#and geralt guards each addition with his life

[open--till--midnight]

Run Ins

eskel x gn!reader

summary | you meet the witcher of your dreams during your first winter at kaer morhen

warnings | pining obv its my writing, no plot just pining and fluff, my specialty

wc | 3.9k

a/n i was at 2k words and i was on fire then i lost all traction, well not really but idk, this story literally wrote itself. This thing has no plot :)

***

Your presence in Kaer Morhen was less than necessary. You weren’t a witcher, and you certainly didn’t fit in. And while you did know your way around a sword, you didn’t bring anything to the table, especially a table full of witchers.

It was a confusing situation that led you to the witcher’s keep this winter. You had hired the witcher to help you track down a group of bandits who had robbed and killed your family. It took a while, tracking them from town to town. And after you found them you just kind of stayed with him. He didn’t seem to mind and if he did, he never said anything.

You were happy with your new life. More than happy. But now things were different. 

The previous winter you hadn’t made the trip to Kaer Morhen. Geralt hadn’t actually told you about the keep until he told you that you would be joining him. You thought it was just because he didn’t trust you, but Geralt knew that it was just because he didn’t want to separate from you. He valued your company and even considered you a friend, but the keep was a well-guarded secret to him and he hadn’t been ready to share it.

But now that he had, you were honored. And nervous. As much as you trusted Geralt, he was certainly still intimidating. He was a witcher after all. And the thought of being stuck in a deteriorating keep with a handful of other witchers intimidated you. Very much so. The only consoling thoughts were of your friendship with Geralt and the bard, Dandelion who would be joining you.

The great hall greeted you with some much-needed warmth. The frozen snow covering you quickly dissolved. Vesemir was the first to greet you, his open arms embraced Geralt and his hand outstretched to take yours. A nervous smile spread on your face and you were sure he could notice the faint tremble in your hand. He smiled back anyway, and certainly, he understood your predicament.

When Lambert entered the room, Dandelion was already making himself at home, breaking out his lute and spreading out on the bench at the table. The young witcher greeted you less than warmly, pretty much just a grunt in your direction before grabbing a far too full mug of ale.

Comfortable small talk filled the room. You learned that there were two more witchers coming for the winter. Coen and Eskel. Coen hadn’t been coming to Kaer Morhen for very long, but Eskel had grown up here. 

Coen entered soon after they told you this, and he greeted you warmly before taking a seat opposite you. The mood in the great hall heightened exponentially with each addition, even Lambert had opened up to you. 

By now, your nerves had completely died down, but then there was the loud bang of the keep doors opening.

“Wolf!” Your eyes followed Geralt as he stood from the bench and walked behind you to the final witcher. And when you saw him, your heart stopped. Your breath hitched and you had to turn around before anyone noticed how flustered you had become. 

You did have to turn back around when you heard Geralt begin to introduce you. He stretched out his large hand and you took it in your hot one. It was a quick interaction before he took the seat next to you. 

With a little more ale, your nerves, once again, died down. Though the presence of the broad-chested witcher beside you never truly let them fizzle out completely. His voice filled you up in a way you couldn’t describe and his laugh made you feel like you could fly. Out of the corner of your eye, his scarred hand raised and lowered his mug. You wanted to memorize the sight of it.

Geralt had cut you off about an hour ago, you weren’t known to hold your alcohol very well. It mostly ended in nights of the witcher comforting you while you sobbed, or yelled. You would remember to thank him for that later.

When Geralt saw you yawn, he excused you for the night, leading you to one of the only semi-livable rooms in the keep. He lit the fire with his sign and sat at the end of your bed.

“You doing ok?”

“Mhm. They’re all very nice.” You weighed your choice of adjectives for a moment after speaking, and Geralt laughed.

“That’s certainly….a word.”

“Well, ok, Lambert was nice once he was drunk. The others were wonderful.”

Geralt nodded, choosing not to bring up your strange behavior brought about by a certain witcher. That would be a conversation for another time. And besides, he was curious to see how flustered you would let yourself become in the meantime.

“I’ll be in the main hall if you need anything, ok? Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

And with that, Geralt left the room, leaving you in the warm comfort of the small stone room. The sheets below you must have been freshly washed, you wondered if this room belonged to someone else. But you didn’t have the energy to put any more thought into it, you had all winter for that, so you tucked yourself under the covers and promptly fell asleep.

You didn’t wake until late the next day when Geralt came in to check on you. Up until then, and to your surprise, your sleep had been deep and uninterrupted. 

“You’re alive?”

You groaned, pulling your arm up to shield the rays of sun Geralt had unleashed into the room.

“Good. Probably be a good idea to get up.”

You repeated his words in a high-pitched voice, leaning your head further back into your pillow.

“Leave you to it, I guess.”

When Geralt closed the door, you sighed. You didn’t know how you would react to another run-in with Eskel. You felt silly, like a child with a crush. And you hardly knew him. It was one night and you hadn’t even really talked to him. 

So with a soft grunt, you got up, pulled on some clothes, and left your room. The hall was colder than your room, far colder, and you couldn’t hold back the shiver that overtook you. You were thankful that none of the witchers were there to see, the gods only knew how little the cold affected them. The more you had of these thoughts, the more insignificant you felt. You were only human, after all. 

You made your way to the kitchen, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were up until you got there. The growling in your stomach told you as much. There was dried fish in one of the barrels, and figuring that it was good enough, you reached inside.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.”

Turning around you were faced with the terrifyingly handsome witcher.

“Wha- Why not?”

“Lambert drops bombs in the lake and waits for the fish to float to the top. Safe to say, they probably aren’t the safest to eat.”

“Oh, good call.”

Eskel turned around and opened a cabinet door, taking out a glass jar full of what looked like a broth. He took a great risk in tossing it to you, but thanks to your quick reflexes, you caught it. But just barely. 

“Thanks.”

He also tossed you a roll of bread before getting himself some food and sitting down at the table. You sat across from him after getting a spoon. After setting the bread on a plate, you went to open the jar. You had no luck. You tried again, still it didn’t budge. 

“Do you want some help?”

“Could you?”

Eskel opened the jar embarrassingly easily. He smirked when he handed it back to you. It wasn’t a teasing gesture, you could tell that much. If you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed it was an anxious smile.

You both ate in comfortable silence. Every so often a glance was exchanged with sweet, friendly smiles. When you had finished eating, Eskel spoke.

“Geralt mentioned you’re skilled with a sword, that true?”

“I guess so. I mean, he lets me come on hunts with him, if that says anything.”

“It certainly does. We should spar sometime, I’d like to see you fight.”

You held back a cough, eyes trying so hard not to widen. “I’d like that very much.” You wouldn’t. How were you supposed to spar with skill with him right in front of you? You’d always found men fighting attractive. You were fucked. Most definitely. 

Your conversation was cut short when Lambert burst through the door, causing you to jump. Eskel shot you an amused look before turning back to his brother. 

“-ah fuck it.” Eskel chose not to fight with him this time. 

“Well, well, well. The human’s here.”

“I’ll take that as my cue.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to. Lambert will shut his trap. Won’t he?” Lambert scoffed at the glare the other witcher sent him.

“I should actually find Geralt now. Thank you. Bye.”

Thank you, bye? You felt foolish. Your self-depreciation was interrupted by Lambert’s booming voice coming through the kitchen door.

“Oh, you are sick, brother.”

“Shove off.”

“Geralt will never let that happen, you know that.”

“Shut up, please.”

You hadn’t a clue as to what they were talking about, so you moved on, searching through this labyrinth of a keep for Geralt. He was outside, sitting on a stone wall, feet hanging off, beside him, Dandelion.

“You need to let me, Geralt. It’s only fair.”

“You freeze the second you see combat, bard. Do you really think you could handle a sword? Moreover, fight a monster with said sword?”

“Geralt, my friend, you underestimate me.” He paused, “Ah, y/n. You’re here. Maybe you can help us end this dispute.”

“I’m staying out of it. Sorry, Dandelion, but I have no interest in getting on either of your bad sides.”

“Nonsense.”

“Uh uh.”

That day, Geralt had nothing for you to do. So you spent your time exploring the keep, inside and out. Almost three times you got lost. Once outside, and two inside. At least when you were outside, you could see the keep’s walls and get a bearing that way. Inside was a different story completely. 

The sun would soon set, so you made your way inside where you found Dandelion and Lambert already sitting at the table in the great hall. Vesemir joined soon after you sat down. You assumed that Geralt and Eskel were getting dinner ready to be served and you were proven right when they did just that. 

Geralt was pleased to note that you got along with everybody, you even somehow won Lambert over. He also noted how Eskel’s eyes only ever left your form when you would glance his way. Both of which had been common that night. 

Eskel had made a quiet joke about Lambert’s fish at which you laughed, Geralt had been the only one to hear it. For most of the night, even after dinner, Dandelion told stories of the events that passed over the past two years. He embellished them, incredibly so, but still, you said nothing of it. 

Just like the last, this night Geralt led you back to your room and lit your fire. He watched you as you moved about the room, pulling back the sheets on the bed and getting your sleep clothes out. He had been worried he would regret taking you to his home. Whether it was you disliking it there or if you didn’t get along with his makeshift family. But that was nothing he should be worrying about, you did like it here and you did get along with everybody. Geralt was happier than he had been in a long time.

You had let go of the same worries that day. If it hadn’t been for Eskel, you would have none. But you figured you should be happy for what really mattered. You were comfortable, you felt safe.

Geralt said goodnight and left you to get changed and crawl into bed. You lay staring at the ceiling for the better part of an hour before falling asleep. You had never felt this way before, and you didn’t really know how to label this emotion. If it was an emotion at all. 

He filled you with fire, and you couldn’t put it out even if you wanted to. Your stomach did flips when you looked at him. All you knew was that you wanted to spend as much time with him as you could. 

Before you could understand your mind had run off without you. You pictured yourself on the Path, as you were with Geralt. But it wasn’t Geralt beside you, it was Eskel. You imagined the way his lips would feel against yours, how the weight of his weathered hand would feel on your waist. These thoughts made you feel guilty, not that you knew why they did, but they plagued you until you fell asleep. A restless sleep, too.

The halls never got any warmer. Every morning you were greeted with the same. It had been two weeks since your first morning and every single time you neglected to wear something warmer. 

This morning, you got up early, before the sun rose, and headed to the kitchen. On the way there, you couldn’t stop your shivering. It was subtle but steady, and incredibly uncomfortable. Your feet shuffled on the stone floor, meaning you couldn’t hear the footsteps gaining on you from behind. 

“You’re headed to the kitchen?”

“Oh!” You laughed once you saw who it was, now embarrassed at your yelp. “Yes, I am. I woke up hungry this morning.”

“You’re freezing.” You nodded. “Come. Wait in the library, it’s much warmer than the kitchen and the great hall. I’ll bring you food.”

Eskel opened the door for you, then moved to light the fire. You would never cease to be amazed at the witcher signs. When he left you wrapped yourself in one of the blankets draped over one of the couches before sitting in front of the fire. You hummed to yourself while you waited, a song your mother used to sing to you when you were little. It was all that you had left of her, that and a thin silver chain you wore around your neck.

Eskel heard your humming, not wanting to interrupt the sound, he waited outside for a moment. His sharp hearing let him hear you perfectly. When you were done, he waited one more minute before pushing the door open. 

“Sorry, Lambert held me up.” 

“No worries.” Your smile lit a fire in him, similar to the one you held for him. “Are you always up this early? I didn’t think any- oh, wait, nevermind. Geralt always gets up before the sun rises. I guess it’s no different with the rest of you, is it?”

“It is not. We don’t get much sleep anyway.”

You wanted to ask him why, but he looked so tired and you didn’t want to push. So you opted to take him up on his earlier request.

“Do you want to practice today?”

“Gladly.” Gods his smile could kill you. 

You instantly regretted your decision when you were in the yard. The sun, despite the fact that it was winter, was unrelenting. Eskel tossed you a wooden sword and prepared himself to fight. 

To your surprise, you did well. Out of five rounds, you managed to win two of them. Eskel was thoroughly impressed, for a human to beat a witcher, well, that was a big deal. 

“I give the credit to Geralt. He’s a great teacher.”

“Yeah, but he’s not the one that just beat me.” Eskel wiped his forehead with his arm before taking your swords and putting them away. “Just take the compliment, y/n.”

“Yes, fine. Thank you.”

“You know, you wouldn’t be so hot if you wore something other than black.”

You made a mocking noise at him before opening the keep doors for the two of you. The cold air hit you and almost instantly cooled you.

“Maybe that’s why you and Geralt get along so well. It’s all the black.”

You were suddenly overcome with doubts. “You don’t think it’s too much, do you?”

“Not at all. It’s your color.” If Eskel’s heart could beat any faster, his face would be red as a radish. 

And when your cheeks felt as hot as the sun, you realized you couldn’t respond. 

You didn’t see Eskel again until dinner, where he once again sat next to you. No words were spoken, but his presence comforted you, as yours did to him.

You and Geralt had created a routine in him taking you to your room and lighting your fire every night. Sometimes he would stay a while and talk with you, others he would simply hug you and leave.

Tonight, you had been drinking, maybe too much. Geralt had neglected to cut you off tonight, he had been too engrossed in his Gwent game to notice your inebriated state. When he took you to your room he had to carry you, your balance was less than mediocre and you had fallen over twice before even making out of the great hall.

Geralt helped you into bed after taking off your shoes, but you sat straight up again and held onto his wrist. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Geralt, I’m sick.”

“No, you’re just drunk. It’ll pass.”

“Uh uh. That’s not what I mean. I love him so much it hurts. So so bad.”

Geralt was now holding you in his arms while you sobbed. 

“Who?”

“Eskel! Who else, Geralt.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed anything sooner.

“Do you want me to tell him?”

“No, no, no, no. Pleeease no.”

Geralt didn’t say anything more that night. He held you close and ran his hand down the side of your face until you fell asleep. He slept in your chair that night and he was still there when you woke up. 

“What are you doing?”

His eyes were still closed, but he spoke with a smirk. “Sleeping.” 

“Why here? Oh fuck, I feel sick.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens, y/n. You should know this by now. Speaking of, you said something to me last night, well, more like a confession.” You quirked your head at him, a request to go on. “You said you loved Eskel. That true?”

Your laugh was hesitant and nervous. Part of you was glad someone knew, but hearing it out loud made it so much scarier. 

“I’ll take that as my answer. Alright.”

Geralt left the room, leaving you wide-eyed and mouth open. A dazed smile crossed your face and it didn’t leave until you reached the great hall. The rest of the witchers were sitting at the table eating breakfast. As always, you sat next to Eskel. 

This morning, he smiled at you immediately, moving over so you could take your usual spot between him and Geralt. 

Later that day, you were helping Geralt in the lab, making a supply of Swallow. 

“You look tired, y/n.”

“Ya, sorta.”

“Is this about what you told me?”

“Maybe. I just need some time to myself I think. I’ll probably go up to the tower and sit for a while, maybe I’ll bring a book along too.”

“I can finish up here alone if you want to go, that is.”

“Thanks, Geralt.”

By the time you made it up to the tower, you couldn’t keep yourself together. A few tears left your eyes only to be caught by your sleeve. It had been only a month, you felt foolish to feel this much for a man you’d only known that long. Sure you’d had conversations, but nothing warranting love. This was just a crush, that’s all. 

Your thinking was interrupted by the scrape of a candle holder falling and being caught. When you turned, Eskel was standing, holding the brass candle holder and smiling a bit too wide.

“Oh, hi. You scared me a little bit.”

“Sorry about that.” Eskel looked at his hands and put the candle holder back and then clenched them at his sides. “What are you doing up here?”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Geralt said you would be here.”

He had asked Geralt about you. No, no, no, you were overthinking again. 

“Oh, yeah. I just needed some alone time.”

“I’m sorry, I can leave.”

“No!” Shit. “No, you can stay, I’m ok now.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” You couldn’t make eye contact with him now, and like always, your face grew unbearably hot. “Maybe you could just… sit with me?”

“Yea, I can do that.”

There was a bed on the other side of the room, so you both sat down. You flinched when Eskel put his arm around you. 

“Sorry.”

“No, I like that. I just haven’t- It’s been a while since-” The only physical contact you’ve had in years was with Geralt. The occasional hug or touch while stitching and bandaging and that was it. 

“I understand.” 

“It just shocked me, that’s all.”

“It’s ok, I promise.”

Eskel put his arm back around you. You were happy about that. But after a while, you both started talking, and eventually, you both sat on the bed facing each other.

“A succubus, are you serious?” You had to choke back a laugh, and you did not do a very good job with it.

“Yea, and fisstech.”

“Wow. And I thought you were a witcher.”

“Then I guess you’re more of a witcher than I am.”

“I’ve got the double swords.”

“And you’ve beaten a witcher in combat, that counts for something.”

Gods, his laugh could kill you. The moment froze in time. The picture of his face pulled in happiness and that deep laugh going directly to your heart. You didn’t even notice when you stopped laughing, the moment of serenity brought you a sense of peace and it caused you to act rashly. 

You found yourself moving closer to him, and him closer to you. You could feel the rough pads of his hand on top of yours, and he squeezed lightly. The planes of his face felt weather-worn and scarred when you held him. But his lips were soft when you finally moved to press yours against them. 

His hands moved their way up to your upper arms, you didn’t think he noticed how hard he was holding you. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, it enhanced the moment. Your gasps were loud when you pulled apart and smiled at each other. You got lost in his eyes for a moment before he pulled your head under his chin and held you close. You both fell asleep there and woke up in each other’s arms.

