Ok Ik we’ve been joking about reverse tropes but the reverse one bed trope could and probably has worked for geraskier
Like they get a room at the inn and there’s two beds and they are both secretly really upset about it bc they both crave each others touch so much and the only time they really get to enjoy it is when they are pretending to sleep
Or the when they approach the innkeeper to rent a room for the night and they are all, “oh don’t worry about us just the one room with the one bed, wouldn’t want to put out your already showing us so much generosity” trying to j get the one room and one bed and out of the conversation but the innkeeper is like “No no I insist, the Witcher is doing our town such a great service and you master bard look oh so wary from the road we can’t have you tired before you performance tonight we have so many people looking forward to it! You simply must each have your own bed! I’m tact you must each have your own room on the house” *undignified protests* “none sense in fact we will have two baths delivered to each of your rooms at the same time yes what a splendid idea- no you must accept our show of gratitude ok here are your keys off you go bye bye”
*cue one miserable bard and one equally miserable Witcher*
Bonus points if Yennefer told the innkeeper that the boys hate staying in the same room and find it wholly impolite and such impropriety reflects badly on the whole town- j bc she’s seen the two idiots and is tired of their pinning bull shit - but is also a meddlesome little shit herself (affectionately)
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WITCHER FIC IDEA
(hello yes I found a character creator I liked and made yen and ciri and it spawned this, lemme know if it’s something people would wanna read)
Link & fic idea under the cut~
After peace has been brought to the continent, Cirilla has to decide between accepting her birthright and becoming queen, or continuing her Witcher duties. There’s so much to consider, and she doesn’t want to give up on everything she’s trained for in recent years, or her found family. Yennefer, who’s exhausted from the fight and content to let mages settle their own arguments away from humankind, offers to stay with Ciri and act as her advisor while she presides over her kingdom, still feeling guilt over the path Fringilla chose because of her.
They come to an agreement somehow, Ciri will continue her witchering duties, Yennefer will act as a stand-in queen, take care of all the political stuff and be a face for the continent to look to, the wolves each are granted positions in court to take up when and if they choose to.
Find the character creator here - there's also a M/F and M/M version!
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What if Geralt crashes both mentally and physically after every single contract, and crashes even harder if he's injured. This started the moment he went out on the path.
The only solace is physical touch, but most of that he has to pay for.
Even so, it's tinged with the smell of fear and disgust from even the whores.
His life's been hellish. Disdain, hatred, suspicion and ridicule has been his life.
Enter, Jaskier. Light, touch, friendship. But does Geralt dare to trust after so many decades of hatred?
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"What's that thing you keep saying to Yarpen everytime you meet?"
Jaskier's face, buried into the crook of her neck, surfaces for a moment to look at her questioningly. Yennefer does not grant him a glance back. Only, her hand continues to stroke at his hair absentmindedly as she stares out the window, at the setting autumn sun.
He knows at once, of course. There are few things that torture him in his life, but few as they are, they leave little room for mercy.
He sighs. "Well," he mutters, somehow unwillingly, "it happens to be my full name."
Yennefer's eyebrows raise in amusement, the corners of her lips slightly twitching. He thinks of kissing them, the way he has done and will do, soon, but perhaps not now, for he has settled warmly in her arms and the curious scrunch of her nose is far too endearing from down here.
"Hm. You're a funny little thing..." Her fingers scratch playfully at his head and he feels himself blushing. Then, finally, she looks at him. Daring. "I want to hear it."
His heart drops to his stomach, just a little, and he suspects she feels its absence under her hand because she keeps on staring, waiting. Her eyes glint with unspoken thirst, gentle like that of a little kid discovering a shell buried underground.
A shell, maybe, of an old self. One that he shies away from now, before her. He shakes his head.
"Ah, it's not important." What's gotten into her now to unearth this, of all things? "It's ugly anyway."
Yennefer rolls her eyes, fond, insistent.
"Come, now," she prompts and her voice is oh, so soft that his heart almost crumbles back to its place, just to feel the sound vibrate on her skin. A cunning smile. "Do I not have the right to know my husband's name? I may even use it."
At once, he laughs. Silent, surrenderring, certain there is no escape and it's so unfair and so, so sweet, the way she forces his own hand to dig inside his chest.
His face returns to its hiding place into her neck.
"Julian," he says, a bitter taste. "Julian Alfred Pankratz."
She hums, satisfied. Now that she's seen it, the relic, she averts her eyes.
"Why use it, then?"
Jaskier muffles a chuckle against her skin, trapped. He considers not answering. But it's not like she will not know anyway. And maybe he has been alone in knowing for too long.
The images of another life flash before his eyes and he winces in distress.
"Perhaps," he swallows, shrugs, "it sounds more imposing." Fraudulent attention, false power, enough to feign importance. Reeking more than royal. He smiles. "At least, I thought so when they called me that. A bit scarier."
He thinks, the name of a flower is not always heavy enough to rock the ears, and this is why he chose it for himself. Only, perhaps other ears are more welcoming to what is heavy to the tongue.
Then, again, it didn't make much of a difference, did it?
Yennefer sighs, brows slightly furrowed as though pensive, working it in her mind. It's almost a relief, the lack of impression it's left on her.
"Julian..." she whispers after a while, not so much calling him by his name as feeling it on her tongue, letting it flood her mouth. His whole body shivers in her arms. Soft, light, like a feather's caress, she feels it, dusts it like she would a rare finding settled between her hands. She squints her eyes, picks apart every sound. "Julian, Julian..."
A lump is suddenly choking his throat, and he can't help but smile, let out a breath that has been weighting on his chest.
"Strange," he breathes, laughs. "It sounds beautiful when you say it. It sounds..."
"Important?" Yennefer smiles faintly and meets his gaze. He smiles back, grateful. Nods. "That's good," she shakes her head, lowers her look just a bit as a thought clouds her eyes. "It's good... to hear your name uttered like it's something precious."
Jaskier parts his lips to say something but forgets it at once. He stays there, still, staring at her face and the way the evening paints her eyes in a deep haze, and makes her look even softer than he could ever have imagined her. Glowing, like a gleaming stone. That's what it is, then.
He grins and sits up to look at her properly, to take her in.
"That's right, Yennefer of Vengerberg," he whispers, slow like a prayer, tender like a poem, and brushes her hair back, finds her eyes.
Then, he holds her face gently in his hands, and she leans into the touch to lay her own name between them in return. And he kisses, at last, the smiling corners of her lips.
"Something precious indeed."
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