#modern au geralt would fully be somewhere between like

[solcorvidae]

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons (part 1??)

This is exclusively for my own Trucker AU/my fic called Hypothermic on AO3! I have other headcanons for other Modern AU's, but I just love them so much and there are so many things that I cannot possibly include into my fic but still want to share (at least right away/in a way that is plot-relevant). -- also, these are in no particular order.

Jaskier lives in a big city and his parents have a ton of money. They are very big on being a "proper and well mannered" family which Jaskier has had a lot of trouble with. He loves his family and they love him, but they butt heads pretty frequently over small and avoidable things.

Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert are not related to one another by blood at all. The boys met in foster care, Geralt becoming attached to Eskel very quickly, and Eskel bonding with both Geralt and Lambert. He felt responsible for the others and they became inseparable. They bounced around together and were between a lot of different homes/placements before they wound up with Vesemir. Eventually the boys officially asked if Vesemir would be their dad, spurring the legal adoption process into motion.

It took a long time for Eskel to trust Vesemir fully, isolating himself almost consistently for months after he had settled in. He trusted him enough to feel safe and relatively at home, but not enough to come out of his shell. He ate an overwhelming amount of dinners alone in their bedroom, not with the rest of the household.

Geralt was teased for his white hair as a kid and decided that he wanted to dye it dark brown like Eskel's when he was in middle school. It turned out horribly and the dye did not take due to the colour/texture. Eskel helped him and felt bad for ruining the poor kids hair even though there was no way to really know (since they didn't do a test strip).

Lambert often forgets momentarily that his family is not by blood due to his young age when they arrived at Vesemir's house for the first time.

Eskel doesn't have any baby pictures that are still intact/in his possession

Eskel and Geralt both had grey eyes as little kids

Eskel's eyes slowly changed from grey to bright green as he got older. Geralt kept his grey eyes for a lot longer than most kids do before they changed.

Lambert had red hair as a little kid and slowly grew out of it. It eventually shifted to an extremely dark brown with red undertones.

Lambert kept his hair somewhat long as a kid/through highschool and cut it short after graduation. He got Eskel and Geralt to help and they did it in their shared bathroom together. It went shockingly well but the bathroom was a disaster. There are candid photos of the whole affair somewhere on Vesemir’s camera.

Geralt on the other hand, had short hair until the Hair Dye IncidentTM and then refused to touch the length after that, letting it grow long. He only went to get haircuts for maintenance and trimming off split ends, never to cut off any significant length. He still has long hair to this day.

Geralt cannot stand facial hair. He will scratch his face raw if he cannot get rid of it fast enough (or if he can’t use a razor that gives him a close enough shave). Vesemir gets Geralt a straight razor for his 17th birthday to help with this. Geralt is determined to keep this razor forever.

Geralt was the youngest out of all of them to go into the family business and start trucking. He knew since he was young that he wanted to work for his father and was determined to do so as soon as he possibly could. He took Data Management and Business 101 in highschool so he could be of help with bookkeeping despite being notably awful with advanced math. He completed driving school and got his full licence at 19 and started work only a few months later.

Unlike Geralt, Eskel was insanely good at advanced maths and took Advanced Calculus and upper year Physics courses for fun.

Lambert lived in the weight room and shop classes in highschool. Everyone tended to write him off as not being “book smart” but he did super well in the sciences—particularly biology. He took it all the way through until graduation, making honour roll several times.

Geralt is crazy sentimental. Jaskier gifts him trinkets, photos, pop can tabs, flowers... you name it and he keeps every single one. He has a charm pinned to his felt cowboy hat; a gift from Jaskier. It’s on the left side not only because it’s proper,but it is also because it’s closer to the wearer's heart. He has polaroids in his sun visor and in his wallet. He lets Jaskier start a pin collection on the ceiling of his work truck, only complaining minimally about the puncture holes they’ll leave behind.

Geralt and his brothers bar off several weeks each winter where they won't take any contracts so they can come home for the holidays. They spend every Christmas and New Years together in their childhood home.

Vesemir has banned the boys from betting cash. Anything under 5 dollars is negotiable, but he enforces the rule with anything of higher value. Too many fights had occurred over the years due to (intentional?) miscommunication and brotherly stubbornness.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 5

Jaskier pushed the last armload of laundry into the washer and started the cycle.

"Do you think that's too much in there?" he asked Geralt.

"Hm."

"Yeah, you're right. There was still some room at the top."

If Yennefer had been home, she probably would have b*tched at them for not dividing the load. But she wasn't home at the moment, and she wouldn't be back until long after everything was washed, dried, and put away.

Satisfied with the situation, Jaskier and Geralt left the machine to do its job and went to do less boring things. Geralt went up to his room to play with customize his new horse figurine.

Jaskier sat on the floor in the laundry room and made up an impromptu song about laundry, which led to him scribbling down some notes for a song about a poor laundry lass who fell in love with a tanner's son, married him, then ended up washing him and hanging him out on the washing line because she couldn't stand the smell.

Once the clothes were dry, folded, and put away, Jaskier was taking his basket back to the laundry room. He paused at the top of the stairs and turned to ask Geralt something. Then he turned back around. He stared at the stairs, then at the basket in his hands.

Intrusive Thoughts: What if we...?

Jaskier: No, that only works in movies. And they use stuntmen.

Intrusive Thoughts: If a stuntman can do it, so can we!"

Jaskier: But I'm not a stuntman."

Intrusive Thoughts: It's just physics! Center of gravity and mass and all that! It's all about balance! Come on, it will be fun! Just like going down a slide!

Geralt saw Jaskier look at the stairs, then at the basket, and before he could blink, Jaskier was sitting in his clothes basket and sliding down the stairs with a small scream.

Jaskier hit the bottom and tumbled out, then lay on the floor laughing his a** off while Geralt rushed down the stairs to see if he was alright. Jaskier got up with an excited whoop. "Geralt, did ye see that? That was f***ing awesome! Ye have to try it!"