#the witcher #eskel #eskel x reader #eskel imagine #eskel fluff #eskel fic #eskel fanfic #lilywrites📝

[bambirex]

The World Is Yours, If You Seek The Good: Chapter 16

Pairings: Geraskefer, Yennskier, Geraskier, Yenralt

Characters: Jaskier, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt of Rivia, Ciri of Cintra, Lambert, original male characters, Rience, Yarpen Zigrin, Emhyr

Additional tags: implied/referenced abuse, forced pregnancy, mpreg, creature fic, fae Jaskier, creature Jaskier, creature Yennefer, captivity, enemies to lovers to friends, polyamory, found family, hurt/comfort, it starts out angsty but it will get better, completely made-up lore, fertility issues, completely made-up skills and powers, angst, angst with a happy ending, whump, Jaskier whump, Yennefer whump, Geralt whump, Ciri whump, blood, nightmares, injury, wound care, past rape/non-con, trauma, sexually inexperienced Yennefer, sexually inexperienced Jaskier, threesome-f/m/m, mild sexual content, violence, threats of rape/non-con, minor character death

Rating: mature

Chapters: 16/20

Full word count: 49,876 words

Chapter word count: 2,982 words

Summary: Used and abused by humans, Jaskier and Yennefer believe they are alone and with no reason to trust anybody. That is, until they meet each other - and then, a couple of other strange misfits.

Chapter summary: Jaskier, Yennefer and Ciri are trapped. Geralt receives terrible news. A vision comes to life.

Author's notes: Warnings for minor character death and threats of rape/non-con in this chapter! Obviously, the angst train is still fully in motion, and won't stop for a while.

Read on Ao3

*

To punish them, Master didn't take them back to their room. He threw them in a dingy cell in the basement, instead, so they would learn their lesson. It was madly uncomfortable, and Jaskier felt his entire body ache as he tried to find a position that didn't tear his entire lower back apart. He also tried to leave as much space for Ciri and Yennefer on the small, ratty bed as possible. At least they deserved a good rest.

Jaskier kept praying that it was just a nightmare, and he would soon wake up and be back at the hut. The illusion of hope fell apart as he heard Rience shuffle outside the cell, standing guard over them. His ugly smirk followed Jaskier's movements. Jaskier huffed and turned his head away from him.

Never once he thought they would be back here, back with the man who used them, who stole their freedom. Ciri was captured with them, too, the poor child, who would have to be subjected to Master's horrible deeds. A cold shiver ran down Jaskier's spine just imagining what the human was planning to do to her.

He wrapped his arm around Ciri who leant against his side, her eyes red-rimmed form crying and exhaustion. She had a collar on her neck, matching the ones on Yennefer and Jaskier's. Jaskier wished he could tear it off, somehow.

"I'm sorry," Ciri whispered. Fresh tears fell from her eyes as she curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. "I tried to help you with my powers, but I failed. I couldn't control the chaos, this is all my fault."

"Don't say that," Jaskier cooed, gently cupping her cheeks. He wiped her tears off and kissed her forehead. Ciri sniffled. "This is not your fault, okay? You were so brave out there."

"But I couldn't save you..."

"Ciri, we're so proud of you," Yennefer chimed in. She scooted closer to them, rubbing Ciri's back soothingly. "You did everything you could. Us being back here... is not because of you. It's because of that fucker out there."

She glared at Rience and spat in his direction. Rience let out a growl as he pushed himself against the metal bars.

"You have a problem, witch?" He snarled, his eyes lighting up dangerously. "Come out, and play with me. We'll see if you're still in the mood to spit."

"What kind of creature turns against his fellow ones like that," Yennefer hissed. "Disgusting traitor."

"Yennefer, leave it," Jaskier warned her softly. "It's not worth it."

"The fae is smarter than you," Rience grinned. His terrifying eyes once again fixated on Jaskier. He licked his lips slowly, making Jaskier's stomach churn. "And his scent is sweeter... you can also come out to play with me, pretty one. In a whole different way."

He let out an ugly, guttural laugh. Jaskier groaned, covering Ciri's ears as he pulled her closer.

"When I'll get out of here, I'll fucking gut you," Yennefer growled. Rience only cackled.

They heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. Jaskier held Ciri tighter, his fear turning to anger. No matter what Master was going to do to him, he would not let Ciri and Yennefer be hurt.

Yennefer also moved to shield Ciri as Master approached their cell. Rience obediently went to his knees. Yennefer scoffed with disgust.

"Well, good morning," Master chuckled. He raked his eyes over them with a tut. "You know, you really hurt me when you left. That was not a very nice thing to do, now, was it?"

His eyes fell on Ciri. That ugly fascination lit up in his eyes again.

"What kind of creature is the girl?" He asked. Ciri raised her head, her terrified eyes lighting up with a wave of sheer anger.

"I can speak," she growled. Yennefer gently tried to warn her, but Ciri didn't listen. She slipped off the bed before Jaskier could hold her back and marched over to the bars. She stood up straight, glaring up at Master.

"And I'm the kind of creature who won't let you hurt my family!"

Master laughed, clapping his hands together in delight. Rience chortled in the background. Ciri's hands balled into fists against her sides.

"Oh, that's adorable," Master cooed. "How old are you, sweetheart?"

Ciri didn't reply, just continued glaring daggers at him. While Jaskier was concerned about her stubbornness, he couldn't help but be proud of her, as well.

"You're not a drepima," Master concluded after a beat of silence, taking in the sight of Ciri trembling with anger before him. "You have similar powers, it seems, but you're something else. I don't think I have seen anything quite like you."

He grabbed his keys and opened the door of the cell. Yennefer instinctively moved to pull Ciri to her side. She was tense as a bow as Master stepped inside the cell. Jaskier wondered if Yennefer would try and attack him- she looked like she might, but Jaskier hoped she would decide against it. With the collar on, and Rience standing ready to hurt them outside, it was better not to do anything brash. That didn't mean Jaskier wasn't constantly imagining snapping Master's neck. He knew they couldn't do much against him now, but if they got out of here, Jaskier also wouldn't show him mercy.

Master had a dagger attached to his side. The metal glimmered black. Jaskier recognized Yennefer's hair melted in there. He also had that terrible whip attached to his belt, the one he has used on him and Yennefer before multiple times.

He bit down on his lip when Master looked at him.

"Oh, Treasure, Treasure," he cooed, nodding at Jaskier's belly, "you really thought you could just steal the product?"

Jaskier felt searing hot rage flare up inside him. He placed a protective hand over his belly, narrowing his eyes at Master.

"This is not a product," he growled, surprising even himself. Back then, he would have bowed his head in fear, but he's learnt since then that he had much more value than to take everything that was thrown at him. He would stand up for his family, and for himself.

"This is my baby."

Master sighed tiredly and rolled his eyes.

"That's not your baby, you moron. You stole that from someone who paid for it. They were madly furious when I had to tell them their incubator ran away. You two," he pointed at Yennefer, "fucked up my business. But this is over now. You're back with me, where you belong, and you brought me another fun thing to play with."

"Don't touch her," Yennefer growled. She shielded Ciri with her body. "You can kill me, but don't lay a hand on her. Or Jaskier."

Jaskier yelped when Master suddenly hit Yennefer in the face. The weakened drepima stumbled on her feet. Ciri caught her before she fell.

"You're not in the position to give me orders!" Master yelled. He whistled, and Rience immediately marched inside. He revealed his sharp teeth in a snarl. He stood over Yennefer and Ciri to keep them at bay while Master walked over to Jaskier. Jaskier felt his stomach lurch, nearly causing him to throw up as Master touched his belly and his chest, poking, prodding, invasive and demanding, as always. Jaskier got so used to Geralt and Yennefer's gentle touches, he wanted to crawl out of his own skin as he felt Master's hands on him.

He only realized he was crying tears of frustration when Master cupped his jaw and placed a little tube against his cheek.

"That serves me just right," Master chuckled as he collected his tears. Jaskier was once again reduced to nothing but a product, a cash cow. He hated it even more now that he knew what being treated with care felt like.

"I am not grateful to serve you," Jaskier hissed, turning Master's age-old question against him. Master raised an eyebrow. Jaskier stood his ground, glaring up at him.

"But you will be grateful for the salvation of death when we get out of here."

Yennefer sent him a proud look. Master chuckled.

"Who sharpened your tongue? You should shut that sweet little mouth of yours, or I'll let Rience have his way with you. And I'm afraid in his haste he might tear you until you lose the product. That's the only reason I'm not letting him have you. But don't push me."

Rience smirked. Jaskier sucked in a shaky breath. Yennefer growled as Master walked up to her.

"Destiny will catch up to you, too," Yennefer warned him. She was pale, her wounds that she received after the fight with Rience harsh on her skin. Her eyes still blazed as she stared up at their captor. "And you're gonna regret everything you've done."

"We'll see about that."

Master grinned at Ciri. Ciri stared up at him, her nostrils flaring with anger.

Yennefer wrapped her arm around Ciri's shoulder once Master finally left.

"Was he the man that you saw in your visions?" Yennefer asked. To both her and Jaskier's biggest surprise, Ciri shook her head.

"What?" Jaskier breathed. "But... you saw this place. The metal bars, the high walls..."

"... and the destruction that will come," Ciri whispered. She shuddered. "It was this place, yes. But I didn't see Master. It was someone else."

Jaskier and Yennefer shared a look. That meant that someone else was looking for Ciri, and his arrival might cause the destruction Ciri was talking about.

"Maybe we can prevent this from happening, somehow?" Jaskier asked, trying to inject some hope into his voice. It wavered awfully. "That maybe... we'll get out of here, before it happens?"

"You can't trick destiny," Ciri whispered. She swallowed thickly. She looked so tired, so much older than she was. The events of last night wore her down to the bone.

"Whoever he is, he will come for me. And this place will burn to the ground. Because of me."

"Ciri," Yennefer spoke to her softly. She cupped Ciri's face between her hands. "Whatever happens, we're here for you. We'll survive this, together."

"We won't let Master or anyone else hurt you," Jaskier added. He walked over to them, opening his arms. He smiled, for the first time since they got here. Ciri buried her face in his neck. Yennefer placed a hand on Jaskier's belly, seeking the comforting little kicks.

Jaskier wondered if Geralt was alright. It wasn't right that he was separated from them - it meant trouble for each of them.

He started singing softly, letting his magic shine through the melodies. While he didn't have access to his full powers, his voice still managed to calm his family somewhat. And as long as they felt just a tiny bit of peace, Jaskier was happy.

--

"Your Highness. We know where the girl is."

"Is it actually her, this time? Last time you told me you found her, I was presented with a doppler."

"No, Your Highness, it must be her. The descriptions fit her perfectly. She showed incredible powers."

"What kind of powers?"

"Exactly like her mother, Your Highness."

"Who told you where she is?"

"I've overheard a servant at the market, Your Highness. She serves at the mansion of a rich businessman, who leases out the powers of his creatures. He captured her. She's there, at the mansion."

"I'm gonna go and see that for myself. I don't trust anybody else to collect her. Do you know that businessman?"

"I can figure out where he lives."

"Very good. Find out, and once you did, come back to me. It's time I finally reunited with her."

--

With a grunt, Geralt stabbed the soldier straight through the heart. He fell on the ground limply, blood oozing from his mouth.

Geralt wiped at his own blood and sweat-soaked face. He's spent two entire days rummaging the area and taking down the lurking soldiers. He could only hope there wasn't more of them around.

He immediately recognized their armor. They were Nilfgaardian soldiers. That was not a comforting idea. Nilfgaard was a huge empire, with one of the strongest armies on the Continent. It was the empire that was responsible for taking down Cintra.

Which meant that it was still Nilfgaard that was looking for Ciri for whatever reason. Geralt knew he needed to act quickly if he wanted to make sure his daughter wouldn't fall into their hands.

He quickly checked if all the soldiers were dead. He hoped he managed to get rid of the imminent threat, and he could go after his family. By this time, they were obviously at the dwarf shelter, waiting for him. Geralt missed them greatly, Ciri's smile, Jaskier's laughter, Yennefer's scent. He hoped they were alright, and not afraid. Geralt, as promised, would be joining them soon.

He heard a weak, pained grunt from behind him. Geralt instinctively drew his sword as he whipped around.

His eyes widened in horror when he saw Yarpen. His head was bloodied, bruised. Geralt could barely recognize him under all the carnage that was left of his face.

"Fuck," Geralt lowered his sword and rushed over to him. He caught Yarpen before he fell on the ground. Yarpen made a pathetic, wheezy sound as he collapsed against Geralt.

"What happened to you?" Geralt asked. He examined the wound from up close. It looked like Yarpen's head was practically bashed open. It was a wonder he was still alive.

"They took them..." Yarpen whispered. He shook in Geralt’s arms, his head lolling to the side. His eyes were distant. It was clear he didn't have much time left.

"They took yer family..."

It felt like someone kicked Geralt in the chest with full force. His heart dropped to his stomach. His head buzzed with panic.

"Who did?" Geralt whispered shakily. Yarpen made another weak, pained sound.

"A human... he had some kind of fucked up creature. He put collars on them...it was just over the Xilben river, there's a mansion there... I'm sorry, I failed... I couldn't keep them safe..."

"You did everything you could," Geralt told him. Yarpen closed his eyes. His breathing got more shallower.

"I'm gonna take you to a healer, Yarpen. Hold on."

Yarpen shook his head weakly. He lay his hand over Geralt's.

"No... there isn't enough time... go, save yer family..."

"Yarpen... Yarpen?"

Geralt sighed deeply as Yarpen let out his last breath. Geralt gently lowered him to the ground.

"Thank you, old friend," Geralt whispered. He stood up on shaky legs.

Judging by poor Yarpen's words, it seemed like their old Master took them. The knowledge made the blood boil in Geralt’s veins.

That horrible man had his family, and that was all his fault. He shouldn't have abandoned them- he did exactly what he told them he wouldn't. Now, Yarpen was dead, and his family was in danger. Geralt needed to get there as quickly as possible.

He sent Yarpen's lifeless body one last goodbye look before he jumped on Roach's back and urged her on. His blood thrummed in his ears as Roach galloped through the forest.

Geralt cursed under his breath, gripping onto the reins hard.

--

When Jaskier woke up from his nap, the first thing he noticed was Yennefer calling out Ciri's name. She stood, as stiff as a statue, her eyes full of worry. It immediately snapped him completely awake.

He sat up with a groan, balancing himself with a hand on his lower back. He spotted Ciri standing at the bars, unmoving.

"What's going on?" He asked Yennefer. She shook her head.

"I don't know. She's not reacting."

Together, they approached Ciri slowly. Jaskier gasped when he noticed the streaks of blood on her cheeks that flowed from her eyes. Her cheeks were alarmingly pale. Yennefer placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Ciri still didn't move.

The dull thud of footsteps on the stairs and the faint sound of talking in the distance made Jaskier look up. Rience went to his knees again, bowing his head. Jaskier frowned when he noticed Master coming close with someone else he didn't know.

Yennefer looked at him, as confused as he was. Ciri glared at the stranger, unblinking, unmoving, seemingly gone. Jaskier felt an uneasy feeling rise inside him.

The man looked like he was royalty, dressed in armor with a golden cape attached to it. His eyes were dark, and a strange smile played at his lips as he approached the cell.

"Is that the girl?" Master asked. His usual confidence was nowhere to be seen now. He hunched in on himself, humble and almost shy. Whoever this man was, he clearly held a lot of power if even Master submitted to him.

Jaskier realized this had to be the man Ciri saw in her visions. Jaskier carefully checked her reactions again. She still just stared ahead, her face a terrifying, pale, bloody mask.

The stranger looked Ciri over. His smile widened. Yennefer instinctively moved closer to the girl.

"This is she," the man said. His voice almost sounded warm. Ciri finally made a little sound, a shaky release of breath, followed by whispered questions.

"And who are you, and why did I see you? What do you want from me?"

The man seemed taken aback by her words for a second. Then, he laughed softly.

"So, you don't even recognize me?"

Ciri shook her head. Jaskier and Yennefer once again looked at each other. Jaskier could practically hear both of their terrified, racing heartbeats.

The man sighed softly. He shook his head, and smiled again.

"Indeed, it's been a while," he said, "we have a lot we need to catch up on."

Then, to Jaskier and Yennefer's biggest confusion and horror, he added:

"I've spent so much time looking for you, my daughter."

#geraskefer #geraskier #yennskier #yenralt #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #ciri #the world is yours if you seek the good

[fanby-fckry]

Known to Wander

Day 6* of Kinktober, 2023: Chastity

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Infidelity outside of Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Word Count: 1,571

Fandom: The Witcher

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Background Jaskier/Other(s)

Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Yennefer

Additional Tags: Jealousy, Sexual Fantasy, Begging, Dom/sub Undertones

Summary: Jaskier’s ill-fated love affairs have been getting both him and Geralt into trouble. Yennefer suggests chastity as a solution.

Better on AO3

*I am so behind; this is being posted on October 11th

{ ✧ }

“Really, Jaskier?” Geralt deadpanned as they made their escape. He tried to be patient with the Bard – especially after the ‘Mountain Divorce’ as Jaskier had started calling it – but right now his patience was wearing thin.

“What can I say?” Jaskier replied, dreamily. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Geralt would’ve been impressed with the lung capacity it took to keep that tone while running if the words coming out of Jaskier’s mouth weren’t so fucking infuriating.

“Your heart’s not the problem, it’s your cock that got us into this mess.”

Jaskier waved him off. “Eh, same thing.”

“This is the third time this season I’ve had to save you from an angry cuckold, and the snow’s barely fucking melted,” Geralt snapped. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Oh come on, Geralt, live a little!” Jaskier protested.

They were almost safe – they just needed to get over a fence at the edge of the estate of the couple whose marriage Jaskier had just ruined.

Geralt helped lift Jaskier up and over before vaulting over the fence, himself.

“See?” the Bard said, with a smile. “It all worked out in the end!”

“Hmm.”

The pair went on their way, and the perils of Jaskier’s adultery were forgotten – well, forgotten by Jaskier, at least.

{ ✧ }

“I thought I might find you here,” Yennefer said as she slid into the seat across from Geralt. “I heard our Bard singing from all the way outside, and if you follow the Bard, you often find the Witcher.”

