#oblivious geralt

[threefandomsinatrenchcoat]

Geralt hasn't stuck around a human for this long before, so at first he thinks nothing of it when Jaskier comes back to him year after year, looking just the same. And when he doesn't die even after he must've passed sixty in age, Geralt chalks it up to the fact that any human would live past the expected when protected by a Witcher. He does get a little suspicious when Jaskier still looks the same after a century on the path together.

[samstree]

A Friend in the Wild

In which Geralt acquires a tiny friend.

(This fic was written in honor of this embroidery piece made by the talented @flowercrown-bard. Hope you like it my dear! <3)

Read on AO3

The mouse keeps following Geralt.

It’s a tiny little thing with brown hair and round eyes, squeaking like any other mouse slithering in and out of roadside bushes, and it keeps following Geralt.

With Roach tired from a full day’s travel, they only walk slowly side by side, with Geralt holding her reins. The sun hangs low above the horizon, lazily casting warmth on Geralt’s skin.

The tiny mouse stays by his feet, running on his little paws to keep up his long strides. Geralt could speed up the pace and make it so much more difficult for the creature, but his mood is too good when the sun is kissing his eyelids.

“That your friend, Roach?” Geralt asks absently.

The mare snickers, and Geralt chuckles to himself.

“Of course not. You’d never befriend someone so stubborn.”

The mouse squeaks as if offended.

“Don’t take offense, little guy. It’s not a bad thing to be.” Geralt muses to himself, slowing to look at the mouse who, somehow, looks confused. Maybe it’s because his face is covered in mud.

The mouse follows him until the night sets in, refusing to be left behind. The sense of déjà vu makes Geralt’s chest swell with something inexplicably warm.

“I have a friend who would have liked you,” he says. “He can teach you a trick or two about following a witcher.”

~~

The mouse is still there when Geralt makes camp. He starts the fire with Igni and realizes that his spot on the log is rudely overtaken.

“Not giving up, huh?” Geralt spreads his palm and leaves a few berries next to the mouse, who looks down at them and then up at him again. “It wasn’t a small feat, keeping up this far. I thought you’d be gone at the first chance.” He pauses. “Hmm. You truly remind me of him.”

The mouse makes another tiny noise, before picking up a smaller berry and biting into it. For a mouse, he looks too careful with his food.

“Eat well, then. We have a lot of miles to cover tomorrow, don’t we, Roach?”

The mare has wandered too far into the woods to hear him, and Geralt shakes his head in amusement. Gods know why he expects the tiny mouse to be there tomorrow. He’s fed now; he should disappear in no time.

It’s good, Geralt thinks, he can’t keep them as pets. Unlike a certain someone, he will never try to sing harmonies with small rodents.

“Good luck, little guy, wherever you may end up,” he says to the log where the mouse perches quietly. “And good night.”

Only silence answers him.

~~

The next morning, Geralt wakes up with dew in his hair. He packs away the equipment and runs a hand down Roach’s mane. The mare greets him but remains still.

On top of her head is the tiny mouse. He’s curled into himself and buried into Roach’s hair, and he’s sleeping soundly.

Geralt takes the horse’s rein and begins his journey with a smile.

~~

They pass a stretch of meadow by midday. The ground is peppered with wildflowers, and Geralt inhales the fresh smell of early spring.

“Don’t you want to go?” he says to the mouse, who has now woken up and sitting on Roache’s head. “You should. You belong in the wild. Life on the path is not for a fragile thing such as yourself.”

The mouse turns to the sunlit meadow and jumps right off Roach’s head. He runs straight into it, and Geralt only catches sight of a tail before he disappears into the grass.

“Oh,” Geralt says, blinking. “Alright.”

It’s only natural. Wild animals are no travel companions. Geralt has been saying it all day.

It’s just that he wasn’t expecting the mouse to actually leave. He curses himself silently, feeling ridiculous about the emptiness inside his chest.

“It’s just us now, Roach.”

Geralt takes a step forward, and then another.

The meadow is almost out of sight when the little guy catches up with them, with a broken stem of buttercup in his mouth.

Geralt laughs and picks up the mouse in his hand, catching the flower in his palm. The little guy stares at him as if anticipating something.

“Why thank you,” Geralt answers gently.

The mouse keeps staring.

“I said thank you.” Geralt frowns, confused. “Do you understand me?”

The little guy lowers his head. Geralt would say he’s disappointed if a witcher is one to believe mice could have emotions. He places the mouse on Roach’s saddle and journeys on.

~~

“What’s with all the flowers?” Geralt takes the half-bloomed dandelion from the little guy’s tiny paws, and adds it to his collection of six buttercups and three cornflowers. “A romantic, are we?”

The little guy squeals, jumping up and down before Geralt begins putting away all the flowers in his pack. There’s dandelion fluff sticking to his back.

“What?” Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather I held them all day? I need my hands, little guy.”

The mouse dives into the bush and, within a few heartbeats, emerges with another buttercup petal.

“More buttercup?”

The little guy squeaks, his round eyes fixing on Geralt expectantly.

Geralt pauses, before breaking out into laughter.