Geralt had indeed seen it. And it had looked f***ing awesome. But his sense of self-preservation was screaming at him that it was a very bad idea. Not because he could get hurt. He was a Witcher, and he had incredible balance, strength, and reflexes. The chance of him injuring himself was minimal.

No, what he was afraid of was either breaking something they couldn't hide or fix before Yennefer got home, or Jaskier getting seriously hurt and Yennefer finding out.

The witch would straight up murder his a**, bury him in her garden somewhere, and claim he'd never come back from a contract. It was best to err on the side of caution.

But then again... Geralt watched as Jaskier took another turn going down the stairs, screaming delightedly and cackling as he got to the bottom. Geralt shook his head and marched upstairs. He retrieved his basket from where he'd dropped it and turned to march down the stairs, fully intending to retrun it to the laundry room.

He hesitated, looking down the lenght of the carpeted slope of steps.

No. He was a mature f***ing adult!

But Jaskier was standing there, smiling and laughing, and throwing all kinds of encouragement at him.

No, no he was not going to get sucked into the shenanigans!

But then Jaskier started chanting "Do it! Do it! Do it!"

All of Geralt's brain cells left the chat, leaving only one small neuron flickering just enough for him to think "LEEERROOOOYYYY JEEEEEEEENNNNKINS!" before he went bumping down the stairs in his laundry basket.

Half way down, he tipped forward and tumbled the rest of the way down. Jaskier was laughing breathlessly by the time Geralt reached the bottom and rolled sidways out of the basket. Jaskier was rolling on the floor, holding his sides and howling with laughter along side Geralt.

A look passed between them, and seconds later they were rushing back upstairs.

"You have to lean back a little, so you don't go ar*e over elbow!" Jaskier suggested as Geralt settled himself in the basket for another go.

Geralt tried the suggestion, with slightly better results. After hitting the wall hard enough to have to re-hang one of Yennefer and Jaskier's Awkward Sibling Photoshoot pictures, Geralt had piled a bunch of pillows and couch cushions on the floor around the foot of the stairs and against the wall.

They took turns sliding down with varying degress of success and a sh*t ton of laughing. It turned out Jaskier's first two slides had been beginner's luck. There were spills, tumbles, curses, and a lot of laughing.

"We should try going down at the same time!" Jaskier said as he got up after his latest trip down.

"We won't fit in the same basket!"

"For f**k's-! No, not in the same basket, just at the same time!" Jaskier had grabbed both laundry baskets and set them at the top of the stairs, one behind the other. "Like this!"

Jaskier sat in the basket in front, bracing himself with his legs over the sides so he wouldn't go flying down before he could show Geralt what to do. "Now, you sit in the back one and stick your legs in my basket."

It took a little bit of maneuvering, but they finally ened up with a very short laundry basket 'train'.

"Ready?" Jaskier asked after they were both situated.

"Hm!"

"One...twothreegooooo!" Jaskier shouted, picking his feet up and using the hand rail to pull them forward. They started sliding, and there was no going back. They had gotten the balance right, for the first two seconds, and then the leading edge of Jaskier's basket dipped too far down, and the whole thing went tits up.

It was at that moment that the front door swung open. Yennefer walked in just in time to see what appeared to be Geralt and Jaskier falling down the stairs. She gasped in horror as they tumbled over each other before reaching the bottom, landing in a heap.

She was fluttering around them in panic, bombarding them with questions, and thinking surely one of them hand broken their neck. Her concern turned to confusion as Jaskier and Geralt had untangled themselves and slowly gotten to their feet.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

Neither one of them were looking her in the eye, which Yennefer had found highly suspicious. "What did you do?" she'd asked, her tone low and almost threatening.

Geralt had looked at Jaskier, and Jaskier had started grinning like an idiot. Geralt had made a valiant attempt to keep a straight face, but the strain had given him a constipated look. Jaskier had taken one look at Geralt's "pooping face" and had giggling, which had made Geralt start giggling.

Jaskier: *giggle snort* LaUnDrY!

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him and said flatly, "Laundry," in a tone that suggested she knew d*mn well they had been doing no such thing.

Yennefer had already surveyed the scene and taken in the little details: the baskets, the stratiegic piles of pillows and cushions, the two giggling morons...

"You two ar**holes went down the stairs in the laundry baskets, didn't you!" she'd said accusingly.

By now, the two of them were trying very hard not to look at each other.

Jaskier was practically vibrating with the effort of holding in the laughter that was trying to escape.

Geralt felt Jaskier start turning his head beside him, and hissed desperately at him through their mental link "Don't you dare f***ing look at me!"

"Look at the two of you!" Yennefer snapped in exhasperation, "Not a thought behind your eyes!"

Geralt saw Jaskier twitch out of the corner of his eye, and heard him snort. That was all it took. The two of them burst into outright laughter.

Yennefer sighed and used her magic to reinforce the laundry baskets, make them big enough to hold the two grown adults, and make them 'crash proof'.

"Here, " she said, tossing the baskets at them, "At least do it right so I don't have to bring out the Dumba** Band-aids." Then she went to take a shower and listen to them whooping excitedly as they went back to their game.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

prompts! werewolves + arranged marriage + truth/lie revealed + on a cruise :D

Here's a Geraskier modern with magic AU! Warnings for mentions of past character injury and child abuse:

The cruise was Jaskier’s idea.

“We need a honeymoon, Geralt!” Geralt’s new husband told him barely five minutes after they’d exchanged their stilted, awkward wedding vows, and barely twenty minutes after they’d clapped eyes on each other for the first time. “This marriage may not have been what either of us wanted, but we still deserve a proper celebration.”

In retrospect, that should have been the first indication that something was off. No werewolf with a working nose would subject themselves to all the smells—never mind all the sounds—of thousands of people trapped together on a boat.