Geralt smiled. It’d been too long since all three of them were together in the same place.

“Good to see you again, Yen,” he said.

It was sheer coincidence that they’d found each other. Jaskier might say it was Destiny; a few years ago, it would’ve been the djinn. But Yennefer had taken care of the djinn problem – canceling out Geralt’s wish with one of her own – and Geralt didn’t think Destiny had any interest in him beyond his connection to Ciri.

While Geralt and Yennefer caught up on what the other had been doing for the past few months, Jaskier played the final notes of one song and moved onto the next. It wasn’t one Geralt recognized, which meant it must’ve been new. He let a lull in the conversation stretch so that he could listen.

“My feet are known to wander

As ev’ry traveler’s will

My eyes are known to wander

As they search out my next thrill

My heart is known to wander

I’m just not meant to sit still

Oh, once when I was wand’ring

I met a lady tall and fair

She had a heart as restless as mine

And a husband without any hair!”

Geralt cursed under his breath at the lyrics. Yennefer raised an eyebrow, prompting him to explain.

“He met that woman and her husband less than a week ago,” Geralt said through clenched teeth. “I know because her husband hired me to hunt some drowners that’d found their way into a lake on the property. And when I came to collect my payment, Jaskier was running – half naked and barefoot – with the husband and two armed guards behind him.”

Yennefer took a drink from the glass she’d summoned. “I’m guessing you didn’t get paid?”

“No.” Geralt closed his eyes, trying to keep his voice down. “And then he goes and writes a song about it like it didn’t cost me my contract and almost cost him his life. If he’d kept his cock from wandering for another fucking hour or so, I would’ve…”

Geralt didn’t finish his sentence, but Yennefer seemed to know exactly what he meant.

“You’re jealous,” she said.

“I’m pissed,” he deflected.

“You can be both,” Yennefer told him. “You’re angry with him for costing you your contract, afraid that he could’ve gotten hurt – that he might get hurt next time, and jealous that he took someone to bed when you would’ve been right back.”

Geralt hummed a noncommittal response, but Yennefer didn’t waver. She’d read him like a book without even using her magic.

“I wonder if he’d let us put him in chastity…” Yennefer said, offhandedly.

Geralt almost laughed. “He wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Yennefer said with a shrug. “That Bard has kinks that would make a whore blush. Speaking of, has he asked you about using-”

“Yen,” Geralt interrupted. “Whatever Jask told you, I’d like to hear it from him.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Alright.”

“You two are too much alike sometimes,” Geralt said, and despite his frustration, he felt the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“There’s a reason for that,” Yennefer said with a smirk.

“And what’s that?” Geralt asked.

“It’s because you have a type,” Yennefer answered.

Geralt smiled and shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he said under his breath.

“As much as I was loath to admit it, I’ve always seen the similarities,” she said. “I expect Jaskier has, too. Probably part of the reason why he was so jealous of me. And why we fought like cats and dogs for so long.”

Yennefer began listing off qualities she and Jaskier had in common. “Talented, ambitious, gregarious,” she said. “Dark hair, stunning eyes…”

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Geralt conceded.

“One more,” she said. “We both love being right.”

“And neither of you know when to quit,” Geralt said, wryly.

Yennefer shrugged. “Maybe so,” she said. “Speaking of which, I think we should at least ask him if we can put him in chastity.”

Jaskier in chastity… Geralt could hardly imagine it, it seemed so ridiculous. Although what little of it he could imagine…

“Admit it, you like the idea,” Yennefer teased. “Our unruly little lark, all locked up. He’d look so pretty with his cock in a cage, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s breath hitched. He was trying hard not to think of Jaskier like that. It was wrong – Jaskier would never agree to chastity, so it would be wrong to think about it.

Wrong to think about his cock, half hard and straining against the bars as it filled. Wrong to think about how pent up and needy his Bard would be. Wrong to think about how he would whine and pout and beg.

“How long do you think it’d take him to beg for his release?” Yennefer asked, mirroring Geralt’s forbidden fantasy. “I think it’d be at least a week, but only because he’d be a brat about it first. Huffing and complaining from the minute the novelty wears off. He might beg sooner for you, though. He’s always been so much more pliant for you, Geralt.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed. He tried to focus on keeping his breathing steady, but his mind kept straying back to Jaskier. The fantasy was so vivid he could practically hear it.

“Geralt,” Jaskier would plead. “Geralt, please… It’s been forever…”

“It’s been three days, Jaskier,” he’d answer.

“Three days that felt like a lifetime!” Jaskier would complain. “Please, I promise I’ll behave. I’ll be good, I swear. I won’t fuck anyone without your permission – won’t fuck anyone besides you if that’s what you want, darling. Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything – anything!”

Geralt felt his own cock begin to stiffen at the thought of it. Yennefer looked at him like she knew exactly what she was doing to him – and knowing her, she probably did.

“You’d have him all to yourself,” she said, in a voice as sweet and as thick as honey. “No more jilted lovers or angry cuckolds, no more nights alone while he warms somebody else’s bed. And without anyone else to satisfy him, he’d be so very eager to please you.”

“Anything…” Jaskier on his knees, sucking Geralt off while humping his boot, desperate for stimulation. “Anything…” Jaskier on his back, his cock caged and neglected as Geralt fucked him. “Anything…” Come leaking through the bars of the cage as Jaskier whimpered through another ruined orgasm. “Anything…”

Geralt forced the fantasy out of his head and turned his attention back to Yennefer.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to pull you both upstairs and make you explain why,” he threatened.

“Oh please.” Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t interrupt his playing for anything short of a life and death emergency.”

“Hmm.”

“Just, think about it.” Yennefer paused for a moment, then offered him a knowing smirk. “Or rather, think about asking him. Don’t keep your wicked little fantasies all to yourself.”

Jaskier finished his set to a round of cheers and applause. “Maidens, men, and gentlefolk of all varieties,” he addressed the crowd. “You’ve been an incredible audience, truly a delight – but I’m afraid that, as all good things must, tonight’s performance is coming to an end.”

Yennefer rose from her seat, catching the Bard’s attention. Geralt could see the exact moment when Jaskier’s eyes landed on her. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes and his showman’s smile gave way to something more genuine.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Jaskier said. “I need to catch up with an old friend.”

“I’ll keep him talking for a while,” Yennefer whispered to Geralt. “That way you have time to take care of your…” She looked the Witcher up and down, eyes lingering on his lap. “Well, I’d say ‘little problem,’ but it’s not exactly small.”

And with that, she was gone – leaving Geralt with a not-so-little problem, still rising between his legs.

“Fuck.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #geraskefer #geraskefer fanfic #geraskafer fanfiction #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #fanby’s fuckery #fanby’s fics #not osha compliant

[yeraskier]

okay but jaskier getting geralt to wear something that isn't black.

like maybe its something simple, like a white tunic or a yellow hair tie. he gives it to geralt and geralt pretends to hate it but...

he takes better care of the white tunic than he takes care of any of his other clothes, including his armor. and he wears the hair tie all the time, except during battle, so just in case he ends up getting monster guts in his hair, the tie wont be ruined

#and so jaskier keeps adding more color to his wardrobe #slowly but surely #and geralt guards each addition with his life #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[eggscommunicate]

jaskier assumed geralt was gruff with everyone. that was just who he was. tough, strong witcher who didn’t need or want anyone in his life. that was why he treated jaskier so churlishly. the grunted replies. the irritated eye rolls. the tight grip on his arm to bodily shove him away. jaskier has seen it time and again. to him, to aldermen, to innkeepers. 

but not to yennefer. no, yennefer was different. she was greeted with a smile not a snarl. an uptick up lips and a softening of eyes not a scowl and furrowed brow and a tired, “what now, jaskier?” she receives soft touches and whispered caresses and stolen kisses. heated moments behind pillars in grand banquets that jaskier would have received a flat “no” to should he have been the one to invite the witcher. jaskier is big enough to admit he’s jealous. maybe not specifically the kisses and touches (though he would never turn geralt down). but the way geralt seems to want yennefer’s presence. to hold her by her side instead of push her away. but that was yennefer, jaskier thinks. she’s special. even jaskier can see that. surely she is the only one geralt is soft for. 

except for maybe ciri. the young girl so frightened after months of running. the way she holds tight to geralt’s hand as they walk through towns. the way she burrows into geralt’s chest on cold nights in the woods. the way geralt is so patient with her. teaching her to wield a sword and how to fight with just your fists. the way he rubs her back and whispers nonsense into her hair as she cries after bad dreams. but ciri is different as well. brought together by destiny herself. they must feel like whole after being apart for so long. even jaskier can understand that. 

and of course there’s eskel. geralt’s brother in everything but name. a difference in blood was no match for the two giants of men. the trials, the training. of course they would be close. who can be turned from man to witcher and not seek their own. from the meager stories jaskier has heard (from eskel only. geralt never speaks of his life) the two boys were often found together. wrestling, sparring, reading. so the weight of geralt’s hand on eskel’s shoulder makes sense. their quiet laughter while sitting by the fire makes sense. even the drinking makes sense. who else to let your guard down near than your brother? jaskier can count on one hand how many times geralt has had a drop to drink in his presence. but of course eskel would be different. they’re brothers. 

which is why geralt laughs loudly with lambert. the little brother. the troublemaker. the prankster. jaskier can hear the boisterous laughter of geralt and lambert and the angry calls of eskel. must have been a prank. they’re a regular occurrence at kaer morhen in the winter. after months on the path the witchers get to let out all the tension and frustration on each other. the sparring sessions between geralt and lambert can get quite vicious with geralt’s extra mutations and lambert’s additional training with the cat witchers. but what makes jaskier’s heart ache is the way they take care of each other afterwards. the application of bandages and salves should they need them. the cold mug of ale shared afterwards in the empty great hall. jaskier knows lambert doesn’t come home every winter. sometimes spends it out on the path earning extra coin or in the comfort of a whorehouse. jaskier feels jealousy tug under his ribs. he had to beg geralt to let him winter with him. and he knows geralt only agreed because ciri asked. but lambert doesn’t count. they’re brothers. 

so it came as no surprise when geralt greated vesemir with a tight hug the moment he stepped through the gates. the tension fled geralt’s face. his eyes relaxed. his mouth pulled out of the scowl. his brow flat. this was home. vesemir was home. jaskier felt like an intruder. to this moment. to this winter. to this keep. jaskier is told vesemir trained geralt. trained them all. and though jaskier knows geralt would deny it, he’s sure he sees vesmir as a father. so all that leaves is jaskier. 

jaskier who is never allowed to ride roach. jaskier who is told to stay back and go away. jaskier who is told his singing is like eating a pie with no filling. and jaskier who seems to always be shoveling shit. jaskier may not be the smartest man, but even he can see a pattern. it wasn’t who geralt was. it was who jaskier is. and jaskier can take a hint. 

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt #hurt no comfort #idk man i took a melatonin and then immediately had an idea #sleepy ramblings of a dumbass lol

[contemplativepancakes]

the thorny heart of a wolf

3.5k of it being increasingly obvious that Jaskier has written a romance novel about Geralt while Geralt is increasingly oblivious. read this and my other witcher fics on ao3 here!

Geralt stirs the smoldering logs, brooding as the poker makes ash and ember drift up. His nose twitches at the smokiness of it, but it reminds him of comforting nights spent near the fire with good food and better company. Geralt rarely makes a fire when he’s by himself, but Jaskier insists on complaining about his cold feet all night if Geralt doesn’t keep their campsite warm enough. 

Eskel clears his throat obnoxiously, making Geralt look up at him. It’s a rare night in the keep where Vesemir couldn’t think of any additional chores or maintenance that needed done, so they had scurried away before something came to him. 

Geralt peers at the book in Eskel’s hand, not recognizing it from the library. It’s a garish purple that’s frankly an affront to Geralt’s eyes. “What are you reading?” 

Eskel snaps it shut. “Nothing.”

Geralt quirks an eyebrow. “I’m sure you won’t mind me taking a look at it, then.”

“Geralt, really, I’m just trying to protect you from yourself.”

Geralt holds his hand out, and Eskel reluctantly hands it over. Lambert snickers from his corner, and Geralt levels him with a glare. Even Aiden looks amused, and Geralt’s mood sours at the laugh at his apparent expense. He looks at the cover in surprise. Luminescent yellow eyes peer back at him from a shirtless man with an impressive abdomen. Geralt thumbs through the book, and the word witcher catches his eye. “This is about...us?”

He looks back down at it, eyebrows lifting in surprise as graphic descriptions leap off the page at him. “Is this a romance?” he asks incredulously. 

“‘And he prodded the smaller man’s backdoor with his throbbing meat stick, plunging in with a wet squelch,’” Lambert quotes. “Yeah, I think it’s a romance.”

Geralt makes a face and throws the book at Lambert. Aiden catches it right before it hits Lambert square in the nose, and Geralt shakes his head. “Should have let it hit the ass. It’s the least he deserves.”

“Hey, I haven’t even told you the best part yet,” Lambert says. “We’re pretty sure it’s about you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Geralt scoffs, glancing at Eskel with narrowed eyes. 

Eskel’s look does not exactly inspire confidence. “You and the main character do have a suspicious amount of shared scars.”

“Coincidence.”

Eskel bites his lip, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’ll let Geralt live in blissful ignorance for now. 

Lambert pages through the book, his head laying back on Aiden’s lap. “Did you get a new scar on your ass since last winter?”

The meat of Geralt’s ass where a griffin tore into him twinges. “Fuck off.”

-

Geralt is two hours out on his journey away from Kaer Mohren when he feels a hard edge digging into him from his pack. He adjusts it, trying to stop whatever it is from poking him, but it’s bulky and it won’t settle right. Geralt digs a hand into his pack, fishing around until he finds it. It’s a—book? Geralt pulls it out and squints at the cover, recognizing it as what Eskel had been reading. No doubt one of his brothers had thought this would be a funny joke. Geralt considers tossing it alongside the road, but as he looks thoughtfully at the cover with two shirtless men clutching at each other, his curiosity wins out. The Thorny Heart of a Wolf, the cover says.

He tucks it back into his satchel.

Later, after the sun has set, and he’s gone as far as he can for the day—certainly not travelling in the vague direction of Oxenfurt to see whose path his own might end up crossing—Geralt pulls out the book. He flips through pages at the beginning, reading that the witcher’s love interest is a viscount. Geralt huffs a laugh under his breath that someone resembling anything close to nobility would willingly follow around a witcher. 

Geralt thumbs through it until he reaches the middle, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as his eyes flicker across the page. 

The witcher moaned at the sight of his lover stroking himself as he leaned against the tree. Eric’s eyes were black, and the color spread to the veins standing out in stark contrast to his pale face. Julian palmed himself through his trousers as Eric moved closer, his breath hot on Julian’s bared neck, his head tossed back in pleasure. 

Eric paused with his hands just shy of Julian’s chest. Julian took the step forward and wrapped his arms around Eric gently. Julian knew just how overstimulated Eric got when his blood was black with toxicity. Eric buried his face in Julian’s neck, scenting him with a deep sniff. Julian wrapped his fingers into Eric’s long gray hair, tugging at the strands a bit and making Eric moan. 

Eric nipped his way up Julian’s neck, sucking a bruise onto the soft flesh and staking his claim. Julian felt his member twitch at the thought that people would notice it tomorrow, that they would look between him and his handsome witcher and connect the dots. 

Geralt presses the heel of his hand over his crotch and resolutely does not grind down. He casts a furtive glance around him, and seeing nothing creeping from the tree line to rip out his intestines while he’s distracted, he turns his attention back to the book. 

Julian caught Eric’s lips in a messy kiss, bringing his fingers up to trace the black veins spider webbing out from his eyes. Eric ducked his head, but Julian brought his hand under Eric’s chin, tilting it back up and gentling their kiss. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and the sentiment echoed into the night and made Eric’s heart twist. 

Geralt sets the book down on his lap and stares up at the leaves swaying in the breeze. He sticks his thumb in the book, marking his spot as he flips it over and looks for the author. They can’t have any firsthand experience with witchers if this is the sort of thing they’re writing. He runs his fingers over the embossed letters on the spine. Dandelion Pankratz, it proclaims in shiny gold. Geralt hums to himself in curiosity as he flips back to his page and skips forward a bit, eager to get to the good parts and stop having an existential crisis. 

Julian reached behind himself, his fingers slick with a neutral smelling oil. Eric sniffed the air, his senses still extra heightened from his elixirs and shuddered as he drank in the scent of Julian’s and his own arousal mingling. Eric moved forward, catching Julian’s hand and replacing the fingers with his own. 

Julian stifled a cry as Eric found his prostate, leaning forward and muffling his gasps into Eric’s shoulder. Julian brought a hand up to wrap around Eric’s cock, engorged and black veined from the elixirs. Julian shuddered at the thought of that monstrous thing inside him, his stomach tingling in anticipation. 

The first time he and Eric had done this, Eric had squinted at him doubtfully. “Are you sure it’s going to fit?”

Julian had laughed and showed him exactly how well it filled in all his gaps. 

Eric finished stretching him out, and Julian positioned Eric until he was right where he wanted him. Julian sunk down slowly on Eric’s cock, moaning as the prominent veins rubbed against his walls. Eric reached around him to grasp his cock, and he stroked it in time to Julian’s rhythm. 

Geralt swallows hard, palming at his cock before pulling it out of his pants. He trails his fingers over the head as he holds the book awkwardly in one hand, continuing to read as he gets himself off. 

“Oh, fuck, Eric, you feel so good, darling.”

Eric was never one for eloquent declarations at the best of times, and in the middle of sex was typically the worst of times. Eric grunted, but Julian understood the sentiment. 

“I love you, too,” he gasped as he came. 