“Oh, that is a good one,” he says, cheeks sore from smiling. “I’d name you buttercup, little guy, but he isn’t here to appreciate the joke.”

The mouse squeaks sharply all of a sudden before running away from Geralt to sit on top of a rock. With his back turned to Geralt, it almost looks like he’s sulking.

“Hmm, I was right.”

Geralt wipes the grin off his face. Thankfully he’s alone; no one should know he just considered naming a mouse after Jaskier and the thought of it made himself giggle like a young maiden. What would it do to his reputation?

“Jaskier would like you,” he adds. “He’d make something for you with all these flowers, and he’d give you all these sweet names. Shame I can’t do either.”

When Geralt walks away, he peers over his shoulder to watch the mouse, who follows after a beat, although he now seems slower, somehow dejected.

Geralt slows down a little, just enough for the little guy to keep pace.

~~

“I do miss him,” Geralt brushes down Roach’s coat and turns to the mouse at his feet. “It’s been a while since we parted, so he must be in some trouble again. No, I don’t know how he does it either.”

The little guy chirps.

“He fills the silence.” Geralt takes in a deep breath. “He talks on and on so I don’t have to, and I…I just got used to it.”

He crouches down and lays his palm flat on the ground so the mouse can perch on his gloved hand.

“Too used to it. Now the silence is lacking.”

The little guy makes a sad little noise in response, and Geralt feels the corners of his lips tug upward.

“Thank you. You help, you know? Never thought I’d be so alone I’d start talking to a mouse.” Roach snorts in protest, but Geralt goes on. “But I am alone. Didn’t know that until he swooped into my life with his lute and songs and incessant chatter. Not having him hurts now, but he doesn’t know. I’ve never told him this.”

The mouse squeaks, grabbing at the laces on Geralt’s glove.

“You think I should?” he asks softly. “Perhaps. There are too many things I should have told Jaskier, things that he deserves to hear. You are right. I just wish he was here with me. It’s spring, after all.”

He lets the mouse rest his tiny head on his thumb and makes sure not to squish him.

“Guess we know where to next. Have you seen Oxenfurt? It’s a nice place. I’ll even introduce you after I tell him all these important things.”

Geralt thinks about the way Jaskier’s eyes light up at the sight of him and feels his cheeks heat up. He places an arm around his middle, imagining the hugs Jaskier gives him at every reunion, those strong arms squeezing tightly and lifting his feet off the ground.

“Maybe not all the important things,” he says wistfully. “Just that I missed him. If I told him the other ones, I think… I think he might leave. I shouldn’t risk it, right?”

The mouse stays still.

“Yeah, I agree. If he knew, I’d lose him, and I can’t. I don’t know what I’d do.” Geralt swallows, his lips pursing. “I’ve never said it out loud, so you’re lucky, little guy. You are the first to know that I…” he sucks in a shuddering breath. “I love Jaskier. I love him so much that I lose all the words when I look into his eyes. I love him, because he’s my best friend. Because he sees me, and I wish I could see him.”

Geralt’s heart aches for the briefest moment before his medallion begins buzzing against his chest.

His turns around in alert, holding the mouse closer to his chest. His senses sharpen immediately, but there are no threats near them, no monsters, no beasts.

Only the tiny mouse in Geralt’s hand vibrates with magic.

“Little guy?” he asks, eyes round.

The mouse lets out one last squeal, and a puff of smoke blinds Geralt, making his eyes water before it recedes.

Suddenly, Geralt finds himself with an armful of bard, the newly transformed human weighing heavily in his embrace. Messy brown hair sticks into Geralt’s nose, almost choking him and knocking him off balance.

“Hey, there,” Jaskier says after a second of disorientation, his eyes sky blue and full of mischief. His face is impossibly close, and he licks his lips teasingly. “Did you mean it?”

Geralt is still processing the fact that he’s holding Jaskier bridal style in his arms, not his little rodent friend.

Oh.

He’s holding Jaskier in his arms, who is very much naked.

Geralt’s throat dries, and he can only let out one quiet word.

“Fuck.”

[devilpetvolpe]

The scars I carried for you

“What’s this?” the baritone voice startled the witcherling, he hadn’t heard the other witcher coming up behind him. He’d thought himself alone, the last of them to be up that night and allowed himself to relax. His neckline fell loose and unbuttoned. Were he using his usual glamor then he would have thought nothing of it but since Vesemir refused him use of it, he felt an extra level of bare.   

He tried to tidy himself up, righting the collar when he heard the older approach. A gentle hand caught him by the neck though and stopped him. Eskel eased the fabric down farther, pulling it to one side to locate what he had seen. A thick hand bracketed where an old scar rests. The younger shivered when callouses caught the skin as Eskel brushed his thumb over it. 

Now was not the first time he’d wished for his glamor. He knew it was too soon to be fully without it. While he enjoys attention he dislikes feeling too seen, especially in this moment. ”What’s this?” Eskel repeated, his voice low in volume and timber as he asked nearly in Jaskier’s ear. Another gentle touch caused a shiver down his spine.    