“You’re not a werewolf,” he says slowly, letting the words sink in. He and Jaskier are sitting by the pool on the top level of the cruise ship, surrounded by the scents of chlorine, sweat, and sunscreen as children shriek and parents shout around them.

“No.” His husband looks the picture of decadent ease, wearing indecently tiny, bright yellow swim trunks with a neon pink, flowered shirt that’s unbuttoned nearly to his navel, with a colorful, frozen drink replete with an umbrella clutched in his hand. Only the faint, sour scent of nervousness gives him away.

“But you’re a Pankratz.” That’s the whole point of this damn marriage, to seal a peace treaty between the Lettenhove and Kaer Morhen packs. The union between Geralt, the second son of Vesemir Morhen, and Jaskier, the fourth son of Alfred Pankratz, is supposed to symbolize the new union between their packs after decades of tension.

“In name only, I’m afraid.” Jaskier flashes a smile that’s only slightly strained at the corners. “I bear a startling resemblance to a human journalist who visited Lettenhove to do a piece on the pack about nine months before I was born. It seems I take after him in more ways than one.”

At the wedding last week, Geralt noticed that Jaskier looked nothing like his burly, fair-haired father and brothers with their humorless mouths and beady hazel eyes, but he thought nothing of it, assuming that Jaskier resembled his late mother. But if Jaskier isn’t even a Pankratz…

“This renders the treaty moot,” Geralt says. “Your father realizes that, doesn’t he? If you hadn’t told me, I would have found out in two weeks, when you didn’t shift at the full moon, and the treaty would be as good as over.”

“I imagine he fully realizes that, yes.” Jaskier looks away, smiling at a pack of children wrestling over an inflatable orca in the pool. “My father is many things, but he’s not a fool. “

“If he had tried this with Calanthe or Vizimir’s pack, he would be signing your death warrant,” Geralt says, then goes cold when not a single flicker of surprise crosses Jaskier’s face. Instead, the nervous scent grows stronger.

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier says lightly, taking a sip of his drink. “I assume that was the point. He marries me off to you, you rip me apart on the full moon when you realize that you were deceived, and then he has legitimate reason to declare full-out war on the Kaer Morhen pack. Plus, he gets rid of his wife’s inconvenient human bastard.”

Geralt closes his eyes. Suddenly, a lot about this past week makes a horrible kind of sense. “That’s why you wanted to go on this damn cruise, so you could tell me somewhere we’d be surrounded by human witnesses, far from my pack.”

“I do apologize for that,” Jaskier says. “I knew all the sounds and smells would leave you off-kilter, which I thought might give me a chance if I needed to defend myself. By the time I realized you weren’t the kind of man to tear my still-beating heart out, it was too late to turn back. Plus, after I booked the tickets, I learned that a truly alarming amount of people vanish from cruise ships every year. Apparently, it’s much easier to make people disappear at sea than I counted on.”

Geralt grunts. “I’m not going to make you disappear.”

“I know that now.” A gentle hand touches his wrist and Geralt opens his eyes to see his own reflection mirrored in Jaskier’s oversized sunglasses. It’s the first time Jaskier has looked at him since they started this conversation and suddenly, Geralt wishes his husband weren’t wearing those sunglasses, so he could see his eyes.

“Then why are you still afraid?” Geralt asks, because that nervous scent is only growing stronger, nearly overpowering the scent of Jaskier’s sunscreen and the strawberry-and-rum scent of his drink.

Jaskier grimaces. “Well, you have other options, if tearing me apart and dumping my mangled corpse overboard isn’t your style. My father married me off to you under false pretenses, after all.”

Geralt watches him for a moment. “You’re afraid I’m going to send you back to Lettenhove.”

“I doubt anyone could blame you if you did,” Jaskier says. “You wanted a proper werewolf mate and instead, you got a defective halfbreed who will never do your pack a damn bit of good.”

He says those last words in a cadence that isn’t his own, like they’re something someone else has said to him many times.

“What will happen to you if you go back to Lettenhove?” Geralt already knows the answer.

He can practically feel Jaskier’s gaze on him, even through the sunglasses. “He’ll find another way to get rid of me, I imagine. Or he’ll try to turn me again and see if it sticks this time.”

Something hot and furious rises in Geralt, not so much at the words, but at the matter-of-fact way Jaskier says them. He schools the rage from his expression, so Jaskier won’t think it’s directed at him. “Again?”

He remembers the scars he’s gotten glimpses of at various points in the past week—a slash across Jaskier’s thigh, a bite mark on his shoulder, the curve of claw marks on his side. He’s thought nothing of them. All werewolves have scars, but Jaskier isn’t a werewolf. He’s a human.

“My mother died when I was sixteen,” Jaskier says. “My grandfather passed away not long after. Once they were gone, there wasn’t anyone to stop my father and brothers from doing what they’d been threatening to do since I hit puberty and they realized I couldn’t shift.”

“They tried to turn you.” Geralt swallows back the bitter taste the words leave. There’s a reason turning humans is banned by all the major wolfpacks in the Northern Kingdoms, except in extreme circumstances. It’s a brutal process, one that requires bringing humans to the brink of death before biting them. Most of the time, it’s unsuccessful. Geralt only knows of one werewolf that was successfully turned: his younger brother, Lambert.

A woman walks by them, carrying a wailing toddler in her arms while another young boy trails behind, loudly protesting his innocence. “He said I smelled like cheese!” the younger child blubbers.

Jaskier chuckles and catches the mother’s eye. “Brothers,” he says and the mother smiles and looks up at the sky in exasperation before hurrying away to soothe her younger son’s hurt feelings.

Geralt can see the edge of the scar on Jaskier’s thigh peeking out from underneath his shorts. He wonders which of Jaskier’s brothers put it there, or if they just watched while his father did it. He thinks of a sixteen-year-old Jaskier, wide-eyed and baby-faced as he was hunted down and savaged by people he should have been able to trust.

