shells of his ears and the line of his hair. 

Drawing back, Jaskier blew a cooling breath over Geralt’s feverish skin, encouraging the paint to dry. The contrast between the warmth and the chill made Geralt shiver and break out in a rash of gooseflesh. That seemed to satisfy Jaskier for his smirk spread further over his colored lips. Geralt could not contain the whine that wriggled up the back of his throat as Jaskier began closing his collar once more and refastened the buttons.   

“Hush now, darling,” He soothed, caressing the backs of his knuckles over Geralt’s cheek, “The night is still young and there will be plenty of time for me to show everyone who you belong to. For now, allow for this one to be our little secret.” In place of words, Geralt could only nod dumbly. He stood fixed and obedient as Jaskier finished buttoning him up and smoothed out the wrinkles in the fabric. Jaskier playfully tapped a finger against the tip of Geralt’s nose before gliding back to the vanity to finish his make up. 

With Jaskier now properly dressed and made up, the spectacle of his preparations was nearing the end. Padding over to the cupboard, Jaskier flung open the doors to reveal shelf upon shelf lined with all manner of shoes. Boots, slippers, turnshoes, and pikes. All materials and colors, both decorated and plain. Jaskier stood there deliberating for a moment, tapping the end of his finger against the bow of his lips, before reaching a decision and pulling out a pair of black boots. He made a stop at the dresser and snatched a pair of coordinating stockings before returning to Geralt and pushing it all into his hands. 

“You’ve already been such a big help, but I require your assistance one last time.” Jaskier perched himself on the end of the bed and lifted the hem of his skirt exposing his bare feet. Geralt knew Jaskier was experienced enough to put on his stockings and shoes prior to getting dressed which left no doubt in Geralt’s mind that this move had been intentional. Intentionality aside, Geralt was still more than happy to oblige.  

Geralt kneeled on the floor before Jaskier. The position was a familiar one and though the context was different, Geralt still felt the heat of something more simmering in his belly. Judging from the way Jaskier’s breath quickened, it seemed he was feeling similarly. Geralt took his time putting on Jaskier’s stockings. He grazed his fingertips against Jaskier’s skin as he worked the silk up the length of each leg and then stroked his thumb over the embroidery, pretending to admire the intricate stitch work. Jaskier sighed and instinctively spread his legs apart as Geralt took a length of ribbon and secured each stocking in place. With an invitation like that, Geralt  indulged himself with a kiss pressed to the inside of Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier gasped softly through his parted, painted lips. Emboldened more, Geralt ventured further and pressed his mouth to Jaskier’s inner thigh. The hem of the bard’s skirt tickled where it brushed against his face. 

With his head tipping back, Jaskier quietly moaned, “Tempt me not, oh fairest witcher. Please, I know every clandestine corner and secluded alcove in Oxenfurt University. I promise that you will have your fill of me later if you spare me this moment.” And while Geralt could have tipped the scales in his favor as easily as if weighed against a grain of sand, he withdrew. The abstention now would make the indulgence later all the sweeter, anyhow. 

Slipping Jaskier’s boots on one after the other, Geralt then threaded and tied the laces with the same deft grace as he had the corset earlier. He stood when finished, offering his hand gallantly to Jaskier who preened. Contrary to the manner in which his clothes were tailored, Jaskier was no small man. Clever cuts and patterns could deceive the eye, but not change the reality. He and Geralt were already of a height, but in those boots with their stacked wooden heels Jaskier claimed the advantage. It put the sumptuous swell of his chest at a slightly more auspicious angle and Geralt ogled him shamelessly.   

Looking over the lower rim of his mascara stiffened lashes, Jaskier quirked a brow and smirked, “Liking the view, dearest?” He brought a hand to Geralt’s chin and tipped his face forcing their gazes to meet. Jaskier clicked his tongue and said, “Naughty boy. Need I remind you that my eyes are up here?” While Jaskier’s buxom bosom was indeed a lovely sight, Geralt was just as satisfied getting lost in that smolder blue stare. He must have looked rather besotted for Jaskier chuckled, “What am I to do with you, witcher mine? Never before have I been looked upon with an expression of such pure adoration. That’s quite the compliment seeing as how I’m adored by a great many people. How lucky I am, so spoiled am I by your love.” 

Thought crossed Jaskier’s features. His lips puckered into a pout, a common habit when he was deliberating whether or not to do something mischievous. At last, he proclaimed, “Oh, alright, you’ve convinced me. Such a look deserves a bit of reciprocation.” Taking Geralt’s face within the bracket of his palms, Jaskier leaned forward and pressed his mouth firmly to Geralt’s right cheek. Geralt did not need to look in the mirror to know his cheek now what was left behind. He could feel the tacky residue of Jaskier’s lip paint on his skin. 

Geralt surged forward, determined to take Jaskier in the cage of his arms. His desire for the bard had grown wild like a fire left unchecked and he needed desperately to satiate the craving. Years of traveling together, however, had attuned Jaskier to Geralt’s behaviors and movements. He danced gracefully out of the range of Geralt’s reach, his heeled boots thumping against the floorboards and his laughter ringing out in peals. “Soon, I promise, soon! Let me have my moment of victory and then I’m yours, all yours, my dearest heart.” 

After a quick retouching of his lip paint, Jaskier returned to Geralt and held out his arm. Geralt looped his arm through Jaskier’s and sighed at the smooth caress of the material that made Jaskier’s sleeves. Together they made their way out of Jaskier’s apartments and onto the streets of Oxenfurt. The evening was pleasant, but held just enough of the winter’s lingering bite that they walked pressed into each other’s sides. 

“You know,” Jaskier hummed, “I received an invitation for a gala honoring the great artist Hugo Rolek at the end of next week. I’d love for you to accompany me if you’re amenable.” And as if he knew exactly Geralt’s thought process, Jaskier tacked on, “I’ve a new ensemble being finished at the tailors just for the occasion. It’s a spectacular piece; green jacquard with accents of gold and mulberry.” The amusement in Jaskier’s eyes glinted twice as bright when contrasted against the streaks of kohl. 

Geralt played his part and grumbled as if there were literally nothing on the continent he would rather do less, but both he and Jaskier well knew the reality- Geralt could not wait to watch Jaskier dress again.

[hanzajesthanza]

a book with geralt 😃

a book with geralt without ciri 😐

a book with geralt without yennefer 😔

a book with geralt without dandelion 💀

[vulpinesaint]

listen i am geralt of rivia hater number one but one thing i actually CANNOT stand is when the fandom mischaracterizes him. took one look at this man who speaks very straight-forwardly and matter-of-fact and is a little recalcitrant with his words sometimes and went "haha he communicates in grunts! man who only says 'hm'!" and then won't even write him to speak in full fucking sentences. hello???? hello???????? yes the netflix show was a bad influence on everybody because they were trying too hard to depict geralt as a stoic manly badass but we CANNOT let that distract us from the REAL thing to make fun of geralt for. which are his Constant Unprovoked Monologues

[gwynbleidd-enthusiast]

Geralt and his mommy issues

Geralt was abandoned by his mom when he was just a child, leaving him with deep emotional scars. In the books, there are subtle yet significant references to how this abandonment shaped him, particularly his subconscious search for maternal warmth.

SoD:

"She treats you entirely like an object [...] and what you feel is a projection of her emotions, the interest she shows in you. By all the demons of the Netherworld, Geralt, you aren't a child [...] You trail after Yenna like a child, enjoying the momentary affection she shows you." - Istredd

BoE:

"Always on his side, aren't you, Nenneke? Always worrying about him. Like the mother he never had." - Yennefer

Tlotl:

"He maintained the appearance of secretiveness and pride. But at night he was completely in my power. He told me everything. He paid homage to my femininity, which considering his age was extremely generous, I must admit. And then he fell asleep. In my arms, with his mouth on my bosom. Searching for a surrogate for the maternal love he never experienced. Completely in my power." - Fringilla

This passage vividly illustrates Geralt's deep-seated need for maternal care, seeking comfort in a way that echoes the bond between a child and a mother 🥹

SoD:

"'Do you hate that woman, Geralt?' 'My mother? No, Calanthe. A choice should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.'"

Geralt’s response shows his complex feelings toward his mother, acknowledging her choice abt wanting to have a child or not, while also - what seems to me - revealing a deep, unresolved pain.

ToC:

"Listen to what?" shouted the Witcher, before his voice suddenly faltered. "I can't leave—I can't just leave her to her fate. She's completely alone... She cannot be left alone, Dandelion. You'll never understand that. No one will ever understand that, but I know. If she remains alone, the same thing will happen to her as once happened to me... You'll never understand that..." - Geralt about Ciri

Geralt’s fierce protectiveness over Ciri stems from his own experiences of abandonment. He is determined to shield her from the pain he endured.

Geralt and red heads:

Several times it's subtly hinted that Geralt has an inexplicable inclination toward redheads, that perhaps ties back to his unresolved issues with his mother.

SoS:

"Geralt felt an anxiety, forgotten and dormant, suddenly awaking somewhere deep inside him. He had a strange and inexplicable inclination towards redheads in his nature, and several times that particular colouring had made him do stupid things. Thus he ought to be on his guard, and the Witcher made a firm resolution in that regard. His task was actually made easier. It was almost a year since he'd stopped being tempted by that kind of stupid mistake."

Note what he felt when he encountered his mother before in SoD who has red hair:

"He looked again, making the most of the light. Her hair was tied back with a snakeskin band. Her hair... A suffocating pain in his throat and sternum. Hands tightly clenched into fists. Her hair was red, flame-red, and when lit by the glow of the bonfire seemed as red as vermilion."