“It’s,” an awful twisted stab wound, “uh, he” his throat constricted and he swallowed to alleviate it, “he liked the way it felt.” Jaskier explained carefully as if that conveyed all one would need to understand. 

It did not, “What? The blade in his hand?” 

Jaskier wet his lips. Shame weighed his gaze causing him to drop his head down further. “How it felt,” he repeated, emphasizing the word deliberately and carefully, “around him.” He allowed himself to get caught up in the memory for a moment. Mind tunneling in on one of many horrific memories. 

He’d stabbed him from behind, blade having pierce threw the meat scraping the bone of his clavicle on its way out. All orifices clenched in his pain and again when he twisted it. The other side had a scar too, small in the dip under the bone. Small enough to pass as a mole or freckle.

Eskel sucked in a breath between clenched teeth at the implications. He pulled the shirt further away, stretching it in a way that if Jaskier were fully present would start a fit. He examined the area fully, aside from the twist of the blade there were little white marks making up an oval in the flesh. Teeth marks, a bite mark deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to scar. “Jul-” but he was cut off.

“I have the witcher prerogative,” his voice was haunting in its hollow. Spoken from a far off memory, “the build but not the training.” Eskel waited with breath held as the younger continued in that halting format. “It’s much harder to nullify the situation when it’s with men. Women are much simpler creatures.” Jaskier halfway came back to himself when Eskel squeezed his shoulder. “ but no less awful.” the last sentiment murmured morose and with more conviction.

There were many a bedfellow whom shown interest in Geralt for the novelty of it and then there were those who were interested in the lack of consequence. So many who’ve been screened by the bard as the interested party ask for a good word. He had a knack for it at his point. Could tell the one from the other. And if he thought they would give up if he were to turn them away then he never would have allowed himself to play the distraction. 

Convince them that they wanted him rather than the Wolf. A quick twist of his ring and a flash of gold soaked eyes. Always with promises of testing his stamina, and other thresholds. Women clawing nails into his skin while they ride him, men who stab and cut or broken bones. He’d been told he thrashes beautifully the more intense the pain. And in the morning it would all vanish under a glamor, no need for concern and his precious White Wolf was safe and none the wiser.

The weight of Eskel’s forehead rested between his shoulder blades, grounding him in the here and now. His collar was righted and an arm wrapped around him keeping him close. “Thank you,” it was absurd being thanked for his suffering, “Thank you for taking care of him.” The other’s hand clenched in the cloth over his chest. He couldn’t help but feel like it was one of the only things keeping him together in this exact moment.

In an almost detached movement he reached up to wipe the tears from his own eyes. “It’s what you do for love,” for twenty years, he took the hurt intended for his love. Still hopeful and blissfully unaware that he had not a chance. For his hopeful position was already taken by the witcher that clung to him now.

[jaskier-cult]

Jaskier, trying to be cute: i can’t sleep, Geralt

Jaskier: *siddles up next to Geralt*

Jaskier: *pouts seductively*

Geralt: i can

Geralt: *goes back to sleep*

[flowercrown-bard]

Jaskier keeps telling Geralt that he loves him. Geralt - like the idiot that he is - keeps thinking it’s meant as a joke. 

3k. Read on AO3

„You may now kiss the bride.”

It took all of Geralt’s self-restraint not to groan, when the old lady standing in front of him and Jaskier slightly turned towards them and whispered audibly “When they told us that they had fallen in love at first sight, no one believed them. And now look at them! Getting married!”

Geralt didn’t answer. What even was he supposed to say? He doubted any cynicism about falling out of love as quickly as falling into it would be appreciated and he had nothing more personal to say. After all, he didn’t even know the couple. The only reason he even was at the wedding, was because Jaskier had dragged him here with the promise of wine. And because of the fact that it would make Jaskier happy. Seeing Jaskier smile and dance would make up for the people looking at Geralt like he was out of place here. Which he was.

Thankfully, he was spared having to answer, because Jaskier did it for him.

“It is terribly romantic.” He turned to Geralt with a bright smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “Say, do you believe in love at first sight, Geralt?”

This time, the reaction couldn’t be supressed. Multiple people threw him dirty looks as he snorted.

“Absolutely not.” Jaskier gasped, clearly affronted, and just to see his reaction, Geralt added “Lust, sure. Some affection, maybe. But falling in love within minutes of meeting someone just sounds shallow and like something only idiots would do.”

“Are you saying I am an idiot then?” Jaskier challenged with a lifted chin.

“Definitely.”

Geralt’s lips twitched upwards as Jaskier tried to not show his outrage too loudly, lest the festivities would be disturbed.

“You!” He stage-whispered and stabbed an accusatory finger at Geralt’s chest. “You are impossible! And just for the record, you were supposed to ask ‘why’.”

Geralt lifted his eyebrows, lips still curled into a teasing smile that no one but Jaskier would notice.

“Why?”

“Because I happen to have fallen in love at first sight,” Jaskier said triumphantly.

“Like I said, you are an idiot for it.”

“Oh?” Jaskier asked, a grin spreading over his face, making him look like a cat that knew it would get away with stealing the cream. “Even if I told you that it is you I fell in love with not even a day after I met you in Posada?”