“A friend of my mother’s helped me get away,” Jaskier says. “My birth father mysteriously vanished not long after my father realized who I looked like, but his sister lives in Oxenfurt. She knows someone who knows someone who was able to help me create a new identity. So I stopped being Julian Pankratz and lived for fifteen years as Jaskier. I finished high school, went to Oxenfurt, eventually got a job teaching at Oxenfurt, all as Jaskier. I thought my father had forgotten about me, right until my brothers showed up and shoved me into the back of a car to bring me back to Lettenhove and get married.”

“You should have said something at the wedding,” Geralt says. “My pack would have helped you. I would have helped you.”

“I know that now, but you were a stranger then, and a werewolf to boot. Before I met you, this—” Jaskier pulls aside the neckline of his shirt. “Had largely been my experience with werewolves.”

Geralt stares at the ridge of pale scars across Jaskier’s shoulder, a line of teeth marks in the shape of a wolf’s jaws. He can imagine it clearly: a werewolf pinning Jaskier to the ground and sinking their teeth into Jaskier’s shoulder, tearing soft flesh and crushing bone. He’s been on the receiving end of such wounds many times, but he’s a werewolf, not a breakable human. Jaskier is lucky he didn’t bleed to death. Geralt reaches out to trace one finger along the line of scars. Jaskier shivers at the touch, despite the heat of the day.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s inadequate, but it’s all he can offer Jaskier. “This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

Jaskier smiles a little sadly. “What now, Geralt?”

Geralt never wanted this marriage, was furious when Vesemir told him what the treaty with the Lettenhove pack would entail. A week ago, he would have jumped at the chance to declare the marriage void and to get back to his simple, quiet life. But what would that mean for Jaskier? He could return to his life at Oxenfurt, but how long will it take for Alfred Pankratz to target him again? How long before Jaskier is dragged away to be used as a political pawn again, or slaughtered outright? Without protection, Jaskier will never be safe from the Lettenhove pack.

“We’re going to spend the next week on this fucking ship,” Geralt says. “We’re going to go to the couples ballroom dancing class you signed us up for tonight.” His lips twitch at Jaskier’s snort of laughter. “I’m going to teach you how to play Gwent tomorrow, because we’re going to win the Gwent tournament on Sunday, so something will come out of this cruise. And then we’re going to go back to Kaer Morhen and tell Vesemir what your old pack is up to. And then we’re going to kill your fucking father.”

Jaskier stares at him, seemingly shocked silent for the first time since Geralt met him.

“Unless you don’t want me to kill him?” From what Geralt has heard, Alfred Pankratz deserves a violent death, but he did raise Jaskier. Perhaps there’s still some affection there.

“The treaty—” Jaskier croaks.

“The treaty was entered into under false pretenses,” Geralt says. “It’s void. And even if it wasn’t, I don’t give a fuck about the treaty or pack politics or any of that bullshit. Are you safe, as long as your father is alive?”

Jaskier swallows. “No.”

“Then he has to die.” Geralt realizes that he’s still touching Jaskier’s shoulder and quickly withdraws his hand. “Werewolf, human, it doesn’t matter. You’re my husband. I’m not going to let your father hurt you again.”

“And your pack?”

“They’ll help.” It’s a testament to what a clusterfuck the Lettenhove pack is that Jaskier doesn’t realize that, Geralt thinks. Of course Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, and the rest of the Kaer Morhen pack will come to Jaskier’s defense. He’s one of them now for as long as he wants to be.

Jaskier stares at him for another long moment. Just when Geralt starts to wonder what he said wrong, Jaskier surges forward. Most of his frozen drink sloshes down Geralt’s front, but Geralt hardly notices, because Jaskier is kissing him. It’s the first kiss they’ve shared since the single kiss they exchanged to seal their wedding vows and it’s nothing like that quick, chaste peck on the lips. Jaskier kisses Geralt almost desperately, one hand fisting in the front of his t-shirt, lips warm and insistent against Geralt’s. When he finally pulls away, they’re both breathing hard.

“He made a mistake when he married me to you, didn’t he?” Jaskier laughs, sounding almost disbelieving. “He thought you’d be like him, that you’d do what he would do to a human he didn’t want.”

Emboldened, Geralt slides his hand up Jaskier’s face to take his sunglasses off, revealing those blue eyes, which are watching him with hope. He doesn’t smell nervous anymore, Geralt realizes.

Water splashes over their legs as a kid cannonballs into the pool and a lifeguard blows their whistle, the sound sharp and shrill. Neither Geralt nor Jaskier notice; they’re watching each other. For the first time, Geralt feels like they’re in this together. Maybe this won’t be a sham of a political marriage. Maybe Jaskier won’t just be a husband foisted upon him, but his mate.

“Well,” Jaskier says with genuine levity instead of the terrible, false brightness he’s carried with him for the past week. “I suppose if you’re going to suffer through ballroom dancing lessons tonight, I owe you a drink, don’t I?”

“Do they serve anything that isn’t pink and frozen?”

“Oh, please, don’t pretend you’re above pina coladas and strawberry daiquiris, just because you’re big and broody.” At Geralt’s flat look, Jaskier flashes a shit-eating grin. This is the Jaskier that Geralt has only caught glimpses of for the past week, someone full of mischief and life, someone that Jaskier has been keeping carefully hidden behind a veneer of false good cheer, probably in an effort not to piss off his new husband.

Geralt likes this Jaskier far better.

“Fine, I’ll get you a boring beer,” Jaskier says, rising to his feet with a sigh.

“Maybe some paper towels too.” Geralt pointedly looks at the strawberry daiquiri sloshed down his arm.

“But it looks good on you! Adds some color to your palette.” Jaskier’s smile gets wider when Geralt rolls his eyes. “Fine, a boring beer and some paper towels. I’ll be right back.”