The vivid description of his mother's flame-red hair and the intense emotional reaction it evokes in Geralt suggest that his attraction to redheads might be more than just a superficial preference. It could be a subconscious connection to the unresolved feelings of abandonment and longing for maternal warmth, linking his "inexplicable inclination" to deeper psychological roots.

What do you guys think?

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 109

Geralt is a witcher. Cats tend to distance themselves from witchers. Sometimes Geralt wonders what cats are like. So one day he asks. "Cats are lovely. Beautiful little sweethearts." The old woman who owns the inn says to him. "Cats are annoying varmints, always yowling in the middle of the night when they're in heat, they SCREAM their little heads off, can't catch a wink of sleep with them around!" A man passing by him in the market complains, with the anger of someone who has clearly thought about this a lot. "My cat isn't the biggest fan of being touched, but she's a good girl. Catches the mice." "They're evil little hellions, nothing compared to dogs. Don't even like their owners." "I'd like 'em a whole lot more if my way of living wasn't being a fisherman. They climb in at night and steal my best catches." "They're adorable!" "My cat is the cuddliest sweetest snuggliest little kitty to ever live, I think. Nobody will ever love me as much as he loves me." "My friend has a kitten! She already knows to chase the feathers we wave in front of her! I hope she still plays when she grows up." Opinions are varied in the town, but the majority seem to love them. He wants to know what they're like, not if they are liked. He sits down with a friendlier townie one afternoon and asks in detail what cats are like. What's great about them, what's bad about them, what do they like, what do they hate, what can they do, what have they done? The more she describes cats, however, the more Geralt can't help but be reminded of Jaskier. "They're playful. They love making noise and chasing things."

"Geralt, please, can't I play my lute? It's been fourteen whole minutes of SILENCE! Let me play a song!" "Why do you stay?" "Maybe I just like following you, Geralt. It's nice only having to pay for half of everything, after all."

"They're moody little things. Cats will want to cuddle you one second, and be left alone the next, and if you can't read their mind, they'll give you an annoyed little pouty face, as if you were meant to know better!"

"Geralt, do you mind if I...?" "If you what?" "Sit here?" "...My lap?" "That is where I'm sitting, yes. May I?" "...Mm." "Great thanks!~" "Geralt, you pissing idiot! I can't believe you! Don't touch me! Don't even look at me! How could you do something so so so SO stupid!?" "This is my job, Jaskier." "And apparently sewing up your arm is mine!" "I can take care of it." "Oh, I'm meant to just trust the man who went off and got mauled by a werewolf, then?"

"They enjoy a good sleep. Cats nap more than my old man, if you can believe it. They love comfort and luxury."

"Geralt, can't we stay at an inn? It's been so long." "Can we rest? Just for a bit? Pleaaaase? I want a nap. Don't I deserve it?" "Geralt, not to be ungrateful, but I think sleeping on the dirt would be better than this inn. Don't tell me you're making us sleep here. There's probably snakes nesting in the pillows."

"But at the same time, they love the grittiest bits of the outdoors. Chasing rabbits through tunnels, climbing trees after a songbird- My childhood cat used to dive in the swamp to catch frogs."

"Geralt, taking a shortcut through the bog is the easiest way to get to the competition in time! Now hurry along! Either I cross the bog alone, or you come with me!" "Geralt, I went looking for potion ingredients while you were skinning the deer!" "Geralt, are you going to cut the damn thing's head off or what? Wait, darling, are you alright? Are you hurt? Let me do it-"

"They sometimes bring you dead critters because they want to feed you. It's oddly very endearing."

"Geralt, I bought you some honey buns!" "I found some lovely cakes, do you want one, Geralt? You haven't eaten at all today." "I- I killed it. It was coming straight for you and I panicked. Am I bleeding? I can't quite tell because of the adrenaline, so am I bleeding or not, Gerelt? Can you tell me? Are YOU bleeding? Did I get it in time?" "I got so many tips last time I played, Geralt, you can get a bigger meal."

"They get themselves into trouble a lot, though. Places they shouldn't be, things they shouldn't touch, things they shouldn't eat."

"Geralt, I didn't mean to cause all of this. I'm sorry." "It's nothing, Jaskier. I'm just glad you're unharmed." "...Um... Geralt? Can you let go of my wrists now?" "Don't. Touch. Anything. The plant's spines are poisonous." "Jaskier, spit it out! SPIT IT OUT! I told you to stop fucking eating things in Yennefer's place" "Then why was it colored like a nice candy?"

"When they're scared or angry, they can make a right mess out of you. Don't let their cuteness fool you, they can do some damage."

"What else was I supposed to do, Geralt?" "Not punch him!" "He said you were a monster!" "I am!" "Do you want me to punch YOU?" "Geralt, I lost my dagger. It was in one of the bandits we chased away." "Geralt, will you teach me how to use a sword? Nothing fancy, just how to kill something."

"But above all, they're loyal, and loving. Ever so lovely. They'd die for you, if you treated them nice enough." "Thank you for telling me. I.. Have to go." Geralt stammers out, racing away to the inn he left Jaskier in. "Oh, hello, Geralt. Did you find a contact?" And Geralt yanks him close, and hugs him. He should try kissing him one of these days. Either way, Geralt won't mourn for the cat he can never have, for he has a Jaskier, and it's close enough.

[inexplicifics]

Cozy prompts- cuddles after a bad day, for Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer? I’m thinking Invictus-verse, but whatever you feel like!

Yennefer comes in the front door as quietly as she can, toeing off her shoes and setting them down with painful precision on the rack, hanging her purse on its designated hook and putting her keys into the bowl so gently that they don’t even clink.

She moves like a ghost into the house, slipping past the kitchen where Vesemir and Mignole are bickering cheerfully, up the stairs and down the hall, all without making a sound.

If she makes a sound, Ciri will hear it, and as much as she loves her daughter, right now Yennefer doesn’t think she can cope with the bright eagerness of Ciri’s enthusiasm.

She almost groans aloud when she opens the bedroom door to find Jaskier putting away clothes, humming to himself as he works. Gods, she isn’t sure she can cope with Jaskier, either. Geralt, maybe - he’s good at being quiet - but Jaskier is light and color and movement and sound.

He’s also one of the most empathetic people she’s ever met, under all the seemingly feckless behavior, insightful and observant and capable of keeping secrets utterly private. Which is why their odd three-cornered relationship actually works - because he can read her and Geralt like books, and know exactly what they need.

He turns before she can close the door again, and when he sees her he stops humming. “Oh, Yen,” he says, softly enough that she can barely hear it. “Bad day?”

Yennefer nods.

“C’mere,” Jaskier says gently, opening his arms.

Yennefer forgets, sometimes, that Jaskier is actually almost as tall and broad as Geralt is. He dresses to look like a fucking twink, and he’s good at it. But when she stumbles into his arms, he catches her without any trouble, and wraps her up in a hug so tight and warm she wants to live in it.

“Bad day?” Jaskier murmurs.

“Lost the fucking case,” Yennefer mumbles, muffled against his chest. She knew she was likely to lose - her client did not give her a lot to work with - but she hates losing, and she hates it more when she’s pretty damn sure that it’s going to have nasty consequences for the children in the divorcing household.

“Aw, love,” Jaskier says, and then thank fuck doesn’t add any stupid platitudes, just holds her tight and rocks them back and forth, humming a slow sweet tune deep in his chest.

Yennefer feels herself relaxing inch by inch, slumping against Jaskier and letting him take her weight.

“Let’s get you into a hot shower, love,” Jaskier says at last. Yennefer mumbles something that’s meant to be affirmative. Jaskier steers her step by careful step into the bedroom and undresses her with gentle hands, then turns the shower on as hot as it will go, just the way she prefers it. She steps into the spray with a grateful sigh.

When she finally emerges, feeling drained but also as though the hot water has washed much of her misery away, Geralt and Jaskier are both waiting for her on the bed, wearing soft pajama pants and nothing else. “Ciri’s with Da and Stepmum for the night,” Geralt rumbles, and beckons Yennefer into the middle. Both of them curl around her as she settles down between them. One of Geralt’s rough hands strokes over her hair; Jaskier tucks his head against her shoulder and starts humming again.

Neither of them asks any questions, or demands anything of her, or makes any noise louder than Jaskier’s humming.

Yennefer closes her eyes and lets herself be held.

(Or HERE on AO3!)

[renren-006]

Hi there! I’m an angst addict so I was thinking like a story about the sorcerer ball that Geralt and Yennefer attend in season 3 but with the Reader who is like dating Geralt has to stay behind with Jaskier and Ciri has some jealousy because of Geralt and Yen’s history and starts thinking that our white wolf would prefer her instead….if that makes sense 😭

Preference? | Geralt x Fem Reader

word count: 909

a/n: omg yesss!! i had fun writing this so enjoyyyyy!!

The ball was that evening, and after the long boat ride and fight you, Geralt, and Ciri had to go through, you were looking forward to it. What you didn't expect was Geralt sidelining you with Jaskir and Ciri. You stood there dumbfounded and Yennifer and Geralt explained that it would make more sense to have more people watch Ciri. You watched him leave that night in an elegant outfit and a single kiss before he went towards the castle.

“He loves you, you know that right Y/N” Jaskir said to you. 

“How Jask. Look at Yennefer. I'll never look like her, and I'll never be as powerful…” you told him. You and Jaskir were best friends before Geralt even entered the picture. He glanced over at you, seeing you go through heartbreak after heartbreak. This time, both of you wanted this to be the last. He hugged you as Geralt disappeared beyond sight. 