Geralt huffed, ignoring how his heart skipped a beat. “If that were true, you would be even more of a fool.”

Jaskier certainly hadn’t fallen in love with Geralt. At most, he had been a duckling following the first thing it saw. Between the punch and almost getting him killed, Geralt had done nothing that would make anyone -least of all Jaskier- fall in love with him.

For some unexplainable reason, the thought tasted bitter.  

He turned away from Jaskier, his big blue eyes and that cheeky smile suddenly too much for him.

“Oh,” Jaskier said quietly. There was an awkward pause, in which Geralt could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him. “You don’t need to be grumpy about it. You know I was only joking, don’t you?”

Geralt grunted. Of course he knew it was a joke. With an unsettling feeling spreading thought his chest, he realised that maybe that was exactly the problem. It didn’t matter. Geralt wouldn’t let it bother him.

--

It was bothering him. Not that first time; he could have just ignored that and gone on with his life. But it kept happening. The words were always accompanied by a nudge in the ribs, laughter or that exaggerated cheeriness in Jaskier’s voice.

When they parted ways for the winter, Jaskier said in his overdramatic fashion “The only thing keeping me warm in the winter will be my love for you.”

His tongue peeked out between his lips and his grin was as mischievous as could be. Geralt had left quicker than intended, only so he could get away from the joke that hurt more than it should.

--

When Geralt decided to safe a family from a cockatrice, even though they couldn’t pay, Jaskier looked at him with a smile that was far too wide to be genuine.

“See, that’s why I love you!”

--

When Geralt listened to Jaskier rant about Valdo Marx for the tenth time in a week it happened again.

“Listen, Jaskier, I don’t know about music, but the one time I heard him play, I pretended that there was a monster nearby that I needed to hunt just so I would get out of listening to him. So stop worrying. You are much better than him.”

Jaskier stared at him with a slightly open mouth for a moment, before that grin split his face. Dread settled in Geralt’s stomach. He knew that expression. He tried to brace himself, but Jaskier’s words, spoken with too much enthusiasm and accompanied with a wink that marked them as a joke, still hurt Geralt like the blow of a sword.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

Too many times. And not once actually meaning it.

--

“Say, Geralt, why are you not in a relationship?”

Geralt paused sharpening his sword and looked up to where Jaskier was leaning against a tree. “That’s a stupid question.”

“That may be, but it is a sincere question.”

For once, Jaskier actually sounded serious. Still, Geralt didn’t know what he should say. The truth? That there was no one who would be foolish enough to want to be with a witcher? Surely, Jaskier knew that himself. It’s not that Geralt minded not having anyone who loved him in that way. It was better like this.

That is… he hadn’t minded. It was easy not thinking about how no one wanted him, when he wasn’t interested in anyone either. It was a different story, when there was someone who Geralt wished would like him back. It was a different story, when the one holding Geralt’s heart was staring at him, head cocked to the side and asking him about his love life. It was different, when the one person Geralt loved thought it was funny to declare their undying love for him over and over and never truly mean it.

He couldn’t say any of that. So instead he did what he always did. He grunted and left Jaskier to interpret it however he wanted.

“You haven’t been seeing anyone either for a while,” Geralt added as an afterthought.

“And what a shame that is.” Jaskier came closer, crouching down next to Geralt, making it impossible for Geralt to evade his eyes and his foreboding grin. “You know what? Let’s make a deal. If we both are still single a year from now on, we will get married. Love at first sight ending in marriage is always wonderful material for a song.”

Geralt couldn’t repress the scowl. “You would do that for a song?” He willed his voice to be even, but he knew there was a bitterness to the words that Jaskier couldn’t miss. He ignored Jaskier’s stammered excuses. “It’s a stupid deal. I doubt you won’t have found a new paramour in a day or two anyway.”

“No need to get snappish,” Jaskier said with a smile, but his voice sounded tight as he stood back up. “I was just joking.”

Jaskier didn’t laugh at his own joke. Instead he looked almost crestfallen. No wonder. Geralt knew all too well the feeling of making an unappreciated joke. Inwardly he sighed. Still he cracked a smile, hoping it would at least make Jaskier think he had been funny.

--

“I honestly don’t know how you managed to put up with Geralt for so long. I only spend the winter with him and that’s almost enough to drive me crazy,” Lambert said and downed the rest of his drink.

Jaskier only laughed.

Geralt’s nervousness when he had seen Lambert enter the tavern had quickly changed into annoyance. It seemed all of his worries that he and Jaskier wouldn’t get along and that Jaskier might even get offended by Lambert being, well, Lambert, were entirely unfounded.

They were already on their third round and getting along well. Too well, maybe.

“You know, songbird, I like you.” Lambert’s words made Gerlt clench his jaw. “If you ever grow tired of Geralt” - Geralt didn’t need the reminder. As if he didn’t think of that possibility every day- “you can always travel with me instead.”

Geralt’s grip around his tankard tightened, his knuckles going white. His throat became tight as he awaited – dreaded – Jaskier’s answer.

Jaskier reached out and patted Lambert’s hand.