Geralt watches him walk away, trying and failing not to notice how tiny those shorts are. He’s going to need to contact Vesemir as soon as they get back to the cabin, to tell him that Alfred Pankratz is up to something. And then when they dock in Novigrad at the end of the week, he’ll have to start planning how to deal with Pankratz once and for all.

But for now, he thinks he’s going to let himself enjoy his honeymoon, ballroom dancing and all.

Trope Mashup Prompts

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

[lambden]

#39 or #48 for Geraskier? 🙏🏻

there are two obvious, very different ways to interpret this prompt. i chose both of them

48. I called you at 2am because I need you E, 1.9K words, modern AU & awkward misunderstandings

(Also on AO3!)

Before he fully returns to consciousness Geralt hears his cell phone ringing. The chimes creep into his dream first as birdsong, and then as he awakens he groans, hand fumbling around the nightstand for the device. He retrieves the phone and holds it up to his ear, his lovely dream dissipating into a warm feeling, and then nothing at all. “What,” he half-growls into the receiver.

“Sorry,” a low voice replies, breathing heavily. Geralt’s eyes shoot open— he can’t see anything in the pitch-black bedroom, but he squints into the darkness anyway. The exhalations on the other end of the line are nearly shaky, closer to panting than normal breathing. “Did I wake you up?”

He double-checks the contact; not because he doesn’t recognize the sound of Jaskier’s voice instantly, but because he doesn’t recognize the low, private tone. It’s nearly two in the morning. Jaskier breathes in again, this one hitching with a small, cut-off noise, and Geralt’s cock stirs in his briefs. “Yes,” he replies, uncertain.

Jaskier doesn’t apologize, and Geralt closes his eyes again, imagining the man splayed out over his ridiculously large bed, trailing his hands over his body as he babbles. “I know I shouldn’t call this late, but—”

Geralt huffs. “It’s fine—”

“I need you,” whines Jaskier, and that stops Geralt’s train of thought like a tidal wave. He opens and closes his mouth, waiting for Jaskier to take it back. Waiting for reality to slip back into a dimension that makes sense. Then the man gasps, still shaky and pitchy, and walks it back, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t— you don’t—”

“No, I do,” he interrupts with a growl. He reaches under the blankets but doesn’t palm himself just yet, laying his hand flat over his stomach. The touch is grounding and the warmth of his dry palm is comforting even through his sleep shirt. Geralt rucks up the end of his shirt without thinking much about it, his hand exploring underneath. “I want to. I’m glad you called me, alright?”

Still hesitant, Jaskier pauses for a long second. “Alright.”

“What are you doing?” Geralt is fully awake now, fingers trailing up to toy with his nipples almost idly. His other hand clenches around the phone as his cock twitches, desperate for touch or friction or something. Fucking anything.

Jaskier’s next inhale is so soft that Geralt can practically visualize him, imagining the rise and fall of his chest. How does his friend sleep? Geralt has given lots of consideration to how Jaskier would act in bed, but very little to the man’s sleeping positions. Is he curled up on his side, cradling the phone by his ear as he takes his pleasure in quick, angry, shameful movements? Or is he spread out on his back, boxers kicked somewhere off the bed, hand trailing over his thighs or his hairy chest? Is he mirroring Geralt right now? Or, perhaps he’s on his stomach, ass in the air as he ruts down against the soft mattress. Geralt bites back a breath.

“Just lying in bed,” Jaskier says. He sniffles before inhaling sharply again, and suddenly imagination isn’t enough and Geralt is absolutely desperate to know what he’s doing. What he looks like. No video could suffice.

He hears himself say, “You’re welcome to come here if you like.”

“Oh, how I’ve waited for you to say those very words,” laughs Jaskier, although it’s too pitchy and distracted to sound very amused. His breath hitches again. He must be getting himself off— and he needs Geralt, of all people! Geralt could sing. He thinks that if Jaskier asked him to, he would. “I’m afraid I’m in no state to leave the house right now.”

That confession summons a whole host of other ideas into Geralt’s mind. He rolls the bud of his nipple between his fingertips, hardly breathing as he imagines Jaskier clad in only his underwear, furiously stroking himself off. He’s got a nice thick cock to match the rest of his perfect body: Geralt has never even seen it aroused and he knows that. Jaskier must be working his length right now, palm bouncing up and down so quickly it’s in danger of chafing.

“Then I could come to you,” says Geralt, low and too honest for his own good.

“You don’t have to do that, darling,” Jaskier says quickly. “Maybe just… talk to me for a while? It helps. It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Geralt groans. His hand slides back down to lay on his abdomen, but his pulse doesn’t stop beating at a stallion’s pace. “Yes. Of course. What are you… you’re lying in bed?” Jaskier hums in agreement. Geralt reaches down to squeeze a handful of his cock, stroking it through his briefs. Suddenly, he desperately wants to have a better, real picture of Jaskier in mind. “What are you wearing?”

When Jaskier sniffles again, the sound sets off the first warning bell. Geralt frowns, trying to figure out what he’s missing here as Jaskier stays ominously silent. Finally, sounding incredulous, Jaskier demands, “I’m sorry, what?!”

“You— isn’t— aren’t—” stammers Geralt, helpless.

“Is that your idea of cheering me up? After the years of flirting, now is when you finally decide to act on your feelings? When I’m—” Jaskier sniffles again. Geralt smacks himself very hard in the forehead. “I called you because I needed to talk to someone, because I’m having a fucking meltdown!”

Geralt is silent as he stares at the ceiling of his room, wishing the earth would swallow him.

“What did you…” Jaskier drifts off, thoughtful. The scratching sound of fabric moving comes over the line— presumably, he’s sitting up. Now that Geralt knows to listen for it he can hear the teariness in Jaskier’s voice, and it makes him feel absolutely rotten. “Geralt?”

He offers no response. What could he possibly say?