Geralt drops the book with a thud and pulls his hand away from himself. This author must never have met a real life witcher before, if they think that witchers are capable of being loved, that they deserve to be cherished. Geralt stares at his erection, willing it to go down. It doesn’t, and he vehemently does his pants back up anyway, hissing as the fabric presses rough against the sensitive flesh. 

Geralt shoves the book to the bottom of his pack like it’s burned him, and as he tries to fall asleep that night, he tosses and turns. 

-

Eskel raps on the door three times before he stands back and waits. He waits for ten seconds, twenty, until a woman opens the door just a smidge and stares out at him from the crack. “Can I help you?” 

Eskel is caught off guard at her suspicious squint, so he splutters for a second before regathering his wits. He pulls a book out of his pack, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Where did you get that?” she hisses, beckoning him inside urgently. “The author made it very clear it wasn’t supposed to be seen by any witchers.”

Eskel’s surprised by this. It’s not like people go to great lengths to hide what they think of witchers, and at least this author doesn’t paint them through a lens of disdain. “How exactly were you going to accomplish that?” Eskel asks, in genuine curiosity. Witchers travel all over the continent, and seeking new knowledge isn’t exactly out of the ordinary for them.

The woman tilts her head, considering. “I suppose it was more of a meaningless platitude than anything.”

“Excellent. That means you can tell me who this writer is.”

The woman shakes her head rapidly. “No, no, definitely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know, what if you decide to take revenge on them for what they’ve written?”

Eskel frowns. “Have you read this?” he asks.

The woman blushes and nods. 

“So why would I want revenge? Is there some offense hidden between the lines?”

“Well, no,” the woman hedges. “You’re an unpredictable sort, though. There’s no telling what you might do.”

Eskel huffs and rolls his eyes. For being so unpredictable, this woman is sure comfortable insinuating things about him and not giving him what he wants. 

“Just tell me who it is, and then I can be on my way.”

“I can’t say,” she says, tilting her chin up. 

Eskel sighs. He can tell a lost cause when he sees one. “You know, this isn’t the first romance about witchers I’ve seen,” he says, trying a different tack. 

“Maybe so, but the rest are all knock offs,” she informs him smugly. “They don’t even have experience with real witchers. This one’s the best there is out there. There’s even going to be a sequel.”

Eskel hums thoughtfully. “I imagine there’s been an uptick in interest after that accursed song.”

“That’s right!” the woman says, before clamming up and refusing to say anything else. 

The wheels turn in Eskel’s head. 

-

Geralt looks through the smoke wafting up from the campfire over to Jaskier, who’s furiously scribbling something in his notebook. They’ve just been on the road for the past four days, so Geralt’s not sure what he could be writing about with such fervor. It’s not like there’s been much inspiration. 

Jaskier’s quill continues to fly across the page, so Geralt pulls out his own book. It’s too dark for Jaskier to be able to see the cover, he reasons. He props his legs up on a log and opens it up to where he left off. 

“Julian, wait!” Eric cried. “Come with me.”

Julian looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“It… it gets lonely, being without you all winter long.”

Julian wound his arms around Eric. “You’re not the only one.”

Eric looked inordinately pleased at the statement, and he slotted their mouths together delicately. 

Julian kissed him for a moment before pulling back. “I’m not going to break, you know.”

“I know,” Eric murmured, but he kept the same slow pace. 

There’s a sudden flurry of movement that draws Geralt’s attention away from the page. “Geralt! What in the world are you reading?”

“A bestiary?” Geralt tries. 

Jaskier is practically in his lap before Geralt can think about it too much, swiping the book right out of Geralt’s hands. “Where did you get this?” Jaskier asks. 

“Eskel gave it to me.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “And where did Eskel get it?”

“I think Lambert.”

“Did every single witcher read this?” Jaskier shrills. 

Geralt shrugs. “I don’t think Vesemir did?”

Jaskier presses the book to his chest. “Are you liking it?” he asks, eyeing Geralt closely. 

“It’s not bad,” Geralt says gruffly. “But it’s not very realistic.”

“I hate to break this to you, but realism in sex scenes are not exactly a romance writer’s chief concern.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Not that. I just—no human could think about a witcher like that.”

Jaskier looks like he has something he wants to say, but he bites his tongue, settling on giving Geralt a disbelieving look out of the corner of his eye. 

Geralt turns his attention back to feeding the fire. “So, what did you do all winter?”

Jaskier huffs. “Believe it or not, I do have a life when you’re not around, you know.”

Geralt knows. Gods, does he know. There’s a whole life that Jaskier has that Geralt isn’t a part of, not at all. He wonders how many of Jaskier’s friends approve of them travelling together. Most likely none of them, if Geralt is being honest with himself. And why would they? Geralt wouldn’t be happy if he found out Eskel had decided to travel with some dangerous monster. 

“I know.”

Jaskier hums thoughtfully. “Well, I had this whirlwind affair. It kept me quite busy all winter, I’m afraid. Not very much time for much else. I’ll spare you the details.”

Geralt grunts. 

-

Eskel leans back in his chair and looks at Yennefer suspiciously. “So it’s not you?”

Yennefer slants an amused smile his way. “Definitely not. I am rather enjoying it, though,” she says, drawing Eskel’s attention to her table, where she’s tapping her fingers on a copy of the book. “Who knew witchers could be so in touch with their emotions?”

Eskel snorts. “Can I see it?” Lambert had taken his copy, telling Eskel he had snuck his own into Geralt’s things. Eskel had laughed at the thought enough that he had handed his over. 

Yennefer hands it over and Eskel thumbs through the pages, humming softly. He had skimmed through it before, but this time he’s looking for anything that might give him hints of the author. 

Eskel lands on the main character’s name. Eric. The name niggles at the back of Eskel’s mind, and he racks his brains to remember the significance. It hits him then, and the image of a young Geralt sitting on the bed across from him and grinning comes to mind. Geralt had barely been able to get the words out because he had been so full of self satisfaction. “Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde,” he had finally said, adopting a solemn tone before dissolving into laughter again.  

Geralt had been poking fun of the ridiculously long names of the nobles, wanting to adopt one for himself. Vesemir had given him a sharp no, so the idea was shelved, and just Geralt took its place. 

Eskel is more convinced than ever that whoever wrote this knows Geralt well, and at this point, it’s so obvious that the story is about Geralt, it’s laughable. 

Eskel thinks he has a pretty clear idea of who it must be.

-

Geralt knows who wrote the book. The thought has been bothering him for weeks, and even though a few nights ago, Jaskier had tripped while he was carrying the book and dropped it straight into the fire, Geralt hasn’t stopped thinking about it. 

He’s decided that the book is mostly accurate to witchers, so the author must have some experience with them—but only a little. There’s no way anyone would write about witchers the way that author does if they truly knew them, knew someone like Geralt. The book talks as if Eric is deserving of love, and while that’s a nice sentiment, witchers are just meant to kill monsters. They walk the Path alone. 

On top of that, it’s someone who’s seen the wicked looking scar on his ass, and that narrows down the list quite considerably. The griffin had torn into him last spring, and Geralt doesn’t typically seek out people to sleep with while Jaskier is with him. 

In fact, the last time he had been with someone was on his way out of Oxenfurt when he had dropped Jaskier off last winter, when he had run into a rather charming bard who he certainly had not slept with solely because he reminded him of someone else. 

The writer has to be Valdo Marx. 

Geralt turns to Jaskier, who is predictably scribbling in his notebook. Geralt supposes he must be composing another song; he’s had to have come up with at least in a dozen this year so far with as much writing as he does. 

Geralt nudges Jaskier’s foot with his, and Jaskier looks up after a few more seconds of rushed writing. “What?”

“I know who wrote that book.”

Jaskier’s face twists into something Geralt can’t place. 

“What book?”

Geralt huffs in exasperation; it’s as if Jaskier is being obstinate on purpose. “You don’t remember the book you pitched into the fire? I still had one more chapter to go,” he complains. 

Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, that book? Who?”

“Valdo Marx, have you heard of him? He’s another bard, not that I expect all of you to be acquainted with each other, of course,” Geralt rambles until Jaskier cuts him off. 

“You—you think—Valdo Marx wrote that?”

There’s a sour distressed smell wafting off of Jaskier, and Geralt frowns. “Do you know him?”

“Know him?” Jaskier laughs. “Yes. And I can't believe you think he wrote that."

“Well, I do.”

Jaskier rubs a hand over his face. “And what do you plan on doing with this new found knowledge?”

“I have to...talk to him, I think.”

“Oh?”

Yes, Geralt has to talk to him, has to know if what he wrote is what he truly thinks of witchers. Geralt’s not used to people assuming he’s anything but a monster. 

He wants to get used to it. 

-

It’s not a long journey to Oxenfurt from where they are, but it’s compounded by the three contracts Geralt picks up along the way. Jaskier is generally huffy at Geralt, and Geralt’s asked him what’s wrong on three separate occasions, but Jaskier just says, “Nothing,” with a dramatic sigh and walks away mumbling to himself. 

Geralt has no idea what his problem is. 

Jaskier gets more and more worked up the closer they get, a fruit senescence smell drifting off of him that has Geralt wrinkling his nose at the sickly sweetness of it all. Geralt even makes sure they make it to an inn to sleep one night so Jaskier can perform and hopefully improve his mood, but he just sulks in their room all night. 

Jaskier usually has no problem curling up next to Geralt and trying to leech all the warmth out of him that he can, putting his ice cold feet on Geralt’s under the blanket, but that night, there’s an ocean dividing them, and Geralt doesn’t know how to get across. 

It’s a long night, one in which Geralt manages to get very little sleep because of Jaskier’s tossing and turning next to him. Geralt doesn’t even have the heart to growl at him to stay still because it’s obvious he’s upset about something or other. 

“Is this about your romance this winter?” Geralt finally asks. 

Jaskier doesn’t answer for a long while. 

“You could say that.”

-

Eventually, Geralt finds himself in front of Valdo’s house. It looks vaguely familiar, as it should, when the last and only time Geralt had been here was almost a year ago. 

Geralt raises his hand and knocks, and then Jaskier’s warm hand is on his wrist. 

“Geralt, wait.”

Geralt turns to him with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“Geralt, it’s me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s me! I wrote the books!”

Geralt’s head spins. The answer has not been sitting in front of his face this entire time. He’s not that oblivious. Hell, his whole damn job depends on him not being oblivious. “My ass,” he says weakly. 

Jaskier takes a step back. “What?”

“The scar. How would you know?”

Jaskier throws his hands up in exasperation. “You’re not exactly modest, Geralt. Excuse me if I couldn’t exactly keep my eyes to myself. You know, you were rather vague about why you thought the writer was Valdo fucking Marx of all people. Want to expound? On how he’s seen your ass?”

Geralt grins weakly. “I don’t think we need to get into that.”

Jaskier grumbles to himself. He looks Geralt in the eye before seeming to make a decision, and before Geralt knows what’s happening, he’s being tugged into a very heated kiss. 

The door swings open, and Jaskier pulls back just long enough to sneer in its direction. 

He slams the door shut. “Fuck off, Valdo.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #geralt is a himbo #fanfiction #contemplative writing #romance writer!jaskier #that really needs to be a tag because i need more of it so i am going to manifest it

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

to be yours at last

Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Jaskier and the Beast...

sorry, couldn’t help myself. Anyway!

---

Jaskier looked himself over in the mirror one final time for good measure. He was rather pretty; as he deserved to be on his wedding day. He was a bride, after all, and most brides were far more temperamental than he had been. All things considered, the wedding ensemble gifted to him by the crotchety village elder was actually rather stunning. As he turned back and forth before his silver looking-glass he felt happy and excited.

He was also very sure that Essi, the only person in the village he had managed to befriend before his sudden and unexpected arranged engagement, had made sure to equip him with some lace and fine fabrics. 

“Oh, sweetest Miss Essi,” he smiled, fastening the last mother-of-pearl button on his cuff and straightening out the doublet a final time. “You have done a wondrous thing for me; I will not forget you.”

With the entire outfit put together and the details attended to, Jaskier looked every part the blushing bride in a fairy tale story. A pair of white satin trousers fit snugly around his calves and thighs and tied closed at the small of his back. He’d done them up with a series of complicated bows. His doublet, embroidered around the hem with soft yellow buttercups and made of heavy white satin brocade, was tailored in the ribbon-heavy Redanian style. 

There was a short, knee-length cape of matching white velvet, held closed with a rose-shaped clasp over his left collarbone. The elders had even provided Jaskier with a lovely gossamer veil, trimmed with a border of hand-made lace and attached to a flower crown of interwoven buttercup and dandelion blossoms. The yellow really brought out the blue of his eyes; the villagers had done him yet another accidental favor.

Jaskier felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped them hurriedly away. He’d put on a little kohl for this and he didn’t want to ruin the effect by smudging it too early. “Damnit it all, Geralt. Why can’t you be here for this part?”

“Are you ready?” the guard outside his door asked, peeking his helmeted head inside the doorframe politely (it seemed silly to put a guard there to keep Jaskier from running away when he’d been living willingly with Geralt for several months at this point, but oh well). 

“Almost!” Jaskier replied. He tied Geralt’s engagement dagger around his waist and cinched the leather belt tightly. The thin line of black and the softly glinting scabbard added just enough Beast to his bridal ensemble to make this all feel real. It was finally Candlemas Eve. They were to be wed, fully and legally husbands for the rest of Jaskier’s mortal life. The glowing peasant boy pulled the veil down over his face and smiled at his reflection.

“Now I’m ready,” he announced, stepping out of his private chamber. He had no bouquet, so his hands began to tap little calming rhythms against his legs. “Shall we go?”

“Lord Weatherby will be walking you down the aisle,” the guard explained. They started off down the hallway towards the Great Hall. 

“Lovely,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. It was Lord Weatherby who had chosen him to play sacrificial lamb in the first place, and while Jaskier secretly owed the man his entire happiness, volunteering an unwilling victim to the Beast had been less than considerate. Geralt wasn’t exactly happy with the whole situation, either, but he’d agreed to let the old man play his part as intended (on the condition that he and Jaskier be left totally alone after the ceremony ended...forever). 

The guard stopped outside the huge oak doors that shut the Great Hall off from the rest of the keep and told Jaskier to wait. The excited bride tapped his foot impatiently and nibbled furiously at his bottom lip. He knew that Geralt was just inside, down a short red carpet, standing beneath the huge carving of a great white wolf. Jaskier was practically vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to be married now. He wanted these people to go away and leave him and his Beast in their keep all alone.

Just the two of them.

Jaskier and his husband.

The ancient Lord Weatherby appeared at his side and took his arm with practiced grace. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” the old man intoned. 

“Couldn’t be happier,” the peasant boy glared. “Though it would have been nice for you to ask for volunteers, first. Very rude of you to do to Geralt. Lucky for you, we’re happy together.”

The old man grimaced and gestured for the doors to be opened. He pulled Jaskier forward with urgent distaste, tugging the boy down the aisle as quickly as possible. He deposited the blushing brunette in front of Geralt and took a seat beside the other uninvited guests, wiping his hands on his jacket as if disgusted. Jaskier was too enraptured by his Beast to care.

“We are gathered here, in the halls of Kaer Morhen…” the priest gave a short and very boring speech but all Jaskier could focus on was how handsome and wonderful his Beast truly was. Tall and broad, with long white hair that felt so good to run between his fingers and eyes that put polished topaz to shame. He was decked out in his own wedding finery; a long-sleeved silk tunic in navy blue, high-waisted leather pants that hadn’t seen battle recently, and knee-high black boots shined just this morning. His hair had been braided out of his eyes and a silver circlet had been fastened atop his head. Jaskier found it thrillingly gorgeous but he was sure his Witcher hated it.

At last it came time for the vows. Geralt lifted the veil and gasped so quietly that only Jaskier could have heard it. His honey-gold gaze went soft and loving and something deep in the human’s chest settled into place. This was where he belonged, at his Witcher’s side, keeping him safe from the hurts and the hatred of the world beyond Kaer Morhen. They both needed this peace. They both deserved to be left to their own devices, to be left alone with their love and the warm stone castle, for the rest of their natural days.

The Beast and his bride exchanged pre-written vows quickly, placed the thin silver bands on each other’s appropriate fingers, and kissed.

It was a soft, achingly gentle kiss. Geralt’s hands cupped Jaskier’s face and Jaskier’s hands were grasping gently at the front of his husband’s tunic. The Witcher’s lips moved softly against his newly anointed husband’s, pressing little promises into the soft pink skin. When they parted, the Beast gave Jaskier an additional kiss to the forehead before turning to their ‘guests’. 

“You saw what you needed to see. Now get out of Kaer Morhen and never return!” ---

Once the castle had been cleared of intruders and the doors were all locked firmly shut behind them, Geralt gathered his bride into his arms. He removed the delicate veil and set it to the side. “You look so beautiful.”

“You clean up rather nicely yourself, dear husband.”

Geralt blushed sweetly at the honorific and Jaskier grinned.

He threw his slender arms around the Witcher’s broad shoulders and laughed brightly, filling the hall with the sound of joy. “Oh, my husband, my Beast! We are wed at last! We shall never be parted!”

The Witcher swept his new spouse up into his arms and took off towards the kitchen. “I know you thought that we’d be going directly to the bedroom after our little ceremony,” he teased. “But no Witcher wedding is complete without a feast.”

“A feast for just the two of us?” Jaskier asked. 

“Yes. I...I followed my adoptive father’s recipe. He only made it once before, and that was so many years ago, but I hope that I have done him proud.”

“You’ve certainly impressed your bride,” Jaskier winked. “We both know I’m a rather hopeless cook.”

“Hmm,” the Beast smiled and nodded. “Aye.”

“And yet you married me.”

Geralt paused their journey to press another series of heated kisses to his little husband’s eager mouth. “Are you still happy to have me, little bird?”

“The only place I’ll ever be happy again is in your arms, my darling, delicate Beast.”

