a/n: i started writing this many months ago so decided to tidy it up and here you go! i don’t know if i like this, but can add a chapter 2 (including smut) if people want more :)
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Stretched out on his bedroll, Geralt crossed his arms beneath his head and watches silently as you attempt to untangle your hair. Your legs are folded neatly under you and your face has been twisted into a concentrated grimace since you started.
He chuckles and when you stare at him harshly, he hesitates, averting his gaze. “Am I amusing you, Geralt?” The tone of your voice almost reminds him of Yennefer.
“Not at all.” He goes back to staring at the ceiling and trying to forget about the raven haired mage. It had been quite some time since he’d last seen her.
Under your breath, a hiss escapes as your fingers tear through one particular knot.
“Need a hand?” He asks and your face falls.
“Is it that obvious, I don’t usually do this myself?” you giggle softly, and he rolls onto his side to face you, propping himself up on his elbow.
“A little, princess.”
“No. Not a princess. Not anymore.”
He hums in agreement and tries to push the thought of what it would be like to run his fingers through your hair from his head. You glance at his form then, and he notices your cheeks flush, the tent suddenly feeling much smaller and a whole lot warmer.
Last night, you’d woken in a cold sweat and the smell of burning bodies clouding your senses. Come morning, Geralt had noticed your haunted expression and innocently mentioned sharing your tent, only but to keep you safe. When Jaskier himself had cut in with a quick, “I can share…” you’d been quick to accept Geralt’s offer.
He did make you feel safe. Even with the flickering flames on the sides of the tent, teasing your memories of what had happened only a few days ago. Plus, with Jaskier, his lute and his ego, you hardly believed there’d be room for you in the tent as well.
After this moment of silence, your hands return to combing through your tresses and Geralt returns to losing himself in thought and ignoring the warming pull, low in his belly. When you next look his way, his eyes are shut, and you spend a while wondering if he’s truly asleep. You clear your throat – nothing.
“Geralt?”
One eye cracks open, “hmm?”
“Oh, I was just checking… I thought you were asleep.”
There’s a pause where he thinks about telling you that Witcher’s don’t need sleep, and then he simply settles on asking, “do you need something?”
“A comb at the very least, so nothing realistic.” The glint in your eye is light and Geralt chuckles breathily.
“Well, I’ve a great many talents, princess, but producing something out of thin air is definitely, not one of them.”
“Many talents?” you question, tone playful and egging him on. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, you hadn’t noticed the way his undershirt clung to his form before. Your heartbeat thumps in your chest and his golden eyes follow the curve of your body, down the dip at your waist… You clear your throat again, “do I want to know what you’re thinking?” your gaze drops, and you nibble at your lower lip.
Geralt ignores the desire that begins building within him. Your cheeks blush a light cherry red, and he can feel that ache, warming his veins.
“That I think I could braid your hair better than you.”
Your jaw almost drops – almost.
He smiles and your hands fall away from your hair.
“Is that some kind of bet, Geralt?”
The way his name sounds gentle and soft in your voice rouses a slight warmth in his chest.
As he opens his mouth to respond, you cut in. “Fine. Prove it.” You turn around to face the side of the tent and find your shoulders tense as you hear Geralt eventually shuffling to sit behind you. Not after staring at your back for a while, pondering as to whether he should indulge your wish.
He begins to feel a little out of depth, staring at your hair in the candlelight and willing himself to remember where to start. From the memory of once watching Yennefer, he separates your hair into sections and begins to fumble the beginning of a braid down your back.
The rough pads of his fingers drag through your hair, and you fight leaning into it. Clarissa, your handmaiden, always had such a delicate touch, you would hardly notice her artfully styling your hair, until she’d show you in your small handheld mirror. For a moment you’re lost, the sound of her screams as you’d been dragged from the room filling the silence.
Geralt notices the way you suddenly stiffen, spine straightening and hands balling into fists in your lap. He hums a tune, likely picked up from his travels with Jaskier, or perhaps it was the one he’d overheard you singing in the garden of your home, where you’d been picking flowers in the late afternoon warmth.
“Have you ever been in love, Geralt?”
He’s surprised at the question and his fingers pause for a moment.
“Geralt?”
“I’m a Witcher, princess.” Before he can continue, you’re glancing over your shoulder, his hands move with your hair to avoid hurting you.
“And that means you’re incapable of finding love? Or are you just incapable of letting love in?”
He chuckles at the way your brows knit together and uses his gentle grip in your hair to straighten your head.
“I am not made to fall in love”
But when he blinks, he can see her. Violet eyes holding his stare captive, and her scent of lilac and gooseberries entangling his senses. The feeling of his hands in her hair and the sound of her in his ear.
The moment is frozen in time within his mind.
But the last few days, his thoughts have been flooded with you. The way you interacted with Roach, hand gentle and outstretched for her muzzle to sniff, the way you’d hummed along with Jaskier’s insistent singing, tuneful in his ear from where you sat behind him on Roach. The way your arms had fit around his waist. The first time he’d heard you giggle, and he swore it had bathed the entire continent in warmth.