“I’m sorry.” It’s just absurd that Jaskier is the one apologizing but Geralt is still too embarrassed to speak at all. The man sounds absolutely astonished when he murmurs, “… You were totally up for it, weren’t you?”

Geralt hangs up with a ferocity that nearly bruises his thumb. Left alone in the solace of his empty room, he squints at the phone screen flaring into his vision. This tentative thing between him and Jaskier has been— well, it hasn’t been a thing so much as a fledgling idea and a constant source of teasing and a recurring motif in his fantasies.

But now, even though there wasn’t anything real for him to ruin, Geralt has shattered whatever lies between them. Jaskier called him in tears, probably at his wit’s end after a terrible night. He’d told Geralt he needed him, and Geralt had been a fucking prick. He should have assumed that it would be a vent call and not a booty call, because Jaskier would never call him just to get off; that isn’t how they do things. It never will be.

Right after his screen goes dim the phone lights up, ringing loudly. ‘Incoming call from Jaskier 🎻.’

Geralt stares at the contact image of Jaskier, a candid shot from two Halloweens ago where he’s flipping off the camera and smiling brightly. He waits for the call to go to voicemail, morose and mortified.

Jaskier doesn’t leave him a voicemail, and Geralt mumbles, “Fuck.” He slams the phone down onto the pillow beside him, rubbing his eyes and groaning low in his throat. If this changes his friendship with Jaskier, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to ever forgive himself.

The pillow buzzes. Geralt, miserable, reaches for his phone.

MESSAGES — NOW

Jaskier 🎻 how about take two

Jaskier 🎻 ask what I’m doing

Even though he’s still drowning under the weight of his shame, Geralt figures he at least owes Jaskier a response. Reluctantly, he taps out ‘What are you doing.’

Jaskier 🎻 🍆💦😏

Geralt frowns. ‘Cooking?’

This time when his phone rings, he answers it. Before he can get a word out, let alone an apology, Jaskier huffs against the receiver. “Honestly, I have no idea how you pull as many people as you do, Geralt. Cooking? Really? What do you think I’m doing right now, washing my produce?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt says, stubborn and still embarrassed. “Maybe it helps you calm down.”

“You know what would help calm me down,” says Jaskier, “is an orgasm.” Geralt nearly drops the phone onto his face. “Is that something you could help me out with? You were so eager before…”

“Uh.” The hand that isn’t holding his phone is clenched at his side. Geralt runs his thumb over his fist, trying to calm himself down and make some sense of the situation. Is Jaskier making fun of him? “I didn’t know you were upset…”

“That’s alright, love. This is nicer anyway; a lovely surprise.” Yet again Jaskier’s breath hitches, but this time his voice is crystal clear, no tears to be heard. Geralt stands at attention, all his blood rushing south. “Why don’t you ask me what I’m wearing again?”

Trying his hardest not to make the words come out stilted, Geralt repeats, “What are you wearing, Jaskier?”

“Your shirt,” comes the instant reply. “You left it here three weeks ago.” And so he had— he had considered it a write-off when Jaskier hadn’t immediately brought it to their next meeting. The shirt must be much too wide for Jaskier, collar dipping down over his chest. Geralt wonders if it’s long enough to cover his hips. “I always wear it when I go to bed now.”

Geralt inhales sharply, sliding his hand down into his briefs. All the embarrassment of their misunderstanding has done very little to dissuade his erection— or maybe Jaskier just has this effect on him. “Why?”

“Like it,” says the man. Geralt can picture his little noncommittal shrug at that, his small lips puckering downwards in a pout. He strokes himself at the thought, and then his cock pulses in his palm when Jaskier continues, “I like that it smells like you. Except it’s started smelling like me now, on account of how much I get off while wearing it.”

“Fucking hell,” Geralt wheezes. “You can’t just say things like that, and— and not—”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Jaskier, even though he doesn’t sound the least bit contrite. “You make me crazy, you know that?”

Geralt growls, low in his throat, and speeds up the movement of his hand. He doubts he’ll last very long at all, not with Jaskier saying all these brutally honest things in this intimate tone of voice. “I wish you were here,” he admits, closing his eyes against the enormity of the confession.

“I’m right here,” pants Jaskier. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The word escapes him as a groan, and he hears Jaskier reply in kind, the man’s breathing getting heavier with every exhale. “I need you. Want you inside me.”

The line goes silent for so long that Geralt eases up, slowing down until he’s just holding himself. And then all in one breath, Jaskier blurts out, “I know I said I was in no state to leave the house, but I’ve revised that and now think it’s very, very crucial that I come over for a late-night visit. As in, right this second!”

Suddenly flushing, Geralt releases his cock. His fingers creep back to press behind his balls, teasing at his entrance. “Whatever helps you feel better,” he tells his friend. “… Wear the shirt.”

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Bright Smiles and Tired Eyes ~ Part 3

(THE FLUFF IS HERE!!! This one is all fluff guys! to make up for last chapter. but also.... there’s more angst coming and i’m sorry buuuuuutttt this ones...real cute! Enjoy guys!!!)

Ao3 - Whole Fic

Summary: Modern Au, Punk!Jaskier, Creature!Jaskier. Geralt needs a new roommate to help him pay rent. Jaskier answers his ad. Through a handful of circumstances and series of events… there’s bed sharing. And some angst. ...And so much more.

Word Count: 2581

Geralt hears Jaskier’s voice as he’s walking down the hall. He’s speaking in a hushed voice, whispering sweet nothing to… someone. Geralt’s heart drops into his stomach as his legs falter beneath him. He thinks about turning around, giving Jaskier space to do… whatever he’s going to do with whomever he’s with. He has hiding options flashing through his head like a shuffling deck of cards when his ears dial back into Jaskier’s voice.