“Thank you for the offer,” he said with a chirpy laugh. “but you see, I can’t just leave Geralt. He is the love of my life after all.”

Geralt closed the eyes when Lambert snorted. For a moment he wondered whether it might have been less painful if Jaskier had instead agreed to go with Lambert.

--

“What do you mean you have something for me?” Jaskier asked, brows furrowed, but a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “I thought we were low on coin?”

They were. But when they had gone to the market earlier that day and Jaskier had stood in front of the stall selling inks in pretty bottles it had sent a pang through Geralt’s chest, when Jaskier had sighed and his longing look had turned into disappointment.

“I am going on a hunt tomorrow morning. It’ll bring in enough coin to make up for this.” He held the beautifully crafted inkwell out for Jaskier to take.

Jaskier’s eyes lit up and he held it like it was the most precious thing he owned.

“Blue ink? It must have been expensive.”

It had been. But it matched Jaskier’s eyes. It had been a stupid impulse, but Geralt hadn’t been thinking clearly, the memory of Jaskier’s earlier disappointment still nagging at his mind.

Geralt grunted. “Use it to write some more songs that get us coin and it will have been worth it.”

It already was, if only for the brilliant smile Jaskier sent his way.

“Thank you so much, Geralt. Really.” He took one of Geralt’s hands in his and squeezed it gently. Warmth spread through Geralt from where they touched. “I will start performing right away. I just need a drink first.” Jaskier paused, a soft look stealing its way into his eyes. “Really, Geralt, you can’t just do such nice things for me and expect my heart to be able to handle it.”

Geralt’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something, but this was too close already. Anything Geralt would say now could easily make Jaskier turn this into a joke again and Geralt desperately wanted to keep this moment as it was, with Jaskier being happy and not making fun of what he could never truly feel for Geralt.

So instead of saying anything that could cut the threat that kept this conversation genuine, he nodded in the direction of their room.

“You go drink and sing. I’ll get some rest.” Did he imagine the look of disappointment flashing over Jaskier’s face? “I’ll need to get up early tomorrow if I want to be done with the contract by nightfall.”

After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, plagued by the memory of Jaskier’s hand in his, he had finally drifted off to sleep. He hadn’t even woken up when Jaskier had eventually gone to bed. Just as Jaskier didn’t wake up when Geralt left the room now.

Finding the monster wasn’t hard, but the cold winds marking the coming end of autumn were making it hard to keep his hands steady on Roach’s reins. Geralt cursed under his breath. Fighting with cold hands was always a bother and he had hoped it would be a few more weeks before the cold would settle over the land. A few more weeks he would be able to spend at Jaskier’s side.

The wind picked up and Geralt let go of the reins, trusting Roach to find her way without his guidance and buried his hands deep in the pockets of his cloak in hopes of giving them some warmth at least. What he found instead was paper.

He frowned, producing the thing that someone must have stuck into his pockets without him noticing. It was a letter, slightly crumpled up and smelling distinctly of Jaskier and something bitter.

Geralt halted Roach and stared at the paper for a long moment, before finally unfolding it.

The letter was unmistakably written by Jaskier – in blue ink – though the writing looked nothing like the elegant notes he usually wrote. No, it looked sloppy. Rushed? Maybe even nervous?

If so, then surely Jaskier couldn’t have been as nervous as Geralt was now, reading the letter.

 My dearest, There is something I need to tell you before we have to separate for the winter again. Something I have told you many times already, but you never believed me. I hope you believe me now, when I don’t have anything but my words to mess this up. I love you, Geralt. I have loved you for years and I will continue to do so. I know that you don’t feel the same way and if this makes you uncomfortable, we can pretend I never wrote this. To be honest, I am not even sure why I am writing this. But I know what I feel for you. With all my love, Jaskier

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. He read over the lines again and again, unable to comprehend. This couldn’t be a joke. Jaskier wouldn’t be so cruel as to immortalize such a lie in a letter. He asked Geralt to believe him. And he did. For the first time, Geralt believed him. Fuck, how often had Geralt misinterpreted what Jaskier had said? How often had he dismissed Jaskier’s confession, thinking it had been a joke?

He folded the letter, trying to get rid of all the creases and put it back in his pockets.

The hunt couldn’t be over fast enough. The ride back must be exhausting for Roach, but Geralt burned with the need to see Jaskier, to talk to him, to please hear him say that he had meant what he had written in the letter.

As soon as he opened the door to their room, all words he could have said, left him. There was Jaskier, sitting on the bed, plucking the strings of his lute, crafting some new melody. He was beautiful. How was Geralt supposed to talk to him about the letter? How was he supposed to find the words when nothing could be enough to describe how much it meant to him just seeing Jaskier lift his head and light up at the sight of Geralt.

“Geralt, you’re back!” He put his lute to the side and looked Geralt over, like he always did when he had been fighting. He looked so…normal. Nothing in his behaviour implied that he was in any way nervous about the letter he had slipped Geralt when he must have been asleep.

Geralt swallowed. If this makes you uncomfortable, we can pretend I never wrote this.

Of course. Jaskier had taken the first step. More than a step really. Jaskier had run a mile in writing the letter. It was on Geralt now to meet him halfway. If only he knew how to broach the subject.