Ciri, however, didn't notice anything. Absorbed in her own little world for a bit, or at least for most of the night, she didn't let on that she had been listening to you. She saw the way Yennifer was eying Geralt. It wasn't until a few card games that she talked about it. 

“I prefer you over Yennefer.” She told you. Jaskir looked at you, seeing the smile and shock on your face. “I don't like that he didn't ask you to go.”

“I…I don't either, Ciri” you told the young girl. 

“He loves you. I think he's just being stupid,” Ciri told you, comforting you. The young girl had taken a strong liking to you in the years you had been with and known her. She thought of you like a mother, a guardian, someone she knew would lay down her life to protect her.  You managed to find her before Geralt and keep her safe while helping her find your lover and her guardian. Once you did, it felt like a family reunion. You remember meeting Yen with them and discovering her betrayal. Seeing her now and knowing she was trying to be genuine, you had no reason to worry, yet you did.  The rest of the night was a mix of worry and jealousy. 

You worried he would realize how much better the woman before him that night was than you. How powerful she was and how it barely compared to you. How could she teach Ciri far better than you could about magic, even though Ciri had mastered most, if not all, of what you had taught her so far. You just wanted Geralt to love you for you, and you felt as thought you might always be compared to her. 

When morning came, and Geralt walked through the door with Yennifer, you noticed he wore a different outfit. You glanced at Yennifer, who was doing her best not to look over at you. Her face was flush, and her eyes were cast down away from you. Your worries were confirmed. 

“I knew it,” you said. Geralt's eyes flashed with worry, worry that you had figured it out. You stormed out the back door, and Geralt followed after. 

“Y/N! Y/N/N!” he yelled. Your flowy flower dress flowed in the wind as you continued storming off towards the woods, wishing to be with the trees. Soon after, you fell to the ground in the middle of a clearing, hearing and feeling the forest energy.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, kneeling next to you.

“You slept with Yennifer didn't you?” you asked, tears in your eyes. “You know I'm nothing compared to her. How could I ever expect to be better than her? You'll always want her…”

“Y/N that's not true” Geralt said, his husky voice causing you to shiver away. 

“Yes it is” you said, power serging from you, rumbling the woods. “I am nothing compared to Geralt, I have less power, less beauty...”

“Y/N! I told her I wanted to marry you "Geralt said, holding your face in his hands. 

“What?” you said. Suddenly everything in you went quiet, including the world around you.

“I told her I wanted to spend my life with you from now on. That she meant nothing to me anymore.” Geralt's words cut through you. Yennifer's downward look wasn't because she was sorry she slept with him, but because she was sorry she tried to and got rejected. You realize that Geralt's clothes were probably because he was tired from the long night of fighting that Yen lent him clothes, not because he wanted to stay.

“You want to marry me?” you asked him, tears in your eyes

“Yes,” he said firmly. 

“I'm sorry…I was…” you stumbled over words. 

“It's okay. Darling i understand” He said kissing your tears away, “I understand why you got there. Why you think I loved her? I don't”

“I know that now” you said slightly laughing, “I love you”

“I know, darling,” he said. He helped you stand and walk back towards that little cottage with your family inside. Yennifer came over and apologized profusely. She wanted nothing more than to be friends and to set up the wedding. She was happy he found someone like you and that she wouldn't ever get in the way. You were happy your worries were not true and that Geralt was the man for you forever.

[caffieneaddictt18]

Of Hearts and Swords

Premise: Reader drives Geralt crazy. Good crazy. He is drunk on the love they share and is completely and utterly infatuated with her. He would do anything for her. The moment she asks him for anything, to getting bread from the market to killing a man, he will do it for her. Anything for his she-wolf.

Playlist is by harleycao here on Tumblr

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4F3ldBxx0Da1SPlcmgu61H?si=9zbz8tnlQYaLXZWb8IWbLg

As you, Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri make your way to the next town, you start to notice Ciri growing tired and falling behind.

"Ciri!" You stop and beckon the girl over. Ciri stops and looks at you before running to you and your stallion, Orpheus, a gift from Geralt.

"Is something wrong?" Ciri looks concerned. Her hand rests on the hilt of her sword and a stony look starts to set into her eyes.

"Nope. Just figured you would want to ride Orpheus," You say and slide down for Ciri to mount him, "so hop on." You try to help Ciri get onto the saddle but fail, as she is now a strong young lady.

You turn to Geralt, who you see is also stopped and staring at you, making sure you are okay. "Geralt, dear, will you please help Ciri into the saddle?" You politely ask your husband.

Geralt, as though he had already heard your question before you said it, got off of Roach and quickly got to you, gently laying his hand on your hip. "Of course, darling."

Geralt, as a Witcher, does not take much effort to do anything except kill monsters, so lifting Ciri is like holding a couple of grapes.

However, he knows you... He knows you watch him. He knows you like to admire your husband... And he will gladly appease. So, even if Ciri feels as light as a feather, he flexes his arms while lifting her and making it look effortless.

As he situates Ciri on the saddle, he glances at you to see you watching him in rapture with a flush on your cheeks. He smirks while finishing strapping her into saddle.

Once he is done, he gives you a look of burning passion and struts toward you before scooping you up in a tight hold before sitting you on Roach. "Are you stable?"

You reach out and place a gentle hand on his cheek, "I am very stable, my darling. Thank you."

Geralt takes your hand and gently kisses it, before taking Roach's reins and leading the way to the nearest town. ______________________________________________________________

As Geralt leads the group into the market, with you perched on his horse, he can't help but think of a time where you two met. It seemed to happen not so long ago...

Geralt was hired as a king's escort for a war. Another stupid war... but it's good money.

Not nearly good enough for some of the shit he does for these bastards but good enough..

"Geralt!" A king beckons the man with white hair over. Geralt trudges over. "Our war advisor will be coming today to assist. If you have any questions or need anything, she is the one to ask." The old king claps Geralt on his shoulder.

She? Who could this 'she' be? He has never heard of a woman war advisor.

Then the clopping of hooves fell upon his ears. Geralt turns around, prepared for a fight, just to let his hand fall from his sword.

A woman was riding this horse. A horse of pure-blooded war and terror, but a soul of harmony and immenseness sits upon it.

A woman... bearing a symbol of a star encircled in a ring of metal, carrying two swords on her back and in a suit of armor seemingly not from this sphere. Her armor was a cloth, but it seemed to be threaded with a strong fiber-like metal.

As she approached, Geralt could see where else the encircled star was branded upon her, as if she owned the symbol. On her swords, the symbol was on the hilts. All her jewelry carried the symbol. It seemed to hang around her as much as she seemed to own it.

"Lord Lokinafir, I apologize for my tardiness. I was scoping out the lay of the land to get a better understanding of our situation." The woman dismounted from her horse and strode confidently towards the king. She bowed with a slight curtsy, resting her balance on the tips of her toes behind her.

"Of course, War Advisor. Would you like a map to draw out the lay of the land?" The king seemed to be eating out of her hand, even kissing her hand politely. He didn't even bother with the inappropriate flirting.

"No need, sire. I have something better." The woman smirked and waved her hand. A map of the land, complete with actual ridges and hills, spread out upon all of them. On each side of the map were the two armies, colored in red and white while the map was colored green.

"Soldiers!" Her voice seemed to boom and call attention to the mass of men, all with pent up testosterone and a thirst for blood, "Come!"

Her voice beckoned them to come surround the map and pay attention, even through the red haze of blood thirst. "This is the land we are fighting on. While we are at a slight disadvantage because of their size of army, we have the advantage of the land. That is all we need for a great offense. And the best offense comes with a greater defense." The map spun right in front of Geralt eyes and he faintly saw the symbol again on her palm and under the map before it faded to almost nothing. When he looked at it again, the land had changed. Their side was filled with rocks and had fallen at the opposing army's feet.

"While they stumble over themselves trying to climb out of the rocky terrain they will face, we come over our side of the hill and lie in wait with our swords pointed towards them..." The map changed again. The red soldiers had climbed over each other and finally over the rocks, while the white army laid in wait just at the middle to the bottom of the hill holding their spears towards the slope, "they run and with their momentum, impale themselves!" Suddenly, some of the reds started charging down the hill while the whites ran through the red soldiers with their spears, backed by other white soldiers to prevent themselves from falling and hurting anyone else.

"While they stall at the top of the hill, unsure of where to go, we volley them with catapults and mortars. Archers, this is where you are needed." People from the top of the hill the white soldiers have to climb over are catapults and mortars being fired off, killing most of the red soldiers. Archers back the mortar and catapults up, at least injuring the rest, causing a pitiful retreat from the red soldiers.

As she dissolves the map, Geralt knew...

He had to get to know you. ______________________________________________________________

You look back upon Jaskier, who mounted your horse once you also noticed him limping from blisters on the backs of his heels, and Ciri, hoping nothing has gone wrong. As far as you can tell, everything seems to be fine.

This immensely pleased you.

You looked upon your husband, dutifully scanning for any threat to your little family and leading the way.

"Geralt." You get the Witcher's attention as he still guides Roach and in turn guides Ciri, who is riding Orpheus. "Would you like to join me on Roach?"

"Do you want me there?" A deep, soft and gruff voice permeates the air and settles deep in your chest.

You take in a deep breath and nod, seeing a flash of yellow; knowing he is watching you. Your reaction. Your responses.

Geralt swiftly made his way to the saddle and mounted gracefully, with you still in the front, but now he has taken the reins.

On the ride to the town, Ciri asks Jaskier, "So... how did they meet?"

"Why are you asking me?" Jaskier questions Ciri. The girl is like a daughter to Geralt and Y/N. They'll tell her, anyways.