“Then I suppose,” Geralt whispered, setting Jaskier back on his feet and winding his arms around his consort’s waist. He dropped his forehead down until it rested against Jaskier’s and looked into those bright blue eyes with complete and utter confidence, “That I will never let you go.”

#geraskier #geraskier beauty and the beast au #geraskier batb au #beast geralt #belle jaskier #arranged marriage #sacrifice #wedding #geralt and jaskier get married #geraskier wedding #witcher geralt #soft geralt #caring geralt #loyal jaskier #loving jaskier #they're in love #fluff #romance #kissing #husbands #it's cute and i'm happy with it fam

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 20)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

EARLY CHAPTER FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT. THIS SHOULD’VE BEEN POSTED ON SATURDAY BUT I DECIDED TO DO A DOUBLE UPDATE FOR ONE WEEK! EXPECT CHAPTER 20.1 ON SATURDAY! *wink wink* 

CHAPTER 19

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Maybe the curse has its own purpose for whatever fate you had with the witcher. Sensible responsibilities and a tie that has been knotted together with him that will surely affect both of your lives when chaos arrives.

Warnings: A kiss? (Unless y'all don't want to kiss Geralt so this can be a warning?) Curse words. Humans being judgemental bitches? Sweet, soft and protective Geralt? Petty, emotional reader? (She'll continue to be because of...reasons. Hehehe.) Eanraig asking personal questions. LMAO. Mention of Sylvan and Yennefer of Vengerberg.

Words: 5.3k

A/N: Early update for y’all! Double update for this week! Expect an update at around saturday or sunday! Heehee! FEEDBACKS WILL BE NICE TO SEE! MWAH! I still haven’t written the lost chapter for WOTN. There’s going to be a lost chapter that should’ve been in between chapter 16.1. I’ll write it soon. Heehee!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! This is kinda a rough draft. I apologize for many errors.

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be.(Credits to those who made the GIF’s. Some don’t have their watermarks included. I don’t remember where I’ve saved the others from)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Being in the arms of a person you were finally realizing that you eventually loved gave a different kind of bliss rather than the sensual moments that you both had.

Knowing that you were in love with him---a divulgence that you have no plan of saying yet; for the fear of it being unrequited was keeping you back.

You weren't going to tell him your secret yet. No. Especially when you have been thrashed and battered; bleeding with their purpose for any truth to spill or lies that they wanted to hear.

Were you finally meeting heaven? Geralt has said words that you never expected him to; calling you his betrothed when there was no disclosure or label onto what relationship you both had.

Perhaps, he needed to claim you in that endearment because he was being threatened by the king? In order for you to live, he must be having a tight relationship with you or a reason that King Viduka can convince himself that you shouldn't be slaughtered.

They needed your witcher and Geralt has outsmarted them by telling that you were both engaged; his soon-to-be wife that you know has not been serious enough to say.

"Geralt," you meekly whispered, your breath hitting his neck with arms enveloping his shoulders as he carried you around the castle; it was a murmur that the knights weren't capable of catching while they guided you to where your temporary room will be.

"Where are they taking me?" a simple tremble of your throat gave Geralt a hint that you've been carried to places and rooms where they have hurt you; a place that they chose to clobber your innocent soul, "---Are they going..to hurt me again?"

There has been a usual hum that you managed to memorize from the witcher, hearing a disgruntled 'hmm' from the affronted question like he didn't like hearing the idea of his midget being rained blows on, "To a much more comfortable place than being held captive in the dungeons,"

"Did...Did you sealed a deal with the king? H-How will you find the witch who cursed the prince? you shouldn't have done it because I heard her location being undetected---"

The white wolf cut you off with a simple, frank honesty of his words; risking the hunt instead of letting them think of other ways for your sufferings. Never wanting another painful venture that would make his thoughts suffer in the end. He'd taken the chance of finding the witch rather than having the possibility of a fight with thousands of knights nor an attempt to let you escape from hundreds of horsemen out in the open.

"There was no other choice."

Your arms tightened around him when they've guided you both to take a turn, feeling more protected in his arms. Hence, the action made Geralt keep you closer to him afterwards; making you sadly smile from his hold because it felt farcical to even think that he was doing this for you out of such love that you were sure of feeling for him.

You could feel that this comfort you're feeling had repercussions based on what that sorceress has described him and from what future she sees if he'd really pick you.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was still out there. Geralt will surely pick a woman who wouldn't get to die easily because you were a mortal. He'd just give himself such dolor because you'll die first than him or better yet, you could be killed by anyone who wants you dead with just a snap of your head because of being vulnerable to their eyes and to their world; knowing nothing but to strive just like how normal people live on earth.

"You've done enough for me already. You should've just left me alone to die and protect Cirilla like how your future is planned---I probably shouldn't be even in your life, Geralt."

You could feel his golden eyes boring holes on your face because of the sudden principle you've plainly stated, the sound coming out of your nose like a faithless lie you abruptly believed in. His marches turned heavier with each step upon hearing your judgement. With a subtle shift of your eyes away from his chiseled face, your mouth fell into a tight frown just like how his tightened when he looked front as he walked.

"That's never going to happen, midget." the witcher gruffly grumbled, "---You saved Cirilla. You've given the bard a chance to move on from that hideous person he had,"

You didn't save anyone. You've only done what was right by being transported into a world that you didn't belong in. Your mouth was about to open when he'd quickly clipped a short additional comment that shut your mouth from the moment it was heard---your heart jumping in the exact time he was having his steps.

"---and you also saved me,"

A sarcastic snort concealed the rushing beat of your heart; not thinking it through and never believing the opinions inside your head. Choosing the pessimist side of your brain that kept you from trusting what your heart wanted to feel.

"From what? from keeping you silent? I'm just giving you a headache, I have been a complete burden to you,"

"No. You're wrong." you've shifted your eyes to see his forehead creased in the deepest wrinkle it can form, simply telling you that he was upset in a trice when it was a truthful answer.

Your attention went straight to the side of his face; narrowing your eyes at a fresh scar that weren't there the last time you've seen him---fingers aching to caress his disfigurement and having thoughts inside your head that he'd been hurt from his latest hunt with a monster. Digits stayed where they are, clasping them tighter with your own as you clung to your witcher.

Taking a dim view of his lour, his teeth was clenched tight as he fell silent---appearing to look like he wanted to say more but chose to keep it all to himself.

"Do not trust the sorceress or the queen. Just trust me, Eanraig and no one else in this castle,"

"Eanraig. He's the person who treated my wounds. Who is he?"

"A druid. A Scholar of the forest. Trust no one but me or him, understand?" he stated firmly as he ceased his steps, standing before a fairly large double, wooden doors whilst the gallants unlocked them. Geralt's words were left in a soft mumble that you didn't realize he would be competent of, sounding like he was giving sheer comfort over his undiplomatic rejoinder.

"---Because in their eyes, you are alike of my kind. A woman who is lost in our world and has opened a portal for undefeatable monsters; a key for adding more chaos that this world can ever bring,"

The doors to your room has been opened, one knight coming right in rather than the both of you who had permission to stay in chambers; his voice becoming a mere whisper of his baritone, rough timbre that didn't caught your hearing when a knight suddenly talked out loud for the chevalier inside.

"---but, not to me."

The horseman has given Geralt a pithy nod of his head to direct him in. He set him aside when he'd pass by him; seeing how gigantic and bigger that the witcher was compared to both chevaliers. Your witcher's face masking in a vacant expression which they have ridiculed him when he'd gently placed you down on a soft bed that you immediately examined; catching sight of golden, silk sheets for such a large bed; the physical sensation of what a bed brought was bringing you forty winks from the ache everywhere in your joints.

"I'll bring them what they want to keep you safe. They can hurt me, make me bleed to death---" you've blinked your left swollen eye to see Geralt hovering on the side, his simple actions of skimming his fingers through your tangled hair in a surreptitious manner, the wide-broad back shielding his succors from the knights that still didn't leave the room; keeping you both under their guard which will surely get a scolding from the witcher himself after assisting you to your bed.

"---yet, I will not afford to see it from you again."

Geralt never gave you a chance to speak as he fully stood on his feet, wandering over to where one knight was standing, watching over you both and never intending to give privacy. The witcher had a scowl on his face as he sauntered over to where they were, shooting daggers at them when they firmly stood on their ground.

Emanuel, the persistent gallant firmly straightened his back; peering back at the witcher who was taller and giving him a silent, brooding death stare. Never batting an eyelid as he mutely tried to let them understand his wishes to be alone with you. Emanuel continued to quietly hector, leveling with Geralt's intimidation as he stared straight back at him; thoroughly impertinent by what he wanted.

"Leave her chambers." the white haired witcher lowly grumbled, emitting a gruff groan in the back of his throat when he heard the trifling knight be headstrong towards him.

Their conversation made you try to lift yourself up from the bed, whimpering and complaining from the twinging sensations that your injured body has been giving. You didn't need another fight to occur between Geralt and some knight; his slaughtering has been enough and you didn't need anymore people dying on your hands. Thus, you've faintly called for your witcher's name; distracting his annoyance or anger from butchering another set of horsemen.

He wouldn't kill them. They just needed to be pushed away.

"How about no, Mutant?" Emanuel taunted back, snappy and utterly offhand which made Geralt raise a brow.

He sighed to himself, rolling his eyes at his comeback and carelessly grabbed onto his shoulders. Using his strength that not any other normal human has, Geralt pushed him out of the doors with a forceful shove; letting him stumble and fall on his other friend who'd grunted out loud when they both fell outside and onto the castle floors.

"I didn't ask."

The witcher hastily slammed the doors shut, fastening the bolts and when he'd hung onto the latch, an ample amount of curses has been given to him; more demeaning and vociferous words that he surely has been used to from people who hated his kind and brushed them off despite the thunderous knocking from behind closed doors.

He took quick strides to where you where; leaning on the headboard of the bed. You've seen his leather bag resting off the sides---specifically, under the bed which got you staring at him as he does so, still cherishing his presence, what his whole being was worth to take a shine to and for acclaiming that this otherworldly human was a person you were in love with.

The idea of being away from him swatted a sting to your chest; how going back to earth will be the death of you if it eventually happens---and if it was a future you were bound to come back to.

You've given the witcher a solemn smile, your true feelings currently kept as a secret until it was the right time to tell. Geralt was crouching beside you, scouring through his leather bags until you've seen him take out a transparent witch bottle that had flamingo colored extract inside; the stuff was familiar to you and remembering what effects it has given; such vile taste began to drip on the tip of your tongue, making you shake your head that you ought to spurn.

Yet, also making the heat run to your face because of how you remembered how he'd let you take the pain by forcing the potion to drizzle on your skin, softly kissing your lips to distract you from it as he took care of your wounds back then.

Your eyes turned into big saucers; shakily bringing out a hand to cease his actions. Geralt took note of your sudden response, his head slightly turned to the side as he watched you panic with his composed expressions, "I---I---I know that medicine! I thought the last potion you made for me was...the last?"

He gave an impressed raise of his brows, thankful that your head hasn't been forced to forget or banged against a wall that'll give you amnesia, "I've mixed potions for humans ever since you came. Jaskier seldom wounds himself when he has his lute. But, he can take a spell when he is stubborn enough. However, you---you can be clumsy as an impaired Sylvan,"

You could feel he was trying to stifle a smile from his last metaphor, remembering memories in his past that certainly has given him entertainment. The witcher took the cork using his teeth, spitting the top of on the side as he began to reach out and point it on your unhealed wounds surrounding your chest, lightly covering the scar on your chest that reminds you of him because of the same symbol he has on his necklace.

"Geralt! Don't you...Don't you dare!"

The latter stopped midway to give you a teasing scowl, "You have a habit of saying my name when you are refusing to follow my wishes, midget."

"It's because I'm fine!" you squeaked and planned to get away from him when he'd gently took hold of your wrist, keeping you in place; profoundly staring into your eyes in disbelief.

"You have been tyrannized and can hardly move any of your limbs. Then, you say you are fine?"

The white wolf outreached for the collar of your ruined, bloody sweater, gently pulling them down for the upper valley of your breast to be displayed to him. He felt you yank his hand away to pout back at him. It made Geralt hum in sheer interest and surprise; your refusal to be cared for, humoring his guts because it seemed like you were upset over other things he couldn't decipher.

"Hmm." he gravely hum as you've seen his lips curl into a small, firm smile while he tightly had the elixir on his hand, inserting a quip after being in the presence of your unreasonable and disobliging self yet again.

"---Must you still be shy with me after everything we had?"

You've given him silence, squinting your eyes back at him as a form of reply.

Geralt sighed a deep one as he closed his eyes; not knowing what was making you grumpy and cranky at the same time. He'd open his glowing peepers to greatly gaze back in utter tranquility, beating you off with whatever silent challenge has been going on. Thus, those amber have taken a peep over your bruised lips, creating a face of disapproval before seeing him lean his head forward and over your face.

"You're not going to---to---give me a kiss as a form of distraction! If you think I'm a thirsty lady---"

One light peck to the lips was all he needed to shut you up. He was gentle, almost felt like he was tickling the pain because there was no ache as he kissed you. Geralt brushed his lips on yours; delicate and utmost promising. The action being a verbal persuasion for words that has not been set out in public---also, a belief inside your heart that wanted to listen to her own theories that your alter-ego tries to brush off.

The softness of his lips left yours with a brush of his warm breath, slimly creating space between you both when he leaned his forehead on yours, his nose grazing to let you feel his worries over what happened whilst he mumbled whispers of fidelity that were only a mere chance of hearing from the witcher himself.

"You...don't know how dreading it was to not see you wandering around our home---coming back and being welcomed by a bleeding bard and Cirilla scared to her wits,"

He'd promptly closed his eyes, gliding the roughness of his thumbs over the linear of your jaw; tender and comforting as he caressed; hearing him breathe calm, deep inhales that were adding mental repose over your aching body. The latter ought to touch your sore body with a profound gentleness he didn't knew he had when Geralt heard light, padded marching coming forth to where you both have been ensnared in.

"Eanraig," the witcher nonchalantly acknowledged, being in the right time as he stood up to his feet and cutting the moment short with you before Eanraig can even barge in without knocking; using such magic to open the locks to their doors that had Geralt humming in displeasure when he saw a look being given to him; mentally asking if he was interrupting something.

Geralt's frown just tightened more as they both stared at each other while you have given Eanraig a cordial smile; remembering that he was also one who has treated your wounds when it felt to be needed.

The Druid slammed the door shut with a simple flick of his hand, casting such occult practices that has fastened the bolts back in a tight lock; creating a force shield over the doors which can't let people from the outside, hear whatever was being talked about in the chamber.

"I've heard from Ingrith that you both are cursed together," Eanraig frankly spoke as matter of fact.

At the mention of that, Geralt couldn't help but narrow his eyes on the scholar, showing him his curiosity and bewilderment, "By who?"

His fellow acquaintance shared a guileless smile, "By what, is what you probably mean,"

"The Djinn," Geralt hoarsely bleated incoherently, exhaling frustrations about what he was getting a gist of the conversation.

The Djinn was certainly a snake in the grass just like how Jaskier mentioned, he silently thought to himself. His focus on the scholar turning sharper from what he was being elevated about.

Eanraig gave him a nod, "You were trying to send her home," pause. "---Warp of the souls. A curse made for two destined people. Unless, it still isn't permanent."

Keeping quiet as they talk; holding the chafe of your bruises all to yourself. Your attention jumped from Geralt to Eanraig. Confounding with the topic at hand because of your sudden apprehension towards the whole ordeal.

A curse. You were under a curse right now and Geralt wanted to send you home as well.

Your eyes shot at the witcher's wide broad back, shooting a glare at his infuriating, beautiful white hair; wanting nothing but to grab onto some scissors and cut his tresses because of reasons that was worth to strangle him---which you doubt it can even happen. Geralt subtly eye you in his peripheral vision because he could feel you shooting daggers at him and it left him utterly confused as he shifted his attention over you who laid behind him and Eanraig who stood before the doors, strolling closer to the both of you.

"Were you both in heat? Does anything feel strange?"

"I know what she feels. Everything."

Eanraig crossed his arms, raising an arm to touch his grizzled white beard. His gaze condemnatory for his next question that caught the witcher off-guard, "Did you bed her?"

Geralt raised both of his brows and let out an intriguing hum of his deep timbre, your focus on his reply but also making you feel giddy and bashful over the Druid's rash interrogation. Your eyes squinting and continuously giving the back of the witcher's head a death stare when you kept your mouth shut and let him do all the short talking for the first time in forever.

"Hmm."

His dawdling form of response got the Druid scratching his temples for such a dishonest answer that he rarely receives from him, "It has a process before the curse lasts forever, there is no refund or whatsoever. Maybe it might have had reasons for creating such process," Eanraig stated and avoided to tell a sensitive topic that can get Geralt running for the hills if he immediately knew what reasons that the Djinn has held you both; such sensible responsibility that could challenge your unspecified relationship with him.

A child. His very own child. The witcher won't take the news in the best way that he can. Especially, Geralt of Rivia.

The druid couldn't help the grin growing on his wrinkly face, repeating his query a lot more genuine than he can get, "Now, did you bed her?"

"What does this have to do with the Djinn?"

Eanraig couldn't help but suddenly chuckle under his breath, never receiving a proper answer from Geralt that was surely entertaining his day; "This is a curse that only a djinn can do, not any sorceress nor wizard," his chortles eventually died down as he turned serious, wanting a real answer to know if you both will be expecting a neonate that will bring miracles to their world.

Beautiful but daunting miracles that nobody can ever read in the future---not even a fortune teller can as everything was being blocked by the power of the genie.

"So, answer the question," he patiently asked the witcher with such enthusiasm that Geralt couldn't comprehend.

"---Did you bed her, witcher?"

Geralt was completely finding his questions strange, his scowl faltering as it changed into a wince receiving a strange question out of all the queries he can ever ask.

"Yes."