Jaskier filled the silence, before Geralt got a chance to find the right words.

“How did it go? Did anything interesting happen on the hunt?”

This was it. The opening he had been waiting for and the obvious hint that Jaskier wanted to talk about what he had written.

“Yes,” Geralt said. “Something quite interesting.”

He reached inside his pockets. He held the letter out to Jaskier with a small smile on his face.

Jaskier’s curiosity slowly transformed into confusion and then into recognition and horror.

“Oh shit.” It was barely more than a whisper. His eyes snapped up to Geralt’s, wide open and panicking. “You didn’t actually read that, did you? I… shit, I didn’t think I was actually gone enough to write that.” Jaskier’s hands started to fidget and his heartbeat became frantic. “Fuck. I was really, really drunk when I wrote that. Can you please forget about it?”

Geralt’s blood ran cold. He didn’t even notice his hand starting to tremble, until he felt the paper rip in his tight grip.

The sloppy handwriting. The bitter smell – alcohol. The way the paper had been crumpled-up in his pockets. The distinct lack of poetry. Jaskier would never write a letter – a love letter no less – this carelessly when he was sober.

Bitterness rose in Geralt’s throat.

“So you didn’t mean it?”  His voice was tight and he was barely able to get the words past the lump in his throat.

Jaskier gave him a chipped smile. Every moment now he would open his mouth and double down on that fucking joke that ripped Geralt’s heart into pieces. He wouldn’t be able to handle hearing it again.

“Please, Jaskier, don’t. I can’t keep doing this. It was funny the first time around, but since then it had become worse with every time you say it.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s fragile smile crumbled, leaving him looking broken and hurt. “I am sorry. I didn’t know it made you that uncomfortable.” He let out a hollow laugh. “I figured that if you thought it was just a joke, it would be alright for me to say it. I am sorry. I won’t say it again.”

This was good. Geralt would finally be free of having to hear Jaskier make fun of Geralt’s feelings. Except…something didn’t add up.

“What do you mean, if I thought it was a joke?”

Jaskier tensed. His tongue licked nervously over his lips and his eyes flitted about the room, trying desperately to evade Geralt.

“I just… I thought I was good at hiding how I felt. I thought I would be fine pretending. But then you just have to be so you and do these things that just make it impossible not to tell you. Saying it and having you think I didn’t mean it was better than not saying it at all.” He hesitated, his eyes finally settling back on Geralt, who could do nothing but stare at him. “Can I… Can I say it just one more time? Just this once with both of us knowing that I mean it? And then I promise you I will never say it again.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry. There were to many thoughts racing in his head, trying to understand, trying to find a way in which he could have possibly misread what Jaskier had just been saying. He couldn’t risk getting his heart even more broken over one more stupid misunderstanding. And yet….

“What if I don’t want you to?” He asked carefully, not daring to hope.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s face fell. “Yeah, no, of course. I won’t say it. Sorry, forget I ever asked.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Geralt took a shuddering breath. “What if I don’t want you to stop saying it? What if… what if I would say it back?”

Jaskier’s hands twitched and for a heartbeat he didn’t say anything, before he finally whispered “Would you?”

“Yes.”

A smile broke through the uncertainty and a laugh bubbled up in Jaskier. A genuine, nervous laugh that was nothing like the one he usually used when saying the words.

“I love you, Geralt.”

It was no joke. There was no exaggerated wink, no nudge in the ribs, no reassurance that he didn’t mean it. Just hope and a smile that widened when Geralt finally said it back.

“I love you too.”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Since you asked 'It will come back' by our Hozi boi (i feel like this is a creature Jask vine hardcore)

Y’all plz listen to this song if you haven't heard it its so fucking good and i fux with it hard. I see your creature Jask and raise you canon Geralt. 

As a fellow touch starved idiot like Geralt I just couldn’t resist. This got LONG, much longer than I thought and I have lost all objectivity. I hope you like it! 😂

Warnings: Hella self loathing, mainly just big time moodiness, we got swearing as always in my fics lol

__________

Geralt couldn’t say he was surprised when the bard fell into the seat across from him in Posada, annoyed but not surprised. With his pristine clothes and expensive shoes he looked like a noble’s son on a rebellious streak or a mission to ‘find himself’, so it was part of the script for him to approach Geralt. He was different, dangerous, a new shiny toy that would be cast aside rather quickly. 

But he stayed. Not only did he stay, but he was also kind and jovial, even protective at times. Geralt was surprised by this, of course, but it was clear the young man wasn’t aware what he said had any effect on the witcher. Jaskier must not have been taught, Geralt concluded, that witchers were abominations. The bard couldn’t know his small smiles and stupid jokes were wrapping the witcher around his little finger. He didn’t understand what he was doing, surely.

Geralt began insisting on roughing it more often. There was a week, about four months in, where he thought Jaskier had finally had enough of him. Good, he’d thought, he can leave before he becomes a weakness. But he had been careful not to put into words ‘before he becomes my weakness.’ 

When Jaskier stormed off into the woods and came back a few minutes later with an angry gleam in his eyes but forgiveness on his tongue Geralt was stunned. 