"You know everything about Geralt, don't you? You're the bard." Ciri accentuates, desperate for answers, tries to fluff Jaskier's feathers and get him to tell her.

Jaskier, feeling his ego grow, smirks and says, "You want to know how it goes? Fine." Her acts all perturbed at her poking but really is excited to tell a story.

"During a battle that no one has heard of, she showed up like a goddess riding on the wind. Geralt was immediately enraptured by her...

______________________________________________________________

"You're a mage." Geralt bluntly remarks, walking up the woman preparing her steed for battle.

She pauses. "Yes. And what of it?" The woman resumes brushing her horse.

"Well why not be safely in a castle? Tending to a king and being an advisor?" Geralt, not understanding the complexity of mages, asks.

"It wasn't for me. Besides, this is better money." The woman smiles and moves towards the head of her horse.

"You wouldn't need money if you were a mage for a king. What do you mean 'better money'?" Geralt is so confused. Why would she get paid? Are mages paid? Are some unpaid?

"I mean 'better money'. Mages do get paid, but it is typically a little amount because it is expected of them to live in the castle with the king and for the king to care for their mage, like a pet." The woman spat out the word 'pet' like it was sour.

"Ok... So if you didn't want to become a mage, why didn't you become a town healer? It's safer than this will ever be." Geralt rolls his eyes, not understanding this womans logic.

"Town's still get trampled over, plus as a mage, I could be chased out of town despite being there with all good intentions and purpose;" The woman looks longingly out at the soon-to-be battlefield, "War never goes out of style. After all..." Y/N looks dead into Geralt's yellow eyes, causing him to shiver, "everybody wants to rule the world."

______________________________________________________________

...and that day, she won the battle. Her horse died as a result, but Geralt offered for her to travel with him. He used the excuse of strategy, but he really just had developing feelings for her and didn't know how to express them. A few months later, Geralt had saved enough money from constantly killing monsters and bought her Orpheus. They kind of became a couple over time, and without notice. She has Geralt wrapped around her finger, and he would do anything for her." Jaskier finished his story, just glad he remembered the important bits.

"That's it?!" Ciri almost shouted. Jaskier was quick to shush her.

"Ciri, dear, are you okay?" Ciri could hear Y/N call from Roach. Geralt was glancing over his shoulder at the two, like he knew something was going on.

Jaskier gave Ciri a look before taking his hand away from her mouth, but not before she licked his hand, causing the bard to cringe at the ickiness. Geralt smirked at the scene.

"Just fine, Y/N! Jaskier is just telling me stories about you and Geralt." Ciri elbows the bard. 'Well played, kid.' Jaskier gives Ciri's under-the-bus throw a thought before smiling and agreeing.

"Which stories? We have lots~" Y/N's smirk can be heard from her voice.

"Just on how you two met. But I'm pretty sure he butchered it a bit, so can we trade, and you can tell me stories about you and Geralt?" Ciri smirks, looking at Jaskier. She knows Geralt would never let Jaskier even touch Roach.

"Are you okay with that, Darling?" Y/n leans into Geralt's firm chest, a feeling he secretly loves and will never tell anyone.

It is, however, apparent, as there was one time Jaskier tried to do a dance thing and fell into Geralt as to which the Witcher promptly stood the man on his feet.

A woman on the street once shoved Y/N out of the way to get to Geralt, and 'tripped', subsequently leading to her falling onto Geralt's chest. He swiftly moved to catch Y/N while pushing the woman away. Geralt didn't let Y/N walk anymore that day. Said that 'the hazard of tripping was too high'. Really, he just wanted to feel her against him.

Geralt looks at her and nods, knowing full well that he won't let Jaskier get on Roach. "Do it quick. We are losing daylight." Geralt said as he slows and pulls Roach to a stop.

Geralt hops off first and assists Y/N, helping her get off Roach and on Orpheus. Jaskier was quick to jump off Orpheus to avoid accidentally getting pushed off by Y/N.

As Y/N settled into Orpheus, Geralt strapped her in to make sure she fall off. Once he was content with it, he looked at her. "Thank you, my Darling." Y/N puts a soft hand to his face and gently thumbs his cheek.

Geralt smiles softly before heading back to Roach and giving Jaskier a glare when the bard tries to mount Roach. Jaskier purses his lips and backs off, submitting to his fate of walking.

"Can you tell me the story of how you and Geralt met?" Ciri, eyes shining in anticipation of heroic stories and funny tales of her father figure.

"Well, honey-girl, once upon a time..." Y/N's voice fades into the distance, away from the ears of squirrels and birds. Where the trees part and give way to civilization. "Seems we were closer than we thought." Y/N shrugs and gets off Orpheus, leading the stallion to the closest inn. "Maybe another time, dear." Y/N helps Ciri down and kisses her head softly before following Geralt into the inn for three rooms.

______________________________________________________________

Author's Cup of Tea:

So... tell me what y'all think. Even if you think it's bad, tell me what you did or didn't like. But for every bad there must be a good. please.my fragile heart cant handle it.

Have a great night/day!

[ladyannemarie5]

Funny how Geralt always stayed on the sidelines with Jaskier's conquests for fear of a broken heart and yet he got a front row seat to watch the bard fall in love with the prince.

Geralt would cut the bard off when he started talking about the virtues of whatever man or woman he spent the night with, but he had no choice but to listen to Jaskier when he told him how the prince learned his song, because the poet appealed to their "best friends" bond.

Geralt smiled inwardly when the bard left his conquest for the night alone to go order him a bath and wash his hair with special soaps and oils after the hunts. And then the witcher had to witness Jaskier leaving him to go order Radovid a bath because "his long blond hair has never been anything less than perfect and cannot be left uncared for, Geralt." 

Geralt always distracted the bard with a story of past hauntings with terrifying creatures every time Jaskier began to compose a love song for his conquest, but nothing could distract the poet when he began to talk about how beautiful and bright Radovid's eyes were and how he wanted to find the perfect words to describe them. 

Geralt faked annoyance every time Jaskier asked to sleep next to him at night insinuating that he was too cold for a little bard. Geralt feigned relief when Jaskier told him that he would no longer bother him with that because he now slept with Radovid and his arms and fur blanket were more than warm. 

Geralt kept as much emotional distance as possible from the bard who approached him in a tavern in Posada so he wouldn't have to deal with a broken heart from falling in love with a human. 

But absolutely no distance in the world prepares him when that night while they were camping alone, Jaskier lying next to him and looking up at the stars, turns to him and says softly "I'm not in love with you anymore, Geralt. You don't have to act cautious around me anymore."

And Geralt can't say anything. Because he simply can't. He must have misheard, maybe the kikimore from earlier hit him too hard or something because there's no way, no world where Jaskier was in love with him. There's no way he would have wasted his chance. 

Jaskier, oblivious to the witcher's stupor, continues "I know I made you uncomfortable with my affections for you, I tried hard not to throw myself at you if I'm honest, but Radovid... I've fallen so much in love with Radovid that I'm ready to let you go. I'm sorry it took me so long to give you and Yenna peace."

Geralt looks up at the stars in silence, not believing what he just heard. Jaskier is about to turn away when Geralt takes his hand. He says nothing, just a simple squeeze. Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, the witcher doesn't hate him for that, he doesn't ask him to leave as he had feared. Geralt is also relieved that he is no longer burdened with the bard's feelings. 

Geralt allows himself to hold his hand one last time. He allows himself a small luxury, so that he can silently mourn the loss of his bard and curse his own stupidity. Tomorrow he will watch as the bard is reunited with the prince, tomorrow he will watch with a broken heart as they embrace and the prince spins Jaskier in his arms, before kissing him and swearing eternal love. Tomorrow Geralt's heart breaks completely. 

But just for today, just for that night, he allows himself to take Jaskier's hand, draw him into his arms and breathe freely the scent of the man he has been in love with for over two decades. Just for that one night, Geralt allows himself to be happy.

----

I really love to make me cry ^^

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Accent

Jaskier has a Northern accent that he works really hard to hide. He learned early on that most people, especially among the nobility, considered Northerners to be lower than peasants. A Northern accent was a black mark on the person, labeling them as bumpkins or hill folk.

Jaskier saw how anyone with an accent even remotely close to Northern was ridiculed and bullied both inside and outside of Court. So he spent a lot of time practicing speaking in a Court accent until he perfected it.

By the time he went off to study in Oxenfurt, he had become comfortable with the new accent, and it sounded completely natural. He didn't have to worry about being looked down on, or ridiculed, and he discovered that a lot of people found a Court accent attractive.

But there was always that fear that he was going to slip and some one would find out about his Northern accent. He was terrifed when he started following Geralt, and when he met Yennefer.

Geralt never said anything, but he could hear that Jaskier's accent wasn't natural. There were slight differences in inflection, and pronunciation, and tiny inconsistencies that normal humans would never notice but a Witcher's sensitive ears easily picked up on. Whatever the reason was for the affectation was none of Geralt's business.

The more time Geralt spent with Jaskier, the more he noticed the little slips in this Court accent. He figured out the reason for the fake accent when he started hearing his real accent come through.

Geralt remembered the first time Jaskier's accent had slipped out.

The had made camp after a long day of entertaining at the town festival. Jaskier had been very tired, and he was upset about a few things Valdo Marx had said to him. He'd laughed it off, turning the insults and insinuations into an improv song that had the crowd laughing and cheering him boistrously before sweeping him away to the closest inn for a round of drinks while Valdo stood fuming impotently.

But now that they were alone, he'd allowed himself to feel the hurt, and his accent had taken on a sing-songy quality, and he'd gone hard on his T's for a second when he referred to Valdo Marx as "that b**tart!"