“- and your little floppy ears are just ridiculous, so soft. I mean all of you is soft, obviously, but these ears! And these feeties!” his voice gets higher as he speaks, Geralt has heard people uses voices like that before, but never on a lover. He stops in front of their door, reaches out slowly, wraps his fingers around the door knob, and gives it a turn. He pushes the door open slowly, and has to bite his tongue to keep… some kind of strangled noise from escaping him.

Jaskier is sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, his legs spread in a wide V, drink in hand. His mohawk is pink today, a light pink, like the sweetest cotton candy, the sleeves of his green flannel are shoved up his arms, his combat boots are sitting by the door, rainbow striped socks covering his wiggling toes. He’s looking down at the space between his legs, eyes full of adoration, his lips moving as he continues talking to the… Geralt drops his eyes to the floor between his legs, brows furrowing as his eyes take in the animal settled there.

It’s the biggest rabbit Geralt has ever seen. Nearly 3 feet long, its legs stretched out behind it, face smooshed against Jaskier’s thigh as he digs his slender fingers deep into its brown fur. He watches Jaskier for a minute, the man clearly hasn’t heard him come in, lost in his own world, currently full of… a giant rabbit.

“What do you have there?” Geralt inquires, stepping a little closer, crossing his arms.  Jaskier’s eyes snap up to him, a smile automatically curving his lips, his eyes are wide as he looks down at the drink in his hand.

“A smoothie.” He says, eyes full of genuine innocence that makes Geralt’s chest ache. Geralt looks at him, widens his eyes.

“Try again.” he says, amusement in his voice. Jaskier’s brow furrows, he looks at the drink and then Geralt watches his eyes drop to the rabbit, he smiles softly as Jaskier’s eyes widen again and his mouth falls open in a gasp of realization.

“Oh this!” he says, pointing at the rabbit.

“Yes Jaskier. That. What is that?” he shakes his head but keeps smiling.

“Right well. Do you remember last week when I texted you and asked if you liked cats? And you said-“

“They don’t like me.”

“Right you said they don’t like you, cuz of the whole,” Jaskier waves his hand in Geralt’s direction, gesturing to all of him.

“Thing. Good so you remember that. Well this is… not… a cat.” He finishes lamely, pointing at the giant rabbit resting against his legs. It looked up at Geralt as he stepped a little closer. He waited for it to see what he was, and bolt, and found he was waiting in vain. The rabbit looked at him, its nose twitching as it seemed to assess him, and then moved its head back to Jaskier’s leg, closing its eyes with a sigh. Geralt furrowed his brow. Jaskier looked up at him with shinning eyes.

“I can see it’s not a cat. Why is it in our house?” He knelt down slowly, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at them both. Jaskier took a sip of his smoothie and set his cup down, clearly stalling for time.

“Okay so here’s the thing, a friend of mine owns an animal rescue. And their building is being renovated, because they’re expanding so they can help more little babies like her. So they had to foster all their animals out. It’s just for a little bit. And I did tell her that you might say no so she has someone else lined up if this little one needs somewhere else to go. I just thought… I don’t know. That we could help. For a bit.” He grimaces after his rapidly spoken rant, clearly waiting for Geralt to tell him no, waiting for him to tell him to get the rabbit out of the house. Geralt sighs and lowers himself fully onto the floor, crossing his legs.

“How long is a little while?” he sees light begin to shine behind Jaskier’s eyes.

“Two weeks, three at the most! And she’s trained and everything. She’s got a litter box and a big pen thing, I have it set up in my room right now. And my friend gave me food and everything so we don’t have to pay for anything out of pocket, just house her and keep her safe. She’s an older lady, she won’t be any trouble… I hope.” He smiles sheepishly at Geralt, his hand reaching out, fingertips brushing against Geralt’s knee before he thinks better of it and pulls his hand back. He’d been doing that a lot lately, reaching out for Geralt and then seeming to catch and stop himself. Geralt’s heart flinches in his chest every single time it happens, he can’t help the feeling that he wishes Jaskier wouldn’t stop himself.

“Three weeks.” Geralt affirmed. Jaskier nodded, watching him with patience, letting him think. He was good at that, or had gotten good at it. Over the months he’d been here. Jaskier was… very much not, the kind of person to think things through. He jumped into things head first and figured things out as he went. Geralt had a habit of silently thinking things through before doing anything. Jaskier had picked up on it almost immediately, and had not, not once, pushed Geralt to make any decisions faster. Sometimes he would even leave him to it, grabbing a book and reading or playing some music in his room, while Geralt thought. Geralt watched Jaskier’s fingers tapping against his own knee and looked at him.

“Okay.” He sighed. Jaskier’s smile shined at him, impossibly bright.

“Okay? Really? Are you sure cuz I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.” He held his hands up in front him, a gesture of surrender that wasn’t needed.

“I’m sure. Does she have a name?” he asked, his fingers beginning to itch as he watched the rabbit sleep.

“No. They don’t name them anymore.” His voice sounded sad, but there was a glint in eyes.

“Anymore?” he pressed the palm of his hand against the floor and moved his hand toward the rabbit slowly.

“Yeah. They kept getting… attached.” He sounded a little breathless, Geralt could feel his eyes on him. Geralt pressed just a little closer, his fingers finally reaching the fur on her back foot. Her head lifted again at the touch. She looked at Geralt for a moment and then moved to sniff him. Her nose twitching against his fingers, she pushed herself onto her feet, turned herself around and hopped over Jaskier’s leg, toward Geralt. She pressed herself into the space between them, squeezing through their legs and lowering herself down again. She wiggled, getting herself comfortable, and then dropped her head on Geralt’s knee, her eyes falling closed again. Geralt’s eyes were wide, he could feel them, his heart beating fast in chest at this small show of affection. He heard a small noise and looked up. Jaskier had his hand pressed to his mouth, his eyes shinning with- were those tears?

“Are you alright?” Geralt whispered, not wanting to raise his voice, worried he’d startle her. Jaskier wiped at his face, nodding and smiling.