When those eyes softened in… pity? sadness? understanding? Geralt was terrified. In that moment he was sure he would rather endure another round of trials than lose this stupid little human. 

So he did the only thing he knew how. He withdrew and drew a wide circle around himself that he did his best to keep the bard out of. He snapped at him, critiqued his songs, drove him near the breaking point of human exhaustion, but this human wouldn’t leave. And his persistence wore him down occasionally. 

There were nights he leaned into Jaskier’s warmth. When he was too tired to fight and the bard’s words were sweet as honey they would talk. He told stories from Kaer Morhen that none but his brothers knew, told Jaskier how he got all his scars, told him about his first heartbreak.  It felt too good. Too comfortable. He began to fight it less and less, finding he enjoyed letting go of this particular shield around the bard.

Then Jaskier hugged him, and he hugged back. 

Every bone in Geralt’s body was screaming. His arms were warm and comforting, almost bringing tears to his eyes as Geralt failed to pull away. His body was begging for more, to be held and treated gently, but his mind was in a fog of panic.

Geralt couldn’t let it happen again. 

He wracked his brain trying to think of ways to get Jaskier to leave and stay gone, if not for his own safety then for Geralt’s sanity. He realized with a mix of horror and confusion that he’d become inexplicably attached to Jaskier. 

Geralt felt a bitterness creep in over the next few months. 

There was no way the bard didn’t know the effect he had on him. Geralt was helpless. He couldn’t tell him no, couldn’t sleep without him near, couldn’t think about anything but him when their hands brushed or their knees knocked beneath a table. He wasn’t bitter because of the bard’s hold on him, no, he was bitter because he knew as soon as he gave in and let himself fall into Jaskier like he wanted to he would never be able to climb back to the surface. 

He already noticed how he’d changed. He was more patient, more self-assured, better able to understand the way a husband might lash out over his missing wife. It irked Geralt to admit it, but the bard had chipped away at a small section of his armor and made him soft again; almost vulnerable.

The bitterness turned into a possessiveness he’d never experienced and, frankly, it scared him. Geralt began to miss him when he wasn’t near, felt a kind of desperation when the bard wouldn’t look at him that made him want to pull his hair out. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. They were laying out their bedrolls near the fire and Jaskier winked at him, fucking winked.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded, throwing his bedroll at their pile of packs.

“Oh calm down, you big brute. It was a joke. Or are you too old for those?”

Geralt tried to answer but found he was unable. The torrent of emotions swirling in his chest wanted out and he was choking on them, anchored to the spot. He just stood and stared at Jaskier as he went about his business for a moment longer.

“What, Geralt?”

“You can’t keep doing this to me…” his words barely left his mouth but he regretted them as if he’d shouted from the mountain tops.

Jaskier’s face was unreadable, “What is it that I’m doing to you?”

Geralt grit his teeth and clenched his fists. The problem was he had no idea what the bard was doing to him. 

“If you’re going to leave, or resent me… just go now. I can’t take it. You’re perfectly capable of finding a nice wife to fill your father’s castle once he’s gone. Stop wasting your time on me and… and making me…”

Jaskier stepped closer, a frown creating a new line between his brows, “Making you what, Geralt?” his tone was almost impatient, but there was an edge of something Geralt dare not identify.

The witcher could barely breathe, he just stared into the fire to his right and screwed up his face in shame. He couldn’t say it. He’d probably never be able to say it. 

Then Jaskier’s fingers were trailing down his forearm and gently grasping his ring and pinky fingers as he whispered, “If you need time, take it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt’s chest tightened and he snarled before he could think of stopping himself, “For fuck’s sake, don’t be kind to me.”

Jaskier tilted his head, still not letting go of Geralt’s hand, “Why wouldn’t I be kind to you?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with it!” Geralt felt as if he were tumbling off a cliff even though he was staring at his feet firmly planted on the ground, “If I accept your… your.. Whatever this is and you leave I’ll be broken. Please, for the love of Melitelle, just go so I can breathe. You don’t know what it is you’re offering when you say these things.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Jaskier insisted, not budging an inch. 

Geralt found he wasn’t strong enough to pull his hand from the bards grasp, not even to make an attempt, “You know better than to hold me like this…”

“Clearly I don’t.” Jaskier argued, that edge of frustration in his voice coming back, “Why is this so fucking hard for you? I’ve seen you bed men, tell me it’s not just me that’s so abhorrent to you.”

“You can’t afford to be tied to me like that… and I can’t afford to lose you…” Geralt whispered, doing his best to shove the tears back down his throat. 

“I believe what I deem worth paying is up to me,” Jaskier tilted his chin up, looking directly into his eyes with such a tenderness that Geralt’s knees almost gave out, “Stop pushing me away.”

Their faces were terrifyingly close, so close Gealt could feel the bard’s breath on his neck as he tried to steady the shaking of his hands, “I want to…” he breathed, “...if I-”

Jaskier didn’t give him time to finish. He sealed his lips to his witcher’s and pulled him as close as he could. Geralt felt his heart twist in his chest, painfully so, like he would burst as soon as Jaskier pulled away.