Oh, f**k!

Jaskier internally panicked the second he realized he'd dropped his affected accent. Ok, calm down! Maybe he didn't hear. You know he tunes you out most of the time. Act natural, pretend like everything is normal!

Jaskier continued rummaging through his pack, sneaking a quick glance at Geralt while continuing to insult Valdo as he shook out his bedroll, flapping the blanket aggresssively before laying it out. Geralt seemed oblivious, his attention on gathering deadfall for the fire and digging out the fire pit.

Jaskier allowed himself to breathe a silent sigh of relief. The Witcher hadn't noticed. Thank all the gods!

Geralt was scraping out a little pit for the fire when he heard Jaskier drop his accent for just a second. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bard freeze for a split second, and Geralt calmly continued with his task as if he hadn't noticed. All the while he was thinking "He has a Northern accent! No wonder he sounds off sometimes!"

From then on, Geralt started really listening, intrigued and wanting to hear more of his real voice. He caught little snatches of it here and there, mostly when Jaskier was drunk, tired, upset, or excited. Or when he thought he was alone, and was composing a song or poem.

Geralt was always careful to never let on that he noticed when that lovely, sing-songy accent slipped out. It was hard, forcing himself to keep that big stupid smile off his face that threatened to come out whenever he heard Jaskier 'go Northern'.

When Yennefer came into the picture, Jaskier was on edge, constantly on guard to keep his Northern accent hidden. She was the last person he wanted to find out about it.

She already hates me. No reason to make her think I'm stupid, too!

He did an excellent job of hiding it, not wanting to give the witch any ammunition in their perpetual war of words. He finally bonded with her, saw her as family like he did Geralt, and he doubled down on keeping his accent a secret.

He could talk to her about anything, show her every side of him, like he could with Geralt, but the accent was one thing he did not want to share. He was terrified that she would look at him differently. That both of them would. He didn't think his heart would survive that.

Yennefer had been fighting for her life the first time she heard Jaskier's Northern accent come out.

Jaskier had caught a fever while performing in one of the towns. He was delirious, and Yennefer had been getting him to drink a potion and he'd just completely dropped his affected accent as he started talking random nonsense to her.

She had paused as she was tucking him back in, staring at him in disbelief as he chattered on.

Yennefer had squealed in lowercase.

"Oh! My! Gods! He's, he's got a-!"

"Northern accent. I know. He's been faking a Court accent-!"

"I know what it is, and it's f***ing cute!"

"Gods you sound like a giddy little maid!"

"Like you can say anything, Geralt, when you're standing there grinning like a boy who's just gotten his first peek at a pair of tits!"

Yennefer and Geralt never let on that they knew, and it bothered them that Jaskier didn't seem to feel like he could trust them. They understood why he was hiding it, though, so they satisfied themselves with enjoying the rare times when it slipped out.

It was not heavy, like many Northerners' accents were. Jaskier's accent was lighter, more delicate, but it did tend to get heavier when he was in an emotional state.

They did their best to pretend they didn't notice the little lapses, but they couldn't help but smile when it happened. And Jaskier eventually figured out that they both knew--had known for a while.

Yennefer had run into them in town, and they were having dinner in their room at the inn. Jaskier had been chattering on about how one of his sets had gone, and he'd gotten a little too excited. Yennefer's eyes had gone soft and...and sparkly, and she'd glanced at Geralt, whose face was lit up with the sunniest smile which he was desperately trying to hide behind his tankard of ale.

OhHhH f**K, tHeY'd hEaRd iT!!!! He froze, going stock still. Any minute now, they were going to start lauging at him.

Geralt just smiled and took another drink while Yennefer just kept looking at him with that, that adoring look. That was when he knew.

"When?" Jaskier had asked, mortified after he realized.

Geralt had swallowed his ale with a thoughtful 'Hm' and replied. "A few days after you started following me around. Your accent sounded off, but I wasn't sure why. Figured it out after you started b*tching about Valdo Marx one night."

Jaskier mentally kicked himself. Of course a Witcher would have been able to tell!

"And you?", he asked Yennefer

"That time you had that bad fever. You babbled on in the most intriguing accent about everything under the heavens. We got to listen to it for two whole days!"

Jaskier hid his face in his hands, dinner forgotten as he slid down in his chair with an embarrassed groan.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because we knew why you were hiding it, Lark", Yennefer said, "I've been in Court. I know how the nobility are."

"You don't have to hide it anymore. Not around us," Geralt said.

"You...you don't think I sound...stupid?"

Yennefer tapped him on the head with her empty plate as she walked by, "No, you little b*llend! It's sing-songy and cute, and you sound adorable!"

It took him some time, but he was finally able to let himself relax and stop using the adopted accent with Yennefer and Geralt.

He would forget sometimes, because he was a performer, and an act could be hard to put aside. Especially if it had helped you survive for so many years.

It would sometimes take an hour or two after a long day of performing for the public for Geralt and Yennefer's 'Sing-Songy Twit' to relax enought to drop the Court accent and be himself. And when he did, one of them would always say warmly "There you are, Jaskier!"

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 4)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.
And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: 18+, tragic backstory, death + violence, angsty ending to this chapter, MDNI (there will be smut in the future)

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: Geralt learns who you are exactly…. I whipped this up, yesterday night, when I had a minute to myself :)…Again all reblogs and comments are much appreciated (please be kind though)! Hope you enjoy reading!❤️✨

(FYI: This won’t follow the exact timeline of the Witcher. But Geralt has met Jaskier already.)

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

 

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 3)

CHAPTER 4
 

Neither you, nor him wanted to talk about what had occurred. So instead of making this anymore awkward than need be, you both had settled in, by the fire.

As the silence between you stretched relentlessly, you became more and more restless, so you told him your name and then continued, “Well just thought you might want to know. And…thank you for, removing the arrow.”

“You must be hungry.” Unsure why he seemed to ignore your previous statement, you simply nodded. Because quite frankly you were starving.

Geralt got to his feet and returned shortly, after he’d pulled his water-skin and his last piece of bread out of his saddlebags. He handed them to you, then sat back down to your right, closer than before.

Your mouth salivated just smelling the bread, but first you took a big swing of the water. Murmuring, “Thanks.” Then you began devouring the bread as if it were your last meal.

Focusing on your lips, he wondered how they’d feel against his. Probably soft and perfectly sultry. Evidently unable to stop his speculations, he gave in and let his inappropriate thoughts run free.

In fact he’d been so lost in thought, he only caught the end of what you’d said,”…aren’t you?”

Expectedly you raised your brow, waiting for his answer to your question.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. “What?”

Either he wasn’t used to company — at all — or he was a bit slow. In any case you repeated your earlier query, “I said, you are the whited-haired Witcher. The Geralt of Rivia of the songs, aren’t you? ”

Grinding his teeth at the reminder of Jaskier’s stupid, although well-known songs, he managed a nod, not trusting he wouldn’t snarl at you.

As he didn’t know anything about you, apart from your name, he opted to ask you a question of his own, “How come, I had to remove an arrow from your shoulder? Who shot you and why?”

Another pressing question of his was, what you were? Because he knew you weren’t human. But he’d the feeling you weren’t particularly chatty either, so he wanted to go slow, to prevent you from closing up again.

His question caught you off guard. Yet you knew that you owed him an honest answer, after all he’d saved you and had dressed your wound.

Sighing you began, “It’s a bit of a long story…” Then you told him, how your life had been in danger even before it’d really started. Being born half nymph, half mage, put you in a position of unknown power and therefore in peril. Especially because it wasn’t heard off, that a female mage still possessed a womb and could get pregnant.

Your mother had been a mage at court and your father was a forest nymph. Once they’d met, falling in love head over heels.

You were smiling softly when you told him that next part, “You know nearly like an invisible pull, they were made for each other. Sort of destined to meet.” Geralt listened to you attentively, taking in your every word and expression, while you talked.

He noted that the smile you wore, wasn’t a happy one, as it didn’t reach your eyes and your voice was becoming huskier the longer you continued your story.

“Unfortunately it didn’t end very well for them. Once I was born, my mum tried hiding me from court. Because the king and queen had tried conceiving for years, desperately wanting a child of their own. And she knew they weren’t above, taking me away from her. So I lived with my dad and other nymphs in the nearby forest, for about ten years. Learning their ways and customs.”

Swallowing thickly, you averted your gaze, staring into the sizzling flames in front of you, though proceeding with your narrative, ” One day my mum showed up, devastated. They had found out about me and wanted to have me as their own, as their heir. Going as far as threatening to burn down the whole forest and slaughtering everyone in their way. I was terrified, so I readily agreed to come to court, not wanting anyone to die because of me. What I didn’t know, was that as soon as I was in the castle, they proceeded with their murderous plan. Needing to destroy any chance of being reclaimed by my parents.”

Nearly overcome by emotion, you stopped there, breathing unsteadily.

The Witcher was a better listener than you’d given him credit for, not once interrupting you or commenting.

When your tear filled eyes, landed on his gleaming ones, you somehow found the strength to carry on.

“They killed them. Made me Princess, and declared me their daughter. I hated them, loathed their very existence for years. But they were the only people looking after me. And as much as I hate to admit it, they were kind to me and the castle slowly became my home. But when word spread about my inheritance, other kingdoms grew interested. Proposing marriages, left and right. However the king and queen didn’t want that, outright refused. Their mistake, because a nearby kingdom, saw that as opportunity to take me by force. They came during the night. Killing everyone. Burning down, my second home. The only place I’d left.”