Lifting your head away from the headboard, you've given them both looks of incredulity; disbelieving that they were talking about both of your sensual lives like it was nothing which you really are sensitive and conservative about. The knives being thrown behind Geralt's back becoming bigger as you rolled your eyes for his short, indecipherable acknowledgement---concealing the whole, sudden irritation you had for him because of your shabby, emotional self.

"What? Did he get me pregnant or something?" you peeked behind Geralt's body to send the druid your jesting question, igniting no harm over it because of how important Eanraig was making it seem about asking a question as if he has knocked you up or something.

The sudden witticism has made Geralt slightly turn his body to give you the side eye, head-shaking as he does so with a sarcastic smile like he'd been insulted.

"You're being unreasonable, Midget."

You've turned your head to the side, trying to get his dander up from his 'sending you home moment' that the druid has honestly and bluntly said out to the two of you; catching Geralt's true feelings over you despite of his lies over calling you important and his home that he would gladly come back to.

"I'm asking Eanraig not you, Geralt."

He still has his body slightly turned to you, narrowing his golden eyes and shaking his head more firmer like a warning sent to your sudden attitude.

"You know I can't. Stop this nonsense,"

Your bruised mouth was in a tight straight line, going on with your narrow-minded self---steady to be adding more ungenerous quips that certainly was vexing the witcher because he'd send you a tight grimace that doesn't scare you, "But, using a Djinn and trying to send me home isn't nonsense after telling that you find home in me?" you scoffed in the middle of being glared at.

"---I didn't know you meant it literally, Geralt of Rivia."

The white wolf hadn't really gotten to dodge from your sudden verbal attacks. Though, the scowl you've received from him was the nastiest out of all the rest today. Yet, he didn't plan nor given you one back as he bit his tongue for even thinking through his temper just like how he did before---wanting not to commit in another mistake that he will surely regret in the end again.

Geralt bit his tongue harder, clenching his teeth together before he spoke with his fangs slipping out behind his lips---appearing to be like he was trying not to growl his frustrations out for your sudden hostility.

"It was before I even knew that you...you can be considered as my home, Midget," he'd given you a gaze; a knowing one that tells you he won this verbal fight of your petty snarks because he had wished for that before the Djinn was even on your hands---not after the wishes happened.

"K." you curtly answered, defeated. The side of your wounded lip slightly lifting as you added a moniker that will surely infuriate him as in the end.

"...Witcher,"

Geralt's lowest pitch of a quieted growl vibrated through his chest, looking at you threateningly from your obdurate answer.

Eanraig couldn't help but shift his head from one person to the other, gaping at the both of you and heedful of the vexation that suddenly surrounded you both. Did he do something then? the druid asked in the back of his mind when you were both staring at each other---if looks would kill, you were both already in a tough fight over what war was happening.

The scholar of the forest awkwardly cleared his throat, snapping the uncomfortable atmosphere by educating everyone in the room with his slight knowledge over the curse.

"Very well then, so much for making it permanent. You've probably did as much as you could considering how lecherous the witcher can get from his overly developed mutations,"

Geralt turned his body back to the druid in one's own good time, a coy smile plastered on his face---so feigned that the witcher felt like he was faking it too weakly over being verbally attacked as well by his acquaintance who elegantly told him that he was created to be a horny man in his life and continuous to be so.

Until he developes some sort of erectile dysfunction that nobody even knows yet.

Eanraig choked in his own words when Geralt stepped a foot closer to the druid, his glowing eyes squinted and never knowing what he was thinking as he gave an intimidating frown that made the druid swallow his words down in the back of his throat, his mood certainly ruined from your petty vantage point.

"This...This curse has its purpose, you will never love any other man or woman. Never. Not anyone can overcome the memories you had with him or her. The feelings are growing deeper each day. Hatred if the djinn may see fit. Affection. Care. Love. You are lucky if both of your feelings are real and true because if hatred comes with it---even vanquishing the affection you have? It'll make you forget that you even had feelings for each other because you'll end up unhappy and trying to kill each other off,"

Eanraig peeked behind Geralt to see you blinking in curiosity, "---unfortunate for a human like her. If he does hate you, little woman."

"---Also remember, if one of you dies---which I doubt for the witcher. Then, you will feel as if your heart has been taken away from you. Deep heart break. Pain shall take its course, every day that you may wake up will be memories of her, inhibiting pain and more ache at the memory of her dead." he continued and noted how Geralt has fallen in silence with a jaw clenched tight, "---you will be unhappy and in despair for this fleeting happiness that the djinn has set you both in,"

"and---" Eanraig's thoughts were ceased when the butcher of Blaviken spoke with an unyielding emotion set in his eyes; serious and wary of what kind of people were surrounding you as for the mean time.

"I won't let her die."

"But, what if its inevitable?" the scholar bluntly said it out in the open, making Geralt calmly let out a breath as he had his lips in a tight line, thrusting his jaw forward in subtle determination while Eanraig continued to utter his protests.

"Ingrith and Queen Makeda wants her dead, Geralt. You know you won't be finding the witch in five days!"

"I'll give them their shitty hag, Eanraig." The witcher muttered in final, his goals thoroughly set to find the witch that you have warned him about. Must it be a trap, you may never be quite sure as it was only been said by the prisoner who stayed in the same dungeon with you.

Geralt sounded to be too stubborn to listen and it appeared to be like there was no other way for you to be set free unless he finds the witch or fake one woman in order to keep them off your hair.

"Alright, then."

The druid left it at that. Sighing hard for his mullish and keeping his mouth shut for anything that can keep the witcher distracted throughout his hunt.

Geralt turned on his heels, seeing you crossing your arms like an upset, lady who had her mouth pursed so long that it made him take a gander over your cranky, battered state. His brows raised as he deeply muttered, inspecting your body language whilst pondering over ways how to keep you conciliated when you were seething before him like a feral kitten. His vicious, grouchy midget that was needed to simmer down.

"Interesting."

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#muse: geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x female reader #geralt x you smut #geralt of rivia x female reader #geralt of rivia x reader smut #geralt of rivia fic #geralt of rivia series #geralt au #witcher au #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill x you #white wolf #butcher of blaviken #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #witcher geralt #witcher of the night #seb-owns-these-tatas #wotn

[bard-llama]

WiP List (all unpublished)

So, I am 2 fics away from having published 100 fics for the Witcher game ‘verse! And I feel like my 100th fic should be special, so uh... vote on which WiP you’d like me to prioritize, I guess?

Putting the WiPs under a cut because... there’s a lot.

Forgive my working titles pls. I do not try hard with them.

Mostly Porny Fics

Piss fic - Iorveth gets a blowjob before he can mention that he could stand to use the chamber pot. After he comes over Roche’s face, Roche refuses to move - so Iorveth pisses on his crotch.

Cum Dumpster Roche - Emhyr sends Roche to an ‘elven peace conference’ which turns out to actually be an elven ritual involving a gangbang. Where he’s the ‘sacrifice’. He is surprisingly okay with this.

Possessiveness - this one actually could have the beginning published if I can think of a title. It’s essentially about Iorveth feeling very proprietary over HIS dh’oine and Roche... kind of liking that. Also scent marking during their second ever meeting lmao

Dream: Pleasure Slave - Roche has dreams about Iorveth where his only purpose is to bring Iorveth pleasure and show off how good he is for Iorveth.

Roche wears a collar - Iorveth really, really wants to see Roche in his collar, but he knows that will never happen. Doesn’t stop him from custom making a collar just for Roche - and then, serendipidously, he captures Roche and gets to put it on him. But surely Roche isn’t STILL wearing it... right? (he totes is)

Tonguefucking the dick - the premise here is that Foltest really liked stretching Roche as far as he could. Which has left Roche with holes that are... not able to go back to ‘normal’. Iorveth just wants to know when he can suck Roche’s cock.

Beltane - started the day after Beltane, because I’m me. This is an established relationship fic where Iorveth wants to celebrate with Roche - so he brings Roche to an elven ceremony. He forgets to mention the whole getting married and fucking in public bit tho.

Foltest Shows Off His Whore (And Iorveth Steals Him) - the Scoia’tael come to Vizima to negotiate a peace treaty. As a show of power, Foltest has Roche serving as his cockwarmer, completely naked. Iorveth cannot take his eyes off of Roche and when Foltest offers his whore to them... well, how can he refuse?

Cock worship - aka Iorveth is a lil obsessed with Roche’s dick. Haven’t actually decided if this is gonna be a slow burn with relationship development or go straight into porn. So uh... opinions requested?

Mersquid Iorveth Porny Porn - When Iorveth isn’t present during a fight, Roche goes to the cove where they’ve been secretly meeting and teaching each other shit. Only to find Iorveth in heat. Obviously he can’t just leave his enemy, so...

Oblivious Roche - Iorveth is trying VERY, very hard to woo Roche, but the idiot is absolutely oblivious to these things. So Iorveth decides to get naked with candles and rose petals around and wait for Roche to come and finally take him. Roche is just very, very confused.

Old Men in Vergen - Roche, exhausted from training his soldiers in Velen, goes to Vergen to rest and recover with his lover. Iorveth just wants Roche to fucking eat a real meal before they bone until they can’t anymore.

Sequel to Never Have I Ever - Iorveth decides that Roche’s drunken confessions deserve reciprocity. 

Iorveth Gangbang - Roche manages a scene where Iorveth is tied up in the Blue Stripes camp and they take him apart.

Post-coital after first time - post-W2, Iorveth has decided to start over in a town where he’s a little less notorious. When he decides to stop by the tavern, he happens to discover Roche, drunk off his ass. Obviously this leads to dares and blowjobs.

Hands - Iorveth and Geralt have a thing for Roche’s hands and spend a lot of time oogling and fantacisizng about them. Roche discovers this when he ‘accidentally’ walks in on Iorveth fingering Geralt in Corvo Bianco.

Post-coital smoke - Iorveth admires his lover while smoking after a number of sessions. Then Roche steals his pipe and they start a new session.

Wrestling for Who Tops - Iorveth and Roche are at a fancy party and duck out in to the garden for some fun. Featuring plugs, breathplay, and dirty talk.

Impact Play - established relationship, Iorveth ties Roche up to have fun with him.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - In Witcher 2, Iorveth accompanies Geralt to find a harpy dream powerful enough to save Saskia. They accidentally end up witnessing Roche’s dream - where he is DP’d by Geralt and Iorveth. Then they work on making it come true.

Private Time - Roche masturbates and fantacizes about Iorveth and Geralt.

Inexperienced Iorveth - PWP where Roche instructs Iorveth on how to get him off. Iorveth mostly follows the instructions... with a few additions.

Iorveth tittyfucking Roche - p much what it sounds like. Iorveth has a fascination with Roche’s chest. Roche is more than okay with this.

Want Me To Sit In Your Lap? - based on Geralt literally saying this to Roche 2 seconds after meeting him, this fic is post-W2 where Geralt DOES sit in Roche’s lap (and on his cock) while Triss and Ves get to know each other.

Foltest/Roche –> Iorveth/Roche - this is a fic I’m writing with @multifangirl69 where Foltest ties Roche up until he’s immobile, then fucks him. Then the Scoia’tael attack and Foltest and his guard end up retreating... without Roche. So Iorveth walks into the King’s tent to find Roche tied up and ready to be fucked.

Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain - the magic of the forest is feeling playful and teases Iorveth with the idea of being filled all day long. So when he finally gets to meet up with Roche, he’s eager to get filled - and the magic of the forest has a nice surprise to help fill him. (the surprise is vine tentacles)

Pregnancy Prompts pron pls? - pre-pregnancy but in the same universe with trans Roche, Iorveth reflects on how much he loves his partner. And decides to show that love by sucking his dick.

Age Kink (which I may have misunderstood) - Iorveth and Roche find themselves captured and locked up together with no sign of their captor. 

Eskel/Lambert - When Eskel and Lambert get into a fight over gwent of all things, Eskel accidentally uses axii on Lambert. Lambert wants him to do it again.

5 Signs: Sex Magic - Eskel ends up demonstrating how igni can be used in sex for Lambert and Geralt. Naturally this leads to a bet on who can most effectively use all of the signs during sex.

“If we’re both in this state, we both really screwed up somewhere huh?” - Roche and Iorveth find themselves trapped in a dream world and struggle to find a way to wake up.

“You were almost dead from pushing it too far!” - Roche has a heart attack during a skirmish with the Scoia’tael. Only elven medicine is able to save him.

Plot-driven Fics

Language Aphasia/Deal with the Devil - Roche makes the mistake of wishing that he could “understand Iorveth” in the company of one Gaunter O’Dimm. Then he wakes up as Iorveth’s prisoner and for some reason, he can only understand Elder.

Life Debt AKA Iorveth is an Asshole - When Roche and his men rescue the prisoners of a slavery ring they’ve busted up, they discover one elf has been... pretty badly treated. Somehow this leads to Iorveth learning to walk with arm braces and hanging out in the Temerian camp in Velen, criticizing Roche’s training techniques.

Firebreathing - PT knows how to breathe fire. Iorveth is NOT prepared to discover that humanity has these skills and the idiocy to actually use them.

Sequel to A Heart’s Fire - Cerys is sick of Iorveth’s moping so she comes up with a business reason to go to Hindersfjall, where Roche is visiting Shorty’s family.

Wedding Buddies - Roche’s mom makes him accompany her to a wedding that happens to be for a close friend who is an elf. Roche was definitely not expecting to run into Iorveth here of all places. 

Angst: Sex Object Roche - Iorveth notices that whenever they flirt, Roche backs off and then hurts himself afterwards. Iorveth is not okay with this and refuses to be a blade for Roche to cut himself against.

Midwinter Feast - Foltest treats with a nonhuman delegation while they are all locked inside the palace for the 7 day feast. Iorveth is one of the representatives and decides to have fun messing with Roche.

Solstice Feast - okay, this was actually supposed to be an xmas present for @lutes-and-dandelions​, but uh... I got stuck. But this fic and its sequel are post-W3 where Emhyr hosts a big Solstice Feast and Roche and Iorveth end up ducking out and doing their own thing. Namely: drinking.

Lily Preserved in Amber - the premise is that in an elven coming of age ceremony, Iorveth finds ‘a sign of what’s to come’ in the form of a lily preserved in amber. Later, he realizes that this represents Roche.

Based on @moonlights-ordinance‘s art - Working under Nilfgaard, Iorveth and Roche have THE most uncomfortable desk chairs, ones with no backs. This eventually leads to them using each other as back rests and, of course, cuddling.

Roche’s Scars - this is a 6-part fic all about Roche’s scars: how he gets them, why he hides them, how he (and Iorveth) learn to accept them. Plus some scar worship, of course.

Casefic/Undercover Dubious Consent - In order to break up a slavery ring, Iorveth goes undercover as Roche’s ‘pet’. This requires them trusting each other an awful lot and also, Iorveth is a little worried about how much he likes wearing Roche’s collar.

Sequel to Red is the Rose - as Iorveth and Roche journey to Kaer Morhen to help Geralt, they slowly figure out how their relationship works - and how to move it forward.

Curse Breaking - Roche finds Iorveth in an abandoned Scoia’tael camp, slowly dying from a curse. Roche manages to cure Iorveth and then decides to help Iorveth rescue the rest of his Scoia’tael from a mage. With a little help from Triss, of course.

Bloodplay - Roche begins to hunt the Scoia’tael and has a very strangely arousing encounter with Iorveth.

Fake Relationship - Iorveth and Roche team up to investigate a couple’s resort where both Temerian soldiers and Scoia’tael have gone missing.

An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it - Roche dreams of Iorveth watching over him in his sleep.

An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose - when a mine collapses in Vergen, Roche is thought dead for a period of time until he is rescued. Iorveth knows they’ve always agreed not to pursue anything with their flirting, but he HAS to know that Roche is okay.

Heavy Be The Head - Roche is stuck running Temeria post-W3 and he despises it more than anything. Fortunately, Iorveth shows up with a proposition: to go kill war criminals together. How can Roche say no?

Pre-W2 Ambassadorial AU - Temeria welcomes the first elven ambassador in a long, long time. Triss decides to be friendly and drags Roche along for the ride. 

Stubbornness and Self Care - The Scoia’tael come to Vizima to negotiate a treaty with King Foltest. Iorveth is trying very, very hard to represent his people, but his migraine is unbelievably bad. Fortunately, Roche manages to convince him to rest and have someone else stand in for him.

Pregnancy Prompts Iorveth tells everyone - Iorveth is very, very excited to be trying for a baby and tells LITERALLY everyone he can.

Pregnancy Prompts Philippa POV - post-W2, Philippa decides to return to Vergen and try her luck. Saskia decides to give her a second chance, which many, many people disapprove of.

Temerian Civil War (A Single Spark) - when Foltest sets Iorveth’s forest on fire, he creates a scism in Temerian politics. Suddenly, three factions are vying for control: the Loyalists, the Pragmatists, and the Unified Temerians. 

Identity Porn - As the Scoia’tael begin to emerge as a threat, Roche is sent to investigate them. This leads to meeting an elf in the Flotsam inn and starting a relationship with him. Except neither know who the other really is.

Letters - Roche is running Temeria and hating it when he starts receiving letters from Iorveth. He has no way to send letters in return, but he finds he enjoys seeing Iorveth’s thoughts and ramblings as the elf turns into a street musician.

Dijkstra + Roche 1 - Dijkstra notices how fucked up the dynamic between Foltest and Roche is and is reminded of his own history with Vizimir. Then he decides to teach his Temerian counterpart some self-respect.

Dijkstra + Roche 2 - Roche is captured by Redania as an unnamed spy. He’s caught Dijkstra’s attention because he hasn’t told them anything at all, not even his name. They only know he’s Temerian because of his tattoos. So Dijkstra decides that the way to break this man is through converstaions, over which they slowly develop a grudging respect for each other.