To his surprise, when they parted, he didn’t keel over dead.

Jaskier brought his other hand up to rest against Geralt’s jaw, “I have every intention of keeping you. Forever.”

Geralt groaned in defeat, leaning his forehead against the bard’s, “Good. You’ll never get rid of me now.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Does Jaskier ever steal Geralt's clothes? Does it make the witcher... Emotional? Feel things? Idk you decide 🤷🏼‍♀️

Oh boy :D also yes that is a Britney Spears reference because they have the Same Vibe.

---

“My loneliness is killing me,” Jaskier whines, leaning over the edge of the bed. A strange scent catches Geralt’s nose and he glances up. Jaskier doesn’t smell ri-

Oh. Oh no. Jaskier is draped in one of Geralt’s old black practice shirts. One from Kaer Morhen, that he’d brought as backup. It’s probably as old as the bard and it nearly fits him. Nearly. The shoulders are just a little too wide, allowing the neckline to slip low over the bard’s collarbones, revealing his ch-

Geralt snaps his eyes up and away from his companion’s absolutely delectable respectable body. He gulps and shakes his head. 

“Just find someone to bed down for a night. I’m sure you can seduce some less-than-innocent barmaid into your bunk for the night.”

“Not in the mood for maidens,” Jaskier sighs. “Feeling rather...stable-hand tonight. Maybe a knight errant or a farmer.”

Geralt grinds his teeth in unwarranted jealousy and keeps his gaze aimed firmly at the ground, lest the bard catch a hint of his true feelings. He growls out a, “Go ahead, then.”

“Maybe a blacksmith. A hunter. A handsome, white-haired monster slayer.”

“Fine! If you want some- a what?”

“You heard me, Geralt of Rivia. Maybe I want a white-haired monster slayer to bed me down tonight.”

“Who is it!?” the Witcher pleaded. “Who are you leaving me for, Jaskier?”

“Oh my gods,” the bard sighed, slowly heaving himself off the bed. He crossed the room to Geralt and grabbed him by the collar. “You are the dumbest motherfucker I have ever met in my life. And I love you endlessly. Come here.”

And Jaskier tugged him down into an insistent, beautiful kiss.

Oh. Okay. Yeah, Geralt smiled, his lips still pressed against Jaskier’s. This is good.

[geraskierficrecs]

Fake Relationships AUs

i’m a slave 4 u by pasdecoeur

“Calling me a bloody eunuch the last time wasn’t enough?!” Jaskier rants, trailing after Geralt into the cold night. “You had to— You had to—”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt sneers. “The next time you sleep with some idiot lord’s wife, I’ll just let him run you through with his sword, shall I?”

“You could have said anything!” Jaskier shrills at him. “Did you have to tell him that— That I was—”

“My Nilfgaardian love slave?” Geralt prompts helpfully.

“THAT!”

And Jaskier watches, transfixed, as a slow dirty smile curls up the side of Geralt’s mouth. “What? You don’t think you’d like it?”

(or, five times geralt and jaskier had to pretend to be in, like, a violently sexual relationship, and one time... well.)

method by some_stars

"Look," Jaskier says, a little desperately, "you've pretended to be my bodyguard before, right? This isn't so different."

Geralt says, "It's different." But he doesn't, actually, say 'no.'

(For the prompt: "Jaskier has secretly been engaged this whole time (he is a viscount after all) and Geralt agrees to pretend to be dating Jaskier so his fiance will let him cancel the engagement.")

That’s My Boyfriend by toyhto

Geralt thinks Jaskier is his boyfriend. Jaskier doesn't know how and when that happened.

Dicks (in every direction) by relenafenal

“I hope he’s into men,” Jaskier said. “Or at least willing to play along with pretending to be for long enough for you to get a picture.”

“You’re going to walk up to that?” Essi asked. “You have more balls than brains.”

That was probably true.

Bardic Idyll by Lisztful

Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.

Pretend boyfriends fic, with battling bards, well-meaning friends, and fluff and angst in equal measure.

My Boyfriend From Rivia is Totally Real by anarchycox

Jaskier accidentally lies to Valdo Marx that he had Geralt are in fact dating. And then he decides to roll with the lie and it just keeps growing and growing.

Remember me I ask, Remember me I sing by LadyAhiru

When Geralt finally pulls his head out of his own ass and goes to find his bard after their big fight he is surprised that Jaskier is happy to see him. He shortly realises that the singer had an accident and doesn't remember a thing, a misunderstanding leads him to believe he is Geralt's lover and the Witcher, to scared to lose him again, doesn't correct him.

i am weak, my love (and I am wanting) by vachement

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier knew when he’d fucked up. Sure, the knowledge usually led to him digging a bigger hole for himself, but he was at least self-aware enough to know that he was, at heart, a massive idiot.

Which was why he was currently knocking on the door to Geralt’s apartment, a box of chocolates held awkwardly in one hand.

“Geralt!” he greeted as soon as the other man opened the door. He held out the chocolates first as a preemptive peace offering, knowing well that he’d need it. “Date me.”

Geralt shut the door in his face.