The way Geralt’s stilled behind you in silence, tells you that love does somehow sit inside him. “I was to be wed to someone of my father’s choosing,” you sigh, “do you think that man would’ve loved me? or only loved what I can give him?”
One of Geralt’s hands leave your hair, to pick up the ribbon at your side and he ties it around the end of the braid, casting an eye over his handiwork. He’s glad he doesn’t have a mirror. It’s much simpler than the crown of braids that had sat upon your hair the first time he’d met you.
He thinks back to your question. “People will love you in any way that they can,”
“So not everyone’s love will feel the same,” you do turn to face Geralt then, who still sits on your side of the tent before you admit, “I’ve only ever felt my parent’s love.”
“You’ll know it when you feel it,” he moves away from you to return to his bedroll, and the warmth of him at your back settles deep within you instead. You swallow down your disappointment with a sigh.
He watches as you chew on your lower lip and believes you’re about to ask him how?
“You have good instincts, princess. Trust them.”
For now, you pushed the longing down, and settle on your side, facing away from him.
Everything within you had been screaming not to fall in love with Geralt.
But you weren’t a princess anymore.
And he made you feel safe.
You found it hard to deny how much you loved that feeling.
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omg i have this blog back <3
love you all VERY much
writing for:
- the witcher: geralt / jaskier
- the alienist: marcus
- star wars: poe
- detroit become human: connor
- criminal minds: spencer
- bones: booth / sweets / aubrey
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a/n: i am feeling very rusty at writing - it has certainly been awhile! grammarly told me this sounded sad and nervous sooo, enjoy!?
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It’s late into the night that he finally falls into bed next to you, the undertones of another women’s perfume making the usual, “welcome home” catch in your throat.
After all, there was a time when you’d merely been just another woman to Jaskier.
“Sweetheart,” he greets, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead and you let him, as you always do.
But when your eyes settle on the reddened lip stain right there on his cheek, he quickly props himself up on his elbow, studying the way your eyebrows have pulled together
It’s becoming the expression he knows you only wear when you’re exasperated with him. Most of the time it’s worn hand in hand with love. This time, he notices the slight glare in your eye.
Eventually, after a pause, he gestures toward his cheek with a flourish, “ohhhh, my adoring crowd.” he notes with a chuckle
And while you know, it was likely a harmless, middle of a song act, you feel that connection waver. For a moment, you think about biting your tongue and saying nothing.
“One person’s love will never be enough for you, will it? You’ll only be satisfied when you have the love of every lady on the continent.” It comes out a little snappier than intended, and you roll over before you catch the confused and slightly hurt, look on his face.
“Hey, I’m here now.” he tries eventually, and you feel his arm wrap around your waist as he gets more comfortable beside you.
“Well, I’m here loving you with everything I have, and it’ll still never be enough. Will it?”
He stammers something you don’t quite catch under his breath and pulls you in a little closer.
You sigh, and the feeling of him next to you softens your frustration. Because while it hurts, more than you’d like to admit, you can never ignore that you’re lucky to be one of the people that gets to feel his love at all.
“I’ll always love you more,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “I could lose all of it tomorrow, and I’d still be okay because I would have you.”
He’s speaking genuinely and it makes you pause, heartbeat in your ears.
Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes meet and his flicker down to your lips. Before he can catch you in a kiss, you say, “I just worry.”
This makes him pause, and he looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, how much he loves you.
That you mean more to him than he could ever express in a line, or an entire song.
“You are the only thing that matters in my life, the one person I love, and I can promise you that, “he settles on eventually, feeling like his words fall slightly short.
For someone who shouts his love for everyone to hear, sometimes you find it comes in more subtle forms where it’s less about telling the entire continent, and more about making sure you simply hear his words.
“Your open heart is both your blessing and your curse, Jaskier.”
You do love him
And sometimes that love just isn’t a thing of poetry.
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Hi! I just wanted to say that I just finished watching The Alienist and I'm currently a sobbing mess because of Marcus, and your fanfics of him (which are literally the only ones on tumblr) are just ✨beautiful✨ so thank you so much for them! Your writing is beautiful, keep up the amazing work <3
so so so excited that the witcher season 2 has wrapped for filming! looking forward to some new content so i can write for my lovely jaskier and geralt again!
summary: the one where the reader gets injured, doesn’t tell geralt and he eventually takes care of her anyway!
a/n: lots of requests came in for something along these lines so hope you enjoy it! something for jaskier next, i promise.
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The pain has you gripping at the reins to stop your hands from shaking and you can’t quite remember the closest town being this far away.
Geralt falls silent, the only sound between you being the occasional snorts from each of your horses and the brief “hellos” from travelers heading in the opposite direction.
You’ve become acutely aware of the stinging, wet pain at the back of your head, hidden from Geralt by the hood of your cloak.
All you can do is keep moving forward and ignore the way your eyesight swims with the effort of staying awake.
okay rewatching the witcher and how the heck did i not notice how geralt’s appearance changes when he enters irion’s/stregobor’s tower in episode 1 wtf wild
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