Holy shit. This is not even all of my WiPs, guys. What the fuck am I doing!??!

Anyway, please let me know: which 2 fics should I prioritize working on so that they can be published to hit that 100 round number?

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #WiPs #the witcher #my fics #fic planning

[fromkaermorhentolettenhove]

When The Sun Sets

Summary: Geralt is a gladiator with many wins and his master praises him accordingly.

What Geralt doesn’t expect is an unassuming guest who turns him on his head in a single night.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Gladiator AU, First Meeting, Bathing/Washing, Falling in Love

Additional Tags: Blow Jobs, Anal Sex

A/N: my roommate was trying to help me come up with a title and one of them was “Glad...i...Ate Your Dick” so there’s that for you

-

AO3

or

The sounds of the arena fade away. 

Geralt listens to his breathing, his eyes study the body on the ground. He can’t help but wonder what hopes and dreams this man had, if they were just to survive another day, to see one more sunrise. 

Now, those dreams are no more and Geralt glances up at his master that cheers, who finds this all so amusing. When Geralt is led from the arena to his cell, he is stopped by another guard, his presence requested at the manor. Forced to follow, Geralt remains paranoid of his surroundings, muscles tense as he is presented to his master. 

He barely listens to the man’s words, knowing it is nothing more than empty compliments and manipulative tactics to keep Geralt complacent. It is only when his master says something about a bath that Geralt snaps to attention. 

The man talks about food and wine, how Geralt brings in so much money that he deserves to enjoy this evening. Geralt is sure it’s another ploy, but he won’t argue if it means one night of luxury. Washing is the first thing Geralt wishes to do and he is led from one room to the next by a servant of the house.

Geralt trails behind in silence, glancing at the unnecessary decorations, this finery that brags. When he is free, Geralt won’t fall to such greed. All he wants is his peace and he’ll take it in the form of a small field if he has to.

Eventually, Geralt finds himself in a room cut off from the rest of the house. There are small fountains around the room and in the center lies a deep pool.

The pool is small, square, but enough to hold several people. A few bottles and candles litter the edges, the light from the candles bright enough to illuminate the teal blue of the water. 

Waiting until he is left alone, Geralt removes what little clothing he has and rinses himself off before stepping into the pool. He makes his way to the far corner and sits on the ledge that rests beneath the surface of the water. As Geralt sinks down, a soft sigh leaves him, his aches starting to fade. There has never been a time where he has been treated well as this and he almost wishes he wasn’t given the chance. 

Then, he wouldn’t have to miss it in a matter of hours. 

Letting his eyes close, Geralt forgets about the day’s trials, listening only to the wisps of steam around him, the lull of the water when he shifts. 

“May I join you?”

Geralt’s eyes snap open, a frown already on his face as before him stands a man wrapped in plain, white fabric. His smile is small, genuine, but what really catches Geralt’s attention is how there are no scars on his body, nothing to indicate he’s had a life outside of this household. Geralt is ready to assume this man is one of his master’s sons, until Geralt catches the raised, burnt skin at the man’s wrist, a symbol that matches the one on his shoulder. 

“Who sent you?” is all Geralt asks, suspicious of this man’s intentions. 

“My mistress actually,” the man answers, smile still on his face. “She thought you could do with a little company.”

Geralt had seen the mistress’s eyes on him again and again, but the gaze is never one of lust. Whatever she feels towards Geralt is unclear and muddled even more by the presence of this man. Seeing that the man has no intention of leaving, Geralt shrugs, a motion copied by his hand. 

The man’s smile brightens and his robe drops to reveal pale skin, a body so thoroughly cleansed that there is little hair to be seen. Geralt knows the mistress can be particular in the upkeep of her servants but to this extent is excessive. He’s thankful the only thing he must do is oil himself down before his competitions.

With an unassuming grace, the man steps into the water and makes his way over to Geralt, stopping just before him. Geralt notices the cloth in his hand and he tenses as the man reaches around him, grabbing one of the various bottles Geralt had ignored. 

“This should help some of your injuries,” the man explains as he pours a little liquid onto the cloth.

He reaches out, but pauses when his hand is a breath away from Geralt’s skin. Blue eyes meet Geralt’s own amber ones and ask a question that Geralt finds a reply for easily. With Geralt’s nod, the man begins washing Geralt, tending to the wounds scattered across his body. 

“What is your name?” Geralt finds himself asking. 

He’s pulled into the man’s touch, the attentiveness to every speck as he wipes the cloth in a trained, memorized manner. 

“Jaskier,” the man smiles as he looks at Geralt. 

Geralt nods as his heart thumps in his chest. Jaskier holds a certain kind of beauty to him, a hopeful soul with an unyielding heart. It almost makes Geralt envious, but instead, he falls towards something that Geralt has not felt for a long time. 

“And, you, White Wolf?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head a little. “What do they call you?”

“Just that,” Geralt can’t help quip. 

It’s not a lie. Geralt hasn’t used his real name in years. If it weren’t for dreams, distant memories, Geralt is sure he would’ve forgotten it the moment he became a gladiator. 

“Surely you must have a different name, the one your friends, your family called you.”

Geralt frowns a little at this. “I never had either.”

Jaskier’s hand stills and he stares at Geralt for longer than he is comfortable with. Geralt shifts, watches as Jaskier tentatively begins his washing again. The new look on Jaskier’s face tugs at Geralt’s heart and he steadies himself with a small sigh. 

“Geralt,” he says at last. “My name is Geralt.”

The corners of Jaskier’s mouth curl up and he repeats Geralt’s name. “A good, strong name. Just like your title,” Jaskier commends. 

Geralt can’t help let out a breath through his nose, a small attempt at a laugh. Jaskier picks it up all the same and grins back. 

“I do mean it, Geralt. I don’t throw my words around lightly.” 

Geralt has no doubts of that, but says nothing, watching as Jaskier sets the cloth aside. Fingers card through his hair then and Geralt presses into the touch. Now, Jaskier is standing in front of him, their bodies almost pushed up together as Jaskier admires Geralt’s hair. He studies every strand as if Geralt is a sculpture and Jaskier is the artist. Geralt doesn’t mind, just slightly entranced by the man before him. 

“You can touch me if you’d like,” Jaskier tucks some hair behind Geralt’s ear. “I am yours for the night.”

Geralt blinks at this, hardly believing the words. He doesn’t want to trust it, but then again, if this was a scheme, Geralt is sure he would’ve figured it out by now. 

With a swallow, Geralt lets his fingers brush against Jaskier’s arm, trailing from his shoulder down to the wrist. His heart thumps when Jaskier bites his lip, a soft breath leaving him as Geralt runs his fingers back up. He holds his palm against Jaskier’s neck, feels his pulse, his breathing before he starts to lean in, hoping Jaskier will meet him halfway. 

The kiss is gentle, warm, and Geralt’s resolve starts to crumble with every second. He lets Jaskier pull him close, allows their bodies to move and meld together. Jaskier is strong, his hands lightly scratching at Geralt’s back as their kiss deepens. It becomes an embrace of nips and sucks, tongues searching and tangling as the two let their desires fuel them. 

A small thought enters Geralt’s mind and he leads Jaskier backwards until they hit the wall of the pool. Helping Jaskier up, Geralt positions him to sit on the edge, massages Jaskier’s thighs as he stands in the water between his legs. Jaskier watches him through hooded eyes, his cock hardening until it is stiff and red, begging to be touched. Geralt takes hold of Jaskier’s cock and licks up the length, pride swelling at the moan he pulls from Jaskier. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs, his hands tangling into Geralt’s hair. “More.”

Geralt isn’t one to deny such a request and he takes Jaskier into his mouth, a pleased hum leaving him as Jaskier gasps, his grip on Geralt’s hair tightening. With his hand and mouth moving opposite of each other, Geralt teases Jaskier as he swipes his tongue around, taking more of Jaskier’s length with each suck. Jaskier whimpers, begs, his hips shallowly thrusting as Geralt moves a little faster. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Jaskier gasps, his head falling back and Geralt makes his move. 

Taking away his hand, Geralt holds Jaskier by the hips and takes all of Jaskier into his mouth until Jaskier’s cock is pulsing at the back of his throat. Jaskier swears, his moan echoing off the high ceiling. His body is shaking and when Geralt begins to pull off, there is a small sob at the loss. Geralt isn’t finished however and he repeats the action again, the hands in his hair pulling violently. It’s a pleasant burn that stirs Geralt’s own cock and he continues to push Jaskier to his limits.

“Geralt, Geralt,” Jaskier repeats, his voice becoming strained. “I can’t–I need–”

Before Jaskier can orgasm, Geralt takes his mouth off Jaskier and pulls him back into the water. 

“Fuck you,” Jaskier bites, though there is no real anger in his voice. 

His legs wrap around Geralt’s waist as he pulls Geralt into a searing kiss, leaving them both breathless by the end of it. As Geralt kisses and bites his way down Jaskier’s neck, his hand trails down Jaskier’s back, brushing against his entrance. 

Jaskier lets out a stuttered moan, his hips shifting down onto Geralt’s finger. Slowly, Geralt pushes in and his knees almost buckle with the praise Jaskier sings. 

“I could come just from your finger alone,” Jaskier gasps, rutting his cock against Geralt’s own. “Gods above, I can’t wait to have you in me.”

Geralt can already see that beautiful image of Jaskier begging for his cock, gasping for his release. The fire inside Geralt only grows and he is quick to get another finger into Jaskier. He is attentive to when Jaskier needs time to adjust, stretches when Jaskier encourages him. Jaskier could ask the world of Geralt and he would happily do the task. 

When Jaskier is full with three fingers, a near shout fills the room and Geralt pushes up again so he can hear that beautiful voice. 

“Please, Geralt, now,” Jaskier begs, trying to make Geralt’s fingers push deeper inside of him. 

Geralt carefully removes his fingers and Jaskier whines, but he quickly climbs off of Geralt and positions himself on the steps, hands and knees, his legs spread open as his entrance beckons for Geralt. 

An animalistic urge takes over Geralt and he grabs a bottle, coating himself in oil before lining himself up with Jaskier’s cock.

“Yes, you’re going to be so good,” Jaskier blabbers, more words leaving him, but incoherent as Geralt pushes in the head of his cock. 

When Jaskier’s head falls back, Geralt grabs hold of his hair, tugging as he shoves himself to the hilt. Jaskier’s shout is a prayer to the gods and Geralt is weak for worship. He slowly thrusts his cock, watches intently as it moves in and out of Jaskier, the way his entrance fits perfectly around the girth. With his other hand gripping tight onto Jaskier’s hip, Geralt’s pace picks up, encouraged by Jaskier’s urgings.

“Fill me, let me know all of you,” Jaskier pleads, his words caught in heavy gasps and moans. 

Geralt’s thrusts are harsh, quick, and soon Jaskier is succumbing to his orgasm, perhaps waking the entire house with his shouts of ecstasy. Moving his arms to hold Jaskier close, Geralt snaps his hips a few more times before releasing into Jaskier, warm pleasure encapsulating his body. 

When he pulls out of Jaskier, some of his seed drips into the pool and Geralt runs a thumb over Jaskier’s abused hole. 

Jaskier shivers, allows himself to sink into the water before shakily getting to his feet, pulling Geralt into a tight embrace. Gerat is quick to return in, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he falls into that which is Jaskier. 

He doesn’t want the night to be over, doesn’t want this to be the only time he sees Jaskier. They may be strangers, but in his heart Geralt knows he has loved Jaskier before. In another time, another place, they were bound, heart and soul.

“When this is over,” Geralt breathes. “When I gain my freedom, I’ll come and free you too.”

Jaskier pulls back, takes Geralt’s face into his own and searches before a small, watery smile breaks onto his face. He kisses Geralt, their desperation seeking out each other before they simply take to holding each other. 

As they drift away, a better future doesn’t seem so far after all and for a night, what they have is perfect.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #indigo's side shitposting

[justhereforeskel]

New Divide

Chapter 2 - Post Blaviken Pairing: Eskel x Geralt Warning(s): Some blood mentioned (Eskel's scars) and so much angst Rating: Teen (ish?) Summary: Geralt has finally found the courage to tell Eskel how he feels, but the events surrounding Diedre and Blaviken rear their ugly heads and cause no end of chaos.

Chapter 1 | Read it on AO3

With a sigh of relief Eskel finally arrived at the great gates of Kaer Morhen, just as the first frost was touching the keep. His first year on the Path with his new scars had been tough, and with the rumours of the Butcher spreading ever further, contracts had been rare and he’d headed north a few weeks earlier than normal.

Vesemir greeted him once he was through the gate and into the first courtyard. Taking his horse’s reins, the elder witcher waved off his attempts at help. He handed the big witcher his saddlebags and told him to go get comfortable in the main hall.

“I left some dried tack out, should hold you over til dinner. The others aren’t here yet,” he continued, answering Eskel’s unasked question, “But it’s still early.”

With a grunt, the dark haired witcher headed inside, bags slung over his shoulder.

---

As they settled around the main hall fire the first night, Eskel told Vesemir what little he’d heard of Geralt, and the rumors around the events of Blaviken. The older witcher said nothing at first, simply staring into the fire. The flames danced across his weathered face, through the lines of his years into sharp resolution.

After a few minutes, he stood with a sigh, “I’m heading to bed, we’ve got a lot to do in the morning.”

---

Days passed with no sign of either of the other wolves. Eskel and Vesemir spoke little as they worked to get the keep ready for the winter ahead. Holes were patched, both in the keep and the stables for the animals. The last of the garden Vesemir tended to during the summer was harvested and stored.

At the end of their work each day, they ate in silence, before Vesemir headed to his room. Once the older wolf was gone, Eskel would spend the remaining hours of light chopping wood in the courtyard until he fell into bed in sheer exhaustion.

As each day came to a close with no sign of Geralt, Eskel grew more restless. Over the past year on the Path he’d had a lot of time to think over what the other witcher had confessed. After months, he’d finally come to terms with his scars, and with it, Geralt’s love.

Despite the whispers he’d heard of the Butcher, he didn’t believe a word of it. He knew Geralt was likely pushed into the events, and blamed himself. He only hoped he’d be smart enough to come home. Eskel ached to take the other witcher into his arms, to hold him close and assure himself the other wolf was okay.

---

A few days later Lambert came in, grumbling about how pretty boy had made their lives harder, but Eskel could see the fear in his eyes when Geralt wasn't at the keep.

Eskel realized at that moment that Geralt wasn’t coming home.

---

“Eskel, you can’t leave,” Vesemir appeared in the stables, blocking his way out. “It’s getting too close, you’ll end up on the Path all winter.”

Eskel shook his head, “No, I can make it back before the snow starts, I’ll be fine. I’ve got to find him, Vesemir. I have to make sure he’s okay.”

The older witcher shook his head, “I’m sure he’s fine, pup. Geralt is the strongest of us, he can handle a winter away from the keep.”

“Not this year,” Eskel fought back, “Not after Blaviken. He’s got to be hurting, we’ve heard the tales of the Butcher everywhere. No one will give him a contract, Lambert and I could barely get any by the end of the season, he can’t survive on his own.”

Vesemir sighed, “He’d know to come here if that was the case, he wouldn’t miss a winter without you.”

The bigger witcher swore, “He’s going to blame himself, and he’s going to think we’ll blame him too.” He swung into the saddle, “On top of that, he...” Eskel scrunched his eyes closed.

“He what? Out with it,” Vesemir demanded.

“He confessed his love to me last year,” Eskel’s hands tightened on the reins until the leather squealed, “And I pushed him away. Hard.”

With a sigh that sounded like it came from his toes, Vesemir relented, “Fine, but you send word as soon as you find him.”

Eskel nodded, and urged his mount forward. Hooves clattered against the cobbled stone of the yard as he left the stables and pushed his mount to a brisk canter. Once they were clear of the keep he gave his horse its head and let it out into a full gallop.

---

Two weeks into his search had brought him no closer to locating the white wolf. Snow was falling heavily now, and he knew it was unlikely even if he did find Geralt soon that they would make it back to the keep before the trail became impassable.

Supplies from his initial departure were dwindling and he huffed as he realized he’d soon have to brave a town to stock back up. The last few towns he’d been too hadn’t been overly welcoming, even though he’d been asking after information and little else. While Geralt’s new moniker made it a struggle for all witchers, on top of his additional scarring, he was feeling lucky to escape with only harsh words being thrown at him.

As he approached a relatively modest town, he slowed his mount. Eyes took in the guards at the entrance, but they seemed relatively calm at his approach.

“Witcher,” one of the guards greeted him warily, “Isn’t it too late in the season to still be plying your trade? We have no contracts posted currently, it’s best you move on.”

Eskel held up his hands in a gesture of peace, “I simply need to resupply, I won’t be long. I’m not looking for work.”

The guard shook his head, “You won’t find supplies here,” he looked almost apologetic, “There was a white haired one of your ilk here just a few days past, he looked rough and only wanted supplies as well. The townsfolk, well, they’re scared. Tales of the Butcher have reached even here and they drove him out of town.”

“Shit,” Eskel cursed under his breath, “How long ago?” he demanded of this guard.

“Three days, he headed east after he left town. Nothing that way but woods,” the guard added.

“Thank you,” Eskel managed to grit out. If Geralt headed into the woods, knowing nothing was that way…

“Your kind have saved my family’s life more than once, I don’t believe the tales,” the guard shrugged, “I hope you find him okay.”

Eskel nodded, and turned his mount towards the dense forest.

----

Three days was apparently all Geralt needed to practically vanish in the woods. Eskel cursed their training, it was making tracking the other witcher incredibly difficult.

It was his second day in the bush, and he’d only found small signs of his friend, not enough to track him with any speed, but enough to give him hope he was headed in the right direction.

“Dammit, Wolf,” Eskel cursed, as he inspected yet another indistinct footprint that might belong to a witcher, but could easily be anything.