“I’m fine I’m good. Sorry. It’s just so cute.” He waved his hand at Geralt, sniffling as he looked down at her resting between them. His eyes moved slowly up to look at Geralt, his tongue peeking out and running along his bottom lip before his teeth bit into it. He did reach out then, his hand falling carefully on Geralt’s arm. He looked at him, something swimming in those ocean eyes, and gave Geralt’s arm a gentle squeeze. Geralt looked back at him, and dried not to drown.

~*~

He was laying on the couch, book open on his chest, when he felt it. A gentle tapping on his leg. He moved his book to the side to see the rabbit, still nameless, standing up on her hind legs, her front paw smacking at his knee, her little head turned towards him, ears twitching. Geralt swallowed hard, he knew what she wanted. He’d seen her laying across Jaskier’s legs while he was laying here the other day. He looked around the room, checking for nonexistent eyes that might be watching him. He let his book fall onto his chest and moved his hand down his leg slowly. She shuffled to the side a bit, her neck stretching to nose at Geralt’s hand. He let her sniff him and then patted his knee. Once. She looked at him. Still a bit unsure.

“It’s alright. Come on.” He encouraged, voice quiet, not quite a whisper, and patted his leg again. She was on him in an instant. Her big paws gently moving herself around his thighs. Her claws poked him a few times, but only just, she was so careful. Picking her paws up in small steps, shuffling in a circle before settling on his knees. She lay on her tummy as he watched her. She looked around the room for a moment and then pushed herself onto her side, resting her head on her paws. Geralt felt warmth spread from his knees up to his chest, a smile tugged at his lips and he let it spread. He reached his hand down, fingers pressing into the fur at the side of her neck.

“He’s right you know. You are very cute.” Her eyes shut slowly as he moved his fingers through her soft, thick fur.

“You like it here with us?” he asked, she pressed her head into his hand.

“Hmm. We like having you.” He assured, moving his thumb over the top of her head between her large ears, giving them a scratch before moving back to his book. The warmth she carried with her seeped into him, his eyelids began to droop, eyes no longer moving over the words in front of him. He slid his finger between the pages of his book, keeping his place, and let the book rest on his chest. He closed his eyes, just to rest them, only for a moment, and drifted off to sleep.

He hears the front door open. He hears Jaskier stumble in. Hears him struggle to get his key out of the door. And keeps his eyes shut.

“Honey, I’m home!” Jaskier calls, his voice quiet in the fading light of the living room. Geralt shoves down a shiver. He knows Jaskier is talking to the rabbit. He’s been saying it since she came to stay with them. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to focus on the fact that his life has led him to a place where he’s jealous of a rabbit. He feels her shift on his knees, but feels her settle again.

“Guys?” Jaskier calls softly, Geralt can hear him walking further into the room, his boots squeaking softly as he walks toward them. And he keeps his eyes shut.

He hears Jaskier gasp when he sees them, and hears him digging in his pocket, no doubt looking for his phone.

“Oh for fucks sake.” He breaths, clearly struggling to get his phone out.

“Hi sweetie, are you and daddy number two sleeping?” he’s whispering, the quietest Geralt has ever heard his voice. Geralt has to bite the inside of his cheek again to stop from smiling, knowing how hard Jaskier must be trying not to wake him. The back of his eyelids glow, only for a second, and then go dark again. There’s a tug in his chest knowing Jaskier now has a photo of him sleeping on his phone, the tug grows stronger knowing Jaskier wants a photo of him sleeping on his phone.

He feels Jaskier lean down. The corner of his flannel brushing against Geralt’s face briefly as he reaches over him to pet the rabbit in his lap. He can hear him whispering nonsense to her, feels him lean down further to press a kiss to her head, and tries his hardest not to smile. And keeps his eyes closed.

“One for you.” He hears him whisper, feels him pull back, the flannel disappearing from his face with a small breeze as Jaskier passes back over him. He feels the arm of the couch below his head dip as Jaskier frames his head with his hands, Geralt can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his heart beat moving to his ears as he listens to Jaskier bend down again. He feels the gentlest press of lips against his forehead, the briefest brush of skin against skin.

“And one for you.” Jaskier whispers, and then he’s gone. The contented scent of him lingering behind in a cloud around Geralt’s head, assaulting his senses as he lies in the dark. He listens to Jaskier shuffle around in the kitchen, still doing his best not to wake him, and hears him walk to his room, humming softly to himself as he closes the door behind him. Geralt opens his eyes when he hears his door click shut, his hand moving to the fur of the rabbit still cozy on his knees, letting her ground him. He looks down at her, sighing when she gives him a knowing look.

He lies in the dark. His heart pounding in his chest, his skin burning from the kiss Jaskier had given him. Such a small thing, the smallest press of lips to his skin, but it felt heavy in the dark. Like Jaskier had dropped a weight on him. Not dropped really, Jaskier would never drop anything too heavy on him, he’d lay it on him gently, making sure he could take the weight before giving it to Geralt fully. Geralt couldn’t know this, not really, but he knew Jaskier. And he knew Jaskier had thought he was sleeping. And he knew one more thing.

He knew how often he’d fallen asleep on this couch. And how often Jaskier had come home late. And how often he’d woken with blankets covering him. Geralt lay in the dark, his fingers digging gently into thick fur, his heart pounding at the thought of Jaskier having pressed his lips against him before. Maybe more than once. Maybe several times. And he’d missed them all. Because he’d been wrong before, he didn’t just know one more thing. He knew two. The other thing he knew, as he lay in the dark, skin burning from the contact Jaskier had given him, was the it had seemed natural to Jaskier. Like he’d done it before. A swift but gentle press of lips, the ghost of a kiss that could be, the ghost of kisses that had been. There was a practiced familiar feeling to it.

Geralt lay in the dark and let himself smile at the ceiling.