Geralt knew that was the tragic end to the story, because he must have found you shortly after you’d escaped. Now he finally knew why you’d healed so quickly. You were part nymph.

“I’m sorry”, was the only thing that he thought would be appropriate to say.

He was certain you’d told him the truth, because he could list at least five kings that wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same, or would have paid him handsomely, just to get you within their grasp. Something similar must have crossed your mind, since all of a sudden your face was contorted, looking terror-stricken.

He wouldn’t turn you in, would he? You knew supposedly, witchers didn’t have emotions and he’d be paid good money to catch you. And from the looks of it, he surely could need some money. But he’d saved you. So Geralt wouldn’t do it, right? Before your anxious thoughts would overhelm you entirely, you took action.

Your musical, though wavering voice broke the silence,” You’re not turning me in, are you?”

Afraid of his answer, you drew in a sharp breath.

Dread filling you, as he abruptly rose up.

CHAPTER 5

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻



Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me! ❤️✨

[suzukiblu]

For your ask game, what’s your favorite thing you’ve ever written?

. . . god I don't even know, man, that's a LOT of things, hahaha. And like, that answer definitely changes depending on the day/year/phase of the moon. So you're getting a couple answers here! Also I'm gonna keep this mostly to DC and only include finished fics, because me picking between WIPs would take a thousand years and also probably kill us all, lol (ignore the fact that a couple of these fics have sequels in-progress right now, STILL COUNTS OKAY??).

everything happens for a reason. sometimes that reason is that you are stupid and make bad decisions. is one of the funniest fucking things I've ever written, full stop. Lex is SO fun to write, seriously, I could write him all fucking DAY.

I'm really proud of blondes really do have more fun, both because of how much it seems to have affected/touched people who read it and because I think it was my first experience with writing gender euphoria as a major thing and writing, like, an actual explicit trans narrative? Like, I definitely wrote genderfuckery and implications and metaphors before that and probably even some trans characters, arguably, but that's the first story I really remember deliberately just making about being TRANS. And also holy shit, man, did I ever love writing gender euphoria for the first time, especially because I'd mostly only seen gender DYSphoria as a focal point in other stories and it just didn't/doesn't resonate with me the same way. I'm not trans because everything else makes me miserable, I'm trans because that's what makes me HAPPY. I don't remember if I was intentionally thinking that at the time, but that's the story I wanted to write for that one.

one day this will all be yours and you found me when no one else was looking are both concepts I love and found really cathartic to write and was very pleased to finish. I love that they're sort of "families of choice" fics about, like, actual BIOLOGICAL families (like, in the context of the fics, anyway), which probably sounds weird but is a concept I'm sort of painfully fascinated by--like, about the fact that you CAN choose your family, obviously, but sometimes you're lucky enough to find out that you had someone worth choosing already and just didn't necessarily know it, or to both grow into people who CAN choose each other even if you had problems or lashed out due to outside traumas or didn't always understand each other. That's, like, very personally relevant and meaningful to me, the idea that maybe the thing that got all fucked-up and the choices you made when you didn't fully understand the consequences of them can still be worked through and repaired and made into something new and better.

Also, special mention because this one is back a few fandoms but zero humble on it: best friends means you get what you deserve is just really, really good, and I did GOOD on it, hah. I took a three-word prompt/concept and turned it into 17k of "hey, doesn't this make more sense for why this character is the way he is, and isn't this what the main character actually wanted??" in genre-savvy explanation of why the sidekick character might stick around for the antisocial asshole hero and seem perfectly happy to base their life largely around them no matter how said hero treats them, and then I made the Consequences(tm) happen to Jaskier and Geralt, both bad AND good. I am just SO dang proud of that one, UGH I love it. ❤️❤️❤️❤️ FRIENDSHIP, AND THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF.

[magdelanesingerin]

Throwing Stones

It’s nearly 11 when Jaskier finally comes floating through the front door of their apartment, tipsy and content and already dreaming of slipping into bed with his boyfriend and drifting off to sleep as he kicks off his shoes and slings his jacket to the floor before picking it up and hanging it dutifully from it’s hook. 

“I’m home, love! Sorry, we got a little carried away, ughhh, I think I drank toooooo many mojitos. They’re just so damn good, that place sticks a whole stick of sugar cane in there as a garnish, you know? I fucking love them, makes me feel like a, a goat or a happy chipmunk or something, just chomping on sugar cane, arng arng arng,” he says playfully biting at nothing as he rounds the corner into the kitchen to see Geralt standing over the sink rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. He doesn’t turn, and it takes Jaskier a moment to take in the tension along the line of his shoulders. 

“You didn’t need to wait up, Ger. Victoria says hello, by the way!” he says, and sidles up behind his boyfriend to wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face in the man’s broad back. “Alright, love?” he mumbles into the soft weave of Geralt’s t-shirt. Geralt makes a gruff, vague noise and doesn’t relax into his hold. Jaskier continues to cling like a burr as Geralt bends to put the last of the plates in the dishwasher, then straightens with a sigh to flatten his palms on the counter and hang his head. 

“I called you. Texted.”

“Hmm? Ahh, shit, my phone was on silent…ohh look at that, you sure did,” Jaskier says pulling his phone out of his pocket and blinking at the missed messages owlishly. Oops. “I was just across the street, my love, you could hit the bar with a rock from here. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s fine,” Geralt says shortly, and pulls away to head toward the bathroom. Jaskier frowns, feeling cold and off balance for a moment before he shuffles after Geralt to lean against the wall next to the closed door. 

“I get the feeling that it isn’t fine,” he calls over the sound of running water and the swish of a toothbrush. “Love?” Geralt doesn’t answer, brushing by him on the way to the bedroom. Jaskier huffs in frustration, letting his head fall back into the wall dramatically. The moment feels precarious, wobbling on the edge of a fight. He could let it go, could let Geralt clam up and go to bed and not push it and…who the fuck is he kidding? He can’t do that. 

“Geralt?” he asks expectantly, trailing along behind. 

“It’s fine, Jask, just drop it,” Geralt mutters and climbs into bed. 

Jaskier snorts and jumps onto the mattress spread-eagled with his face right next to Geralt’s. 

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening,” he says to Geralt’s stubborn glower, smoothing his fingers over his boyfriend’s furrowed brow. “You’re upset, and I’m not going to just ignore it.” 

Geralt grimaces and rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling in silence. Jaskier rests his palm over Geralt’s chest, running the worn fabric between his fingers and humming softly, waiting with as much patience as he can muster and trying to keep his mind from spiraling. The silence stretches on before he feels Geralt’s ribs expand under his hand like a bellows as he finally opens his mouth to speak. 

“It’s stupid.” 

“Alright. Tell me anyway.”

“I…got into my own head. I know you and Victoria used to…it’s… fuck,” he grumbles in obvious frustration, rubbing at his eyes with a hand that trembles slightly. Jaskier sits up on one elbow and looks down at his boyfriend, alarmed. 

“Geralt,” he breathes. “It was just a few drinks. We haven’t seen each other in years, we were just catching up. I would never –”

“I know that. I know,” Geralt growls shortly. “I told you, it’s stupid. I know you wouldn’t cheat, I trust you, I just…”

Jaskier scoffs, shaking his head and trying to ignore the surge of hurt in his chest. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard from his lovers before, of course. The accusation, the judgement, the assumptions, it’s all very familiar. He just never thought he’d hear it from Geralt, and the pain of it makes him angry.

“So, I didn’t answer my phone and you just assumed…fuck, Geralt. You know I’m in this with you. Only you.” His voice is louder than he intends, frustrated and sharp. Fuck, he’s tipsy and he’s fucking this up.

“But it’s not like you never—I know you’ve– fuck , Jaskier, can we just drop it?” Geralt bites out, halting and harsh. 

Jaskier hisses and rolls over to sit on the edge of the bed facing away, fists clenched on the quilt. He tries to bludgeon his brain into coherence as he speaks, jaw clenched and aching.

“Oh, I’m a known slut and slept with married people in my twenties, so obviously I’d go fuck an old friend in a bar bathroom fifty feet away from the apartment I share with my boyfriend, the love of my life, the man that I’ve committed myself to,” Jaskier cries scornfully, then forces himself to take a slow breath, releasing is slowly and counting to center himself before he speaks again. He knows he’s being unfair, but the idea of Geralt doubting him, after all they’ve been through, burns.

“I know she cheated on you, Geralt. I know it hurt you, that infidelity like that really fucks you up,” he says carefully, trying to lower his voice, soften his tone, imagining the neighbors on the other side of their thin apartment walls hearing every word. He’s not sure how successful he is. “I like sex, and I won’t apologize for that. And I haven’t always been particularly thoughtful about who I fuck. I probably should have been, but I don’t regret who I am, who I was. But that was a long time ago, Geralt, and I’m not Yen . Your trust means everything to me and I just… fuck .”

The tears that he finds himself choking on are a surprise. This is not at all how he pictured this night going. He glances back to see Geralt sitting curled up over his knees with his hands buried in his hair, looking miserable. 

“I know . I, I…this is why I didn’t want to say anything. I know it’s fucked up, it’s stupid, that you would never…” There’s a long silence broken only by the sound of Jaskier’s sniffles and Geralt’s wheezing, panicked breaths. 

“You deserve better than this. I don’t know how to be with someone, how to trust again. You’ve given me no reason to doubt you, and–fucking shit. I’ll go, if you want me to,” Geralt says, and he sounds so forlorn, so anguished that Jaskier can’t help but roll back toward him, pulling his hands gently away from where they clutch at his hair and wrapping him up close to his chest as they fall back to the bed in a pathetic huddle. 

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into Geralt’s back. “I’m keeping you, you ass.”

“Are you sure? I should probably just run off into the woods and be a hermit. I’d be better at that,” Geralt mumbles weakly into his neck, wry and dark.

Jaskier chuckles into Geralt’s hair, a wet and helpless sound.

“God, we’re a mess, aren’t we,” he sighs. 

“Yeah.” 

They lay curled up in each other, breathing and taking comfort in each other’s warmth, muscles slowly relaxing.

“Not nearly as messy as Victoria and her boyfriend, though,” Jaskier smirks eventually, breaking the quiet. “You would not believe the drama, Geralt. Woof. He stole her TV when they broke up. And her couch. And half of her spice cabinet, of all things. He apparently always does this , hardly buys anything for himself. Just…furnishes his whole life with the stuff he takes from his exes, can you imagine?” Geralt snorts. “She said they were moving back in together, but that she’s going to put her name on all her favorite stuff first,” he says, giggling. Geralt’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter, and Jaskier pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Makes me feel extremely well adjusted.” 

“We’re doing great.” 

“We really are,” Jaskier grins and pulls Geralt’s face up to kiss him, long and soft. “Well. We’ve already scandalized the neighbors by shouting at each other. Want to lean into it?” he asks with a suggestive waggle to his eyebrows. Geralt groans and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and the way he rolls over to press Jaskier into the bed suggests that he’s not nearly as reluctant as he pretends. 

The neighbors probably hate them, but who cares. Jaskier has more important things to worry about. 

(also on Ao3)

Thank you to @dapandapod for being my favorite beta who refuses to believe she's good at it! <3 <3 <3

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 28

Jaskier is sure the last hurdle to winning Geralt's heart is to finally make Roach like him. So he gives her apples and sugar cubes, and braids her hair, and cleans her hooves, and brushes her fur, and buys her new tack, and pets her every chance he gets, and he can tell that slowly but surely, she's starting to like him! Now he just has to wait for Geralt to fall in love with him! Jaskier eliminated the one problem that Geralt would reasonably have with them getting together. "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" Ah. Apparently there was... more wrong with Jaskier than he initially thought. Roach meanwhile watches as the flowerman who gives her all the best treats walks past her sobbing. Where's Geralt??? Go fix the flowerman! She waits a while but... Geralt isn't coming. Geralt can handle himself. prettycolorflowerman cannot! He is stupid!!! So she follows him. Geralt returns to what was their camp, already feeling like shit for blowing up at Jaskier, only to find that- What th- Did Jaskier steal his fucking horse!? Jaskier is already a town or two away, and is done performing in exchange for a room, when he looks outside and sees Roach. Did Geralt come back for him!? He always hoped that- Oh.. No. He didn't. It's... just roach? Is he in trouble? No she's certainly in no hurry to leave. Perhaps she just wandered after him and needs to be told to go back to Geralt. She's not moving- Entice her with treats! Not working. Do the special little whistle Geralt does when he needs her! Not working. Shove her toward where she came from. Not working. Fuck! How is Jaskier going to give Roach back to Geralt without... Without seeing Geralt!?

[eggcompany]

Julian, On My Knees Part1

Young, broke, omega Julian Pankratz, Jaskier, finds a place to live. Sharing a nice little flat in the good part of town with a fit older alpha who's daughter just moved out. The room is perfect, his own bathroom, and his flatmate is probably the most gentle yet stern, buff and beautiful, and sweetest smelling alpha he's ever encountered. It's just perfect

At least he thought so. Stupid thin walls, stupid heat brain.

“Hi! You must be Mister Rivia! I’m Julian Alfred but everyone calls me Jaskier. It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.” The young man said quickly, in a chirpy way as his hand stuck out as soon as the front door swung open. His eyes squinted with how widely he smiled, the picture of happiness and joy. 

Geralt shook his hand, taking in the chipper man. 

He was nearly as tall as the older alpha, which was surprising but welcomed. He’d be able to reach all the shelves, Geralt thought as he took stock. The boy had messy brown hair and a round baby face. Soft pink cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, smooth summer sun tinted skin, clean and nice. So much more beautiful than his profile picture. 

Geralt nodded, turning to let the omega into the apartment, waving him in with a hand. 

“Hmm, this is the flat. Bathroom’s over there. I have my own so that’s yours. That’s my room, you can knock if you need anything, I work from home mostly. There’s a mini fridge in your room, it’s older but if you want it out, I can remove it. The living room, the kitchen, I prep my food so please don’t mess with my containers. I split it down the middle with electric tape to make it easier but it’s not a strict line.” Geralt explained as he walked the other man around the house, pointing at doors. He couldn’t help but glance at the wide smile on the omega’s face. 

He’d explained the apartment over text when the boy said he was interested. It didn’t take Geralt long to take the ad down and decide Julian Pankratz was the only applicant. He was young, only 22 years old, worked part time at a coffee shop and part time riding his bike around delivering food. He was an aspiring musician, liked staying in and watching movies, didn’t have many friends in the city, and most importantly, he was an unwed, unmated Omega. Someone who wouldn’t be bringing another alpha into the house at all hours of the night stinking up Geralt’s space. 

Geralt knew another alpha in the house would only cause trouble. Betas didn’t like all the rules about scenting in Geralt’s building, and most of the Omegas interested so far were 18 year olds who wanted someone to look after them once they left their parents house. 

Julian, Jaskier, was different. He’d said he wanted some freedom and space, just wanting one person to live with so he didn’t get lonely but would let him be his own person. Someone to have his back and talk to but wouldn’t smother him or try to parent him. Seemed like a good fit. 

Geralt smiled a bit, amused, when Jaskier’s eyes widened and explored the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He almost forgot what it was like to be around someone with enthusiasm about everyday things, a youthful bounce in their step. 

Jaskier couldn’t hold in his excitement. The space was big and open, cool grey flooring with a big rug in the living room and well loved black leather couch and matching recliner, the tv was huge, the kitchen was huge, the cabinets were spacious, the fridge was big and had a nice freezer, and it smelled amazing, like warmth and clean laundry and a little like leather shoes. It was so much bigger than what Jaskier was hoping for, and so much bigger than what it should be for the price they had agreed to. 

“Wow this is nice! I’m so excited! The last flat I was in had two bedrooms and I lived with seven people. I’ll make sure to pay rent on time and keep my space clean, sir. But um… can I ask you something about the room?” Jaskier asked as they made their way to the slightly ajar door. He stopped short of it, not reaching for the doorknob but standing patiently. 

Geralt waited a minute for the boy to continue but Jaskier was waiting for the Alpha’s permission. Geralt liked that, it was respectful and pet something ingrained in his mind. 

“Yes?” Geralt asked as he stood beside the door he’d freshly painted, a nice light nearly white. He watched the omega look down at the floor, cheeks turning a cherry color. They had discussed house rules, rules for the complex, rent payments, but not quite the details of the actual. Apart from the contents and size. 

“I'm an omega. I… have quite um veracious heats. Are the walls…?” Jaskier said in a timid way, embarrassment burning inside of him. He’d only told Mister Rivia that he was an omega, he’d felt it was inappropriate to talk about his heats and such over text. He wanted to make a good impression on the alpha, didn’t want him to think he was some floozy puppy looking for a mate and a free bed. He was a grown man, he wanted the alpha to see that. Even if he still had to ask about the ventilation and soundproofing. 

Geralt understood immediately though, having had the room remodeled after Cirilla had presented. He wasn’t shy about omegan issues, he had an omegan daughter, and had dealt with her issues. Not much scared him anymore. Nothing is more exhausting than a thirteen year old omega who wasn’t scared to leave the house in her pajamas, barefoot, to walk two miles to McDonalds if you didn’t wake up fast enough. 

Geralt wasn’t a blushing twenty year old alpha anymore, after all. He could handle having a screaming banshee in the house for a few days a month. 

“Yes, soundproof and insulated. You have your own thermostat, the door has a seal around it, and there are extra ventilation vents that lead out and not to the rest of the apartment or building. I had it specially remodeled to be… as comfortable as possible for an omega.” Geralt explained and pushed the door open, welcoming Jaskier inside. He stood by the door, wanting to keep the separation of Omegan Space and General Space very stark. 

Jaskier walked in, eyes looking at the ten foot ceiling, the calm blue walls, the plush grey carpet, and the still plastic wrapped mattress Mister Rivia said would be provided sitting on a black metal bed frame that had a spiral patterned head and footboard. It was bare but somehow he could already picture where he’d put his things, hang his posters and pictures. 

He looked at the closet with its louvered doors and the big window overlooking the park that was spread out next to the building. He could open it and get good fresh air or the warm sun, and hear the rain at night. 

“Wow… This is amazing, really. So much space and such soft carpeting… so plush. I'm really really happy. Thank you Mr. Rivia! I’ll go get the rest of my stuff, just a couple bags and my instruments and my ikea shelves.” Jaskier thanked graciously, and happily, nearly skipped, to the front door. The alpha was right behind him, grabbing some keys from the rings by the door. 

“I’ll help you. I have your copy of the key in my truck anyway.” Geralt said and couldn’t help the small smile that smirked on his lips at the omega’s genuine response. 

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Jaskier said as he slipped his shoes back on and opened the front door. He couldn’t help but feel giddy. He’d always dreamed of a place like this. So what if he had a smoking hot roommate who smelled so nice, it was only a bonus. He couldn’t wait to get the plastic off that bed and sleep alone for the first time in… since he moved out of his parent’s house. 

It was like heaven already. 

~~~~~

Geralt was surprised about how much he enjoyed another man’s presence in his home. He liked the sound of Jaskier cooking in the kitchen, he liked that the omega would leave his bathroom door open after he got a shower and his scented steam would waft out, all honey sweet and warm, he liked that Jaskier would come quietly sit down and watch TV with him if he heard a show come on. 

He liked when Jaskier sat on the kitchen counters under the bright white lights to tweak and fix his old second hand instruments. He liked that Jaskier would talk and talk, about his job, customers, his music, anything in the world and not get offended when Geralt didn’t answer. The alpha found it soothing to have the chatter while eating dinner or breakfast. He liked that Jaskier hummed as he did laundry or washed dishes or swept, tunes that he’d hear on a guitar or keyboard after a few weeks. Geralt felt less lonely, like the hollow feeling he felt after Cirilla moved out was being filled, not in the same way his daughter’s presence did, no not at all, it was an all new feeling. It was nice.

Jaskier loved living in the apartment. He could open up his window and smoke when he got itchy for a cigarette, he could work late into the night and not worry about making too much noise, he could masturbate and not worry about the smell or his sounds, and Mister Rivia let him watch TV with him. 

He loved that. He loved sitting by the older alpha, eating dinner with him, greeting him in the morning. He loved that Mister Rivia would ask him if he had a good day at work or if he was cold or if he got wet by the rain and then tell him to get a warm shower and put on some dry clothes before dinner. He liked that when he forgot his work apron and his name tag and his jacket, Mister Rivia caught him in the lobby of the building, all three in his hand and a gentle finger wag. 

He loved being looked after. It wasn’t overbearing, it was sweet. 

They were happy together, Geralt made sure Jaskier knew when to be out of the apartment when his daughter or ex-wife was visiting, sending Jaskier off with a few dollars to get coffee or a snack. Jaskier gave Geralt ample warning when he was going into heat, making sure the alpha was okay with him to heat in the apartment before locking himself away in his room for a few days. 

There were a few hiccups. Geralt had a yelling match in his office which made Jaskier cry and hide away at his friend’s house till Geralt called him, and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Jaskier came home drunk, very drunk, and fell asleep half hung over his toilet, naked from the waist up, shoes left in the middle of the floor, front door left unlocked. Geralt had given him a strong talking to. 

‘That is not safe Julian. If you ever get that drunk, where you can’t keep yourself on your own feet, you call me. At least then I can lock our front door.’ Jaskier had sniffled and nodded, making sure he had Geralt on speed dial. 

And the one time they actually argued. Four months in and they had a fight. Jaskier wanted to hang up a new poster, a big framed thing. But he didn’t ask where the step ladder was and thought it was too rude to stand on a dining room chair. So he stood on his computer chair. And left his bedroom door open. 

Geralt had come home from a meeting at the office, tired and uncomfortable in his tailored suit. He’d barely broken the entryway when he heard Jaskier scream out in fear. He found Jaskier crying, hand over his bloody knee. He was first concerned and scared but once he saw it was just carpet burn, and noticed the computer chair was tipped and the half hung poster, he was angry. He barely kept his voice from rising as Jaskier cried, yelling back.

 ‘I’m a grown man, I can do it by myself!’ Jaskier had shouted, shoving away Geralt's concerned hands. 

‘Obviously, if you used the right things. You should never stand on a swivel chair, Julian, You can be as grown as you want as long as you use your head! Don’t be stupid Julian. Think.’ Geralt had reprimanded, leaving a hand to help Jaskier to his feet. Jaskier had pouted and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door. Geralt had huffed and slammed his own door. 

Jaskier apologized and looked like a dog, tail tucked between his legs. 

‘I’m sorry. Just got scared.’ 

‘I forgive you. You know where the step ladder is, next time, use it. Please’ 

And all was set back to normal. 

Month after month, five had passed, their few disagreements passed easily, and soon Jaskier had been there for Christmas. 

They had exchanged small gifts. Jaskier got Geralt a pair of new blue slippers because ‘Geralt yours are ugly and old, look these have really good insoles!’, and Geralt got Jaskier a nesting bundle of music print blankets and pillows.

 Jaskier had cried and told Geralt that it wasn’t fair and that he shouldn’t have spent so much money, ‘Jaskier would it make you feel better if I said it was on sale?’ 

‘Yeah, it would.’ 

‘It was clearance, cost me barely anything.’ 

‘Okay good, lie to me if it makes me feel better.’ 

‘I will’, Geralt had rubbed the omega’s back until he stopped crying. He’d made a note to himself to always tell Jaskier his gifts were cheap, even if they were $100 nesting bundles. In Geralt’s mind it was worth it, to see Jaskier tie the bundle to feel each piece, cotton, flannel, fuzzy material that Jaskier rubbed against his lips repeatedly until he hauled it all to his room with a big smile. 

And then New Years and Jaskier sent Geralt a selfie, covered in glitter and glow sticks under a blanket of confetti and fireworks, right at 12:01. Geralt had saved the photo, he didn’t know why, but the big smile on the omega’s face and the way his cheeks were crimson red and eyes drunk dilated, it made Geralt’s heart jump. He didn’t mention it to Eskel or Lambert when they asked why he was smiling at his phone during their poker game.  

Then Valentine’s Day which was the worst because Jaskier was supposed to be in heat but he’d just started new hormonal heat aids, which supposedly were supposed to keep his cramps at bay, and they were making him crazy. He sobbed into a gallon of ice cream on the couch, covered in piles of blankets, watching some disgustingly cheesy romance movie with Brad Pitt.

Geralt was trying to finish a spreadsheet but each time he heard the omega sob, it felt like his heart was being ripped out, making him hurt. So he was out on the couch soon enough, rubbing the omega’s back as he cried and babbled about how the medicine wasn’t working and his stomach hurt and his head hurt and he felt starving and he was getting fat and a million other things. Geralt just shushed him and didn’t say anything. Eventually Jaskier calmed down and fell asleep there on the sofa, leaving his empty tub of ice cream and spoon on the side table. Geralt put pillows behind his head, wiped his sticky face and hands with a damp paper towel, and turned the tv and lights off. It made Geralt feel better, even though he kept his door open, headphones half off. Just until Jaskier dragged himself to bed. 

They liked living together, they liked having each other around. Just as roommates, as friends, as… whatever they were. They respected each other, never going into each other's bedrooms, Geralt never going into the omega’s nest and Jaskier never stepping foot in the alpha’s den. They didn’t talk about Yennefer or Jaskier’s heats. 

They pretended to not hear each other’s personal dramatics. Jaskier pretending to never hear Geralt’s phone calls with Yennefer or the late night binges on the candy he had stashed above the fridge. And Geralt never hearing the noises that came from Jaskier’s bathroom at 3am.  

It was easy, it was a silent arrangement that worked. 

Until it changed.

[annmarcus63]

It took him two years to realize that he was hopelessly in love with Geralt. And within a few months he decided to try his luck with the witcher, but he knew that he had to be careful with his advances, that he had to be cautious and cunning so as not to scare him away. He wanted to win Geralt's heart and the first steps were to make sure that he could really win, if not the love, then at least the affection of the witcher. 

Jaskier begins with gentle touches, his hand brushing against the other's, and increases the affection in the massages and hair washes he offers Geralt.  Followed by intent glances and coquettish smiles, but not too coquettish, he wants to let Geralt know that he's interested in more, much more than just a roll in the hay. 

Eventually Jaskier gets bolder. One afternoon, Geralt is leading Roach by the reins on the road and he approaches him as casually as possible to chat about... he honestly can't remember, and with a quick movement he grabs Geralt's hand as if he had done it a hundred times before. Geralt tenses and looks at him, panic and uncertainty in his golden eyes, the bard knows that feeling, so he smiles shyly at him feeling afraid too. Geralt snorts in annoyance, but doesn't pull his hand back. He just leaves it there, relaxed.

Then, the kissing started, forehead kisses that Jaskier placed upon Geralt's frown when he's particularly upset about a contract or with people. The witcher leans at the contact sometimes. So, one night Jaskier looks at Geralt's pretty lips and leans slowly, until their breaths are mingling with each other, mmh the witcher smells so good. 

Geralt grunts and turns around to make space between them, almost imperceptible, their thighs no longer touching. “Sorry,” Says, Jaskier. It's ok. 

But then, Geralt closes the small gap again and turns back to him, his eyes downcast almost ashamed. Jaskier smiles strangely charmed and leans in to touch his lips briefly with Geralt's, a small touch full of longing and love, so much love. Geralt tries to escape once again, but the bard doesn't let him this time, with both hands he takes the other's face to plant kisses like seeds on his nose, each cheekbone, each closed eye. The witcher trembles under his fingerprints, but the bard soothes him with "shh, I've got you".

They don't go further than that, Jaskier can feel the way Geralt is holding himself back, to wanting what is being offered with such devotion. He's not ready but that's ok, Jaskier'll wait for him as long as it takes. For him, only for him.

Geralt makes a stupid wish that sends him into a blurry reality of pain and confusion, his throat hurts, will he lose his voice? There's apple juice and naked people, a proud woman in a black dress, gods she's gorgeous, almost every sorceress is, but she has something special that Jaskier doesn't like. 

He understands what it is about, when he encounters a frantic Geralt at the gate, he fears for her, he likes her, he...likes her. 

It took him eight years to hold Geralt's hand while walking, it took him ten years to kiss him, but in spite of his unmeasurable efforts he could not achieve what Yennefer did in one day. Maybe his naivete condemned him to misread the signs, maybe it wasn't that Geralt wasn't ready to love someone, maybe he wasn't ready to love Jaskier, at all.

Full fic here