As he looked around for anything further, he threw his senses out, combing through the noise of the forest. After a few minutes he picked up a slow, but steady beat. A bit more focus in that direction and he was sure it was a witcher slow heartbeat.

He didn’t bother mounting, simply grabbed the reins, leading his horse through the bush towards the sounds. Branches battered them as they left what little trail they’d been following. His horse snorted as more foliage blinded it from seeing too far in any direction.

After a few minutes the foliage thinned and Eskel found himself in a clearing, a small cave entrance in front of him. In the clearing stood Roach, clipping at the little grass there was still showing. She raised her head, but simply snuffed when she realized who it was.

“Hey girl,” Eskel spoke softly, approaching Roach to check her over. As normal, she looked fine. As much as Geralt was probably hurting, he’d never let his mount suffer. With a promise to return, he left his mount alongside Roach and headed into the cave.

The slow heartbeat continued to echo. Eskel paused at the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light in the cave. As the gloom cleared, he saw a figure at the back of the cave, kneeling in meditation.

“Wolf,” Eskel breathed out in relief. He hurried to the back of the cave, dropping to his knees in front of the other man. Concern churned in his gut as his eyes roamed over the other witcher, taking in his appearance. His skin was even paler than normal, gaunt cheekbones poking out from his face. His hair hung dirty and tangled around his shoulders, not in its normal, neat tie back. His armor was dingy and scuffed, and hung poorly, a sure sign his body was wasting away.

Raising a shaking hand, Eskel gently cupped Geralt’s cheek. The other witcher hadn’t even stirred at his presence, so he hoped the touch might elicit a response.

Slowly, as if he barely had the energy, Geralt’s golden eyes opened, hazily focusing on the face in front of him, “Eskel?” he croaked, voice clearly fallen into disuse over the last few months.

“Wolf,” he smiled shakily, his other hand coming up to cup the other side of his face, “You’re alive. I was so worried.”

Geralt’s face fell, “You can’t be here.” He pulled back from Eskel’s hands.

“Why not?” Eskel stayed where he was, not wanting to cause Geralt any further distress.

“It’s past the start of winter, you’re not really here. You’re up in the keep, warm and safe with Lambert and Vesemir,” his eyes dropped to his hands, “You can’t be here, you don’t want to be here. I…” he sucked in a breath, “I destroyed everything, we had it hard before and I’ve made it worse.”

“No, Geralt no,” Pain stabbed through Eskel’s chest as he listened to Geralt, “It’s not your fault, you’re not responsible for how stupid people are. I’m just glad I found you.”

He caught a slight smile curve on Geralt’s face as he looked up again, “That’s definitely how I know you’re not here. You’re still mad, there’s no way you’d ever want to see me again.”

A cry tore itself from Eskel’s throat, his hands coming up again to pull the other witcher to his chest, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug “Geralt, I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just hurting and I lashed out at you.” He tucked his nose into the crease of Geralt’s neck, “I love you too, wolf. So very much.”

“Esk?” Geralt’s voice was shaky, but it finally held a note of belief.

“Yeah,” Eskel pulled back, wiping tears from his eyes, “Yeah it’s me.”

Geralt’s eyes flickered over his face, taking in the details but not lingering on his scars, “You love me?” A slim hand came up to curl around his neck, pulling him close until they were resting their foreheads together.

“I do, Geralt. Fuck, so much. I know I pushed you away last year, but I want to try this, try us. Together.”

Geralt smiled softly, “Together, of course.”

Leaning forward he pulled Eskel into a soft kiss.

#eskel #geralt #eskel x geralt #gerskel #angst with a happy ending #complete work #for now #someday I might add just some soft gerskel afterwards #i mean he's gotta get the silly wolf home safely #my writing

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Witcher Wolf: In Plain Sight

Two years have passed since Geralt was cursed with the ability to turn into a wolf whenever his medallion is removed, a curse that's turned into a blessing now that he and Jaskier are partners in everything they do.

It's no exception when they discover a Nilfgaardian army bearing down on Cintra, headed straight toward a certain child surprise. With Jaskier's help and Geralt's enchanted medallion they must find a way to get into the palace, make sure Princess Cirilla is safe, and get out with her in tow if needed, regardless of Queen Calanthe's orders.

[Chapter 1: Into the Fire]  [Chapter 2: Old Friend] [Chapter 3: Bad Luck] [Chapter 4: So Much for Being Smart] [Chapter 5: Secrets]

Chapter 6: The Beginning of the End

Jaskier was no stranger to all the elements of a prison cell. The loose dirty straw on the floor, the hard mattress if one was lucky, the unmentionable bucket in the corner, and the poor excuse for food that might occasionally be slipped under the door whose quality depended both on the town and how badly you’d managed to annoy the guards.

The familiarity was well earned too, one did not travel with a witcher without spending a fair amount of nights paying the price for a bit of rough adventure or a tragic misunderstanding in a damp cell. Doubly so if during your younger years you happened to have cultivated a reputation for sleeping with the spouses of married people who held grudges.  

But while Jaskier had spent time jailed for slights both real and imagined, he’d never been in a cell quite as nice as the one Wilhelm had put him in, and despite that he had also never hated being trapped more than he had the last several days.

The low bed had sheets on it, there was a plain writing desk with parchment and quills against one wall. The room even smelled of candle wax and clean straw instead of filth since Jaskier had the astounding luxury of being escorted to a real privy whenever he asked the guards.

Wilhelm clearly hadn’t been lying when he’d told Jaskier he still liked him despite their currently being at odds with each other, but not even three warm meals a day could erase the fact that Jaskier was trapped in a dungeon, that he had no idea where Geralt was, and that he hadn’t seen Wilhelm in three days.

And of course there was also the charming way that even the dungeon guards were visibly disturbed at the whispered news that Cintra was at that moment being stormed by an entire army of Nilfgaardian fanatics. Exactly the kind of thing to make a bard unable to stomach any food at all for the last twenty-four hours and sit tensely on his mattress while he picked at the sleeve of his chemise.

Jaskier’s knees were tucked up to his chest as he wondered for the umpteenth time where Geralt was, wondering how Geralt was, wondering how much time he had left before Nilfgaardian soldiers flooded into the dungeon where Jaskier would be utterly defenseless and trapped in his cell. Where was the wolf medallion Wilhelm had taken? Was Cirilla already smuggled out of the city, leaving them behind? What was being done to-

Jaskier jolted as the lock on his cell door rattled, smacking the back of his head against the wall behind him in his hurry to stand.

He wasn’t sure whether to relax or not when he saw it was only Wilhelm carting a small chair. Jaskier would have much preferred it to be Geralt coming to his rescue, but it was certainly better than an armed soldier of the Eternal Flame.

“You’re a bit late, I was expecting you two days ago.” Jaskier said, his dried out sense of humor struggling to surface at the unexpected relief of seeing a familiar face. “Or is it three days now? Hard to tell without a window you know.”

“Two and a half days.” Wilhelm said, setting down the small wooden chair he’d brought in with him and sitting down heavily on it with an exhausted sigh. “Though you could tell me it's been a decade and I’d believe you. My apologies for abandoning you without warning, I trust things haven’t been too rough for you?”

“Without a doubt the best prison cell I’ve ever been held in, full marks to this establishment.” Jaskier said with a dry chuckle. “Dreadfully dull though since you took the lockpicks out of the lining of my doublet before tossing me in here, I have no idea how you found them.”

“I found them because I’m the one who taught you that trick seven years ago.” Wilhelm said, raising an eyebrow. “Remember when we got so drunk that we woke up locked in a root cellar with a-“

“Alright, alright, I remember, I remember.” Jaskier said hastily. “You certainly don’t have to bring that story up again, I’d actually managed to forget it.”

“Truth be told I’d much rather be back in that root cellar.” Wilhelm said, any trace of amusement slipping from his face. “The Nilfgaardians have invaded Cintra and her majesty has taken her armies out to meet them in the battlefield. Within the coming hours we’ll be receiving messengers carrying news of our fate.”

“And you don’t think Calanthe will succeed.” Jaskier said quietly, dread seeping back into him.

“If we already had the additional Skellige forces her majesty is so fond of counting on in the field I believe we would, but we don’t.” Wilhelm said, his expression one of grim acceptance.

“What of Cirilla? Is she safe? What is being done to protect her?” Jaskier asked, folding his arms tightly where he stood.

“There are several possibilities in play, but the queen does not wish for Princess Cirilla to be removed from the city until she has given her permission. And she has likewise made it clear that she will only give that permission when there is absolutely no other choice.” Wilhelm said.

“So you’re waiting until things are so bad that Calanthe is dead?” Jaskier said incredulously, heat getting into his voice. “Who’s to say Ciri will even still be alive at that point? Or any of us? How on earth are you going to get a princess to safety when you’ve waiting that long, it might be impossible!”

“I am bound to her majesty’s commands, Jaskier,” Wilhelm said calmly, not at all rising to the bait. “It’s my job to make impossible things happen, though I’ll admit this will be one of the hardest miracles I’ve ever been asked to perform. Which is why I need to know where Geralt of Rivia is.”

“I already told you I don’t know.” Jaskier said, his fingertips digging into his arms. “Even if I did know I wouldn’t put him in danger by telling you, you’ve made it quite clear what will happen if you find him.”

“Being a spymaster means that I make a living of collecting information.” Wilhelm said, spreading his hands. “I gather a bit here and a bit there, using some but tucking away the rest. I must follow my queen’s wishes, but I am also capable of balancing several needs.”

“Which means?” Jaskier asked impatiently.

“If I were to find Geralt of Rivia while her majesty still wishes him to be forbidden from the city I am bound to punish him accordingly.” Wilhelm said carefully. “But if I were to know where he is and simply make no effort to find him until it was safe I would have no duty to harm him and when the right moment comes no time will be wasted getting you and the princess to him and all of you out of the city safely.”

Jaskier blinked. “You mean you’d let us take her?”

“When you need the impossible done you hire a Witcher. Every peasant farmer knows that.” Wilhelm said simply. “Had I been allowed to act earlier I would have preferred Princess Cirilla to be sent somewhere more secure with a military entourage. But when our city crumbles into flame and ruin tonight her best chance at survival will be to disappear into the mountains with a Witcher who will—I hope—protect her with his life.”

“You sound so sure of Cintra’s fall.” Jaskier said, voice not at all shaking.

“It is morning now and the Royal army has left the city.” Wilhelm said. “By my estimations we will hear of their defeat before late afternoon, at which point those of us left will be besieged in the castle until the bitter end, which will surely come before the sun has the chance to rise since the enemy will be drunk on their success in the battlefield. Nilfgaard takes no prisoners, we will all be dead before tomorrow.”

Jaskier tried to say something, some witty or satirical comment to deflect the dark fear that settled in the air. But nothing came, the half formed words sticking in his dry throat.

“Which is why,” Wilhelm said, making a hand sign that Jaskier recognized as a Cintrian oath. “If you tell me where Geralt is I swear not to make an effort to find him until either Calanthe is dead or has given me permission to give him his child surprise. Knowing in advance where to find him could save us precious hours that could save the princess’ life.”

If Wilhelm was making an oath Jaskier knew for a fact he’d honor his word. He’d never met a man who stuck to a promise as well as Wilhelm, but that was precisely why he had to be careful.

“If I did tell you...but you did find him before the time was right? Without trying I mean, if you accidentally found him, what would happen?” Jaskier asked carefully.

Wilhelm looked at him, squinting a bit, clearly processing what Jaskier’s words meant. He is closer than you think, somewhere you would see him if you realized where to look and therefore still in danger.

“If I found him before it was safe I would be honor bound to dispose of him according to the queen’s wishes.” Wilhelm said slowly.

“Then I cannot say anything.” Jaskier said, swallowing a bit and folding his arms a bit tighter. “As I said before, I have no idea where he is.”

For a long silent minute Wilhelm met his gaze with the calculating kind of look one might expect from a hawk or a leopard, and then the spymaster scratched his beard with a nod. “Well at least that means he is close after all, I only pray he’s within the castle walls by the time the siege begins or not even destiny herself will be able to save the princess.”

Jaskier kept a carefully expressionless face, giving away nothing. He knew that if Geralt would do whatever it took to stay by Ciri’s side once he found her, he could only hope nothing had happened to him in the meantime. Wilhelm would have mentioned if he’d been discovered, but he wouldn’t have mentioned a wolf being killed on the palace grounds.

“How is the princess?” Jaskier asked, desperate for any shred of information that might tell him about Geralt.

“She is understandably anxious but well guarded.” Wilhelm said. “The druid Mousesack stays by her side as a personal protector as well as a young knight. Ideally they both would accompany Ciri in the event of her fleeing with you and the Witcher.”

“Does she...” Jaskier hesitated, rephrasing what he really wanted to say over and over again in his head. Does she still have a wolf with her? Does she have a companion with her in this trying time? Does she...have any distractions to keep her busy?

“Does she know this? The plans to keep her safe?” Jaskier asked lamely, knowing that ultimately there was nothing he could ask about Geralt that wouldn’t draw suspicion. Wilhelm would realize what he was after, he would connect the dots if Jaskier put too many of them on the playing board.

“She knows that we are working to keep her safe.” Wilhelm said, clearly noting Jaskier’s hesitation but choosing not to address it. “Nothing more than that. She may be next in line for the throne, but she is still a child.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me out to speak with her?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer but having to at least try.

“Not yet my friend, but should you require anything ask and your guards will do their best to get it to you.” Wilhelm stood from his chair, cracking his back with a grimace before sighing and shaking his head. “And now I must return to the nightmare upstairs, I’ve already used up the minutes I was able to steal for you. Be on the ready Jaskier, tonight will be horrible for all of us. I hope you make it out alive, I’ll do everything I can to ensure it. The moment I can I’ll be back to free you and get you out of the city with your Witcher and the princess, may we be so fortunate.”

Jaskier bit his lip. “You’ll be coming with us won’t you?” He asked. Yes Wilhelm had made everything more complicated and yes Jaskier would give anything to be out of this cell and back with Geralt, but he certainly didn’t want to see an old friend dead.

Wilhelm hesitated with his hand on the door, his wooden chair tucked under one arm.

“Well, if destiny sees fit to send me with you I certainly wouldn’t argue.” He said with a smile. “But I have plenty of work left to do before then.”

“You still have the Witcher medallion?” Jaskier asked in a rush. “You haven’t lost it or given it away?”

“No I haven’t, it’s locked in my office with the rest of your things.” Wilhelm said. “I know how valuable a Witcher medallion is Jaskier, I’m not going to pawn it off.”

“Alright. Good. It’s...very important.” Jaskier said earnestly. “I cannot tell you just how vital it is that you keep it safe. Especially if you plan on Geralt helping you tonight.”

Wilhelm nodded slowly. “Alright...I’ll be especially sure to keep it safe. Rest assured.”

“Good.” Jaskier said, rubbing his arms as he sat on the mattress, feeling the barest shred of relief at the news and having nothing left he could safely say.

“Well, get some rest and get something to eat Jaskier.” Wilhelm said with a nod. “Force it down if you have to. Either it’ll be the last meal you ever get or it will be the energy you need to make your escape when the moment arrives, neither of which will be worth missing out on.”

Jaskier made a noise that was something between laughing and slightly choking as Wilhelm left the room.

 ***

 Spymaster Wilhelm de Drobiazg of Cintra had never asked to be a royal spymaster, in the same way that a river never asks to run downhill.

Ever since he was a child he’d always had a knack for finding the invisible strings attached to people, and with practice had become expert in winding them around his fingers so that he could shift events to his own purposes.

A nudge here to eliminate an assassin before they ever got close to the royal family. A well placed comment to a visiting ambassador there to cut off an unwanted betrothal offer for the princess before it was ever written up. A sleeper agent installed in a backwoods town years before the queen’s forces invaded, giving them the kind of invaluable intel that led to military victory again and again. Wilhelm was always watching and whispering from the shadows, ready to serve his queen in any way she needed before she even knew of the need herself.

And in his twenty-one years as Spymaster he had seen a bit of everything from cursed knights to secret romances to countless military campaigns. But Wilhelm had never experienced the crushing anxious grief that filled the late afternoon air as he stood in the castle’s front courtyard, looking down at the body lying on the stretcher before him.

All around him soldiers straggled in through the gates, cradling wounds and supporting injured comrades as dirt and blood streaked generals hoarsely bellowed directions. The city was well and truly locked down after the defeat, gathering in the few who had survived the tragedy in the fields that had been the royal campaign.

Only one body had been carried all the way back to the castle by the survivors, the effort too great for anyone less important than the Prince Consort himself. Wilhelm doubted even Eist’s body would have been brought back had the injured queen not been—barely—coherent enough to order it done.

Wilhelm bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he crouched down and gripped Eist’s cold hand, allowing himself a moment to wish the man a pleasant afterlife.

And then he stood, nodding at the bearers to carry the body away. Eist had been a good man, one of the best, but on a day that none would survive it was little use to mourn those lucky enough to fall first. Those whose bodies would have the luxury of being carried to a resting place by their still living comrades.

Wilhelm knew he would not be one of them.

“General Danek.” He called, moving to fall in step with the chief general of Cintra hurrying past. “Anything I need to know that I don’t already?”

“I doubt it, your scouts are always the first in and the last out wherever we go.” Danek said, his voice rough with grim anxiety as he pulled off his helmet and all but threw it to an attendant so he could wipe the heavy sweat from his brow. “You probably knew how the battle was going to end before I even did.”

“I’d settled on this outcome as a ninety six percent change yesterday morning when we hadn’t received news of the Skellige reinforcements.” Wilhelm said quietly. “Which is why it was my recommendation to remove the princess before we were put in a place of near impossibility.”

“Well then you should have pushed harder, could have convinced her majesty of your damn estimations before she wound up being dragged back to the castle with a stomach wound and grieving a dead consort.” Danek growled.

“You don’t have to be a spymaster to know that changing her majesty’s mind once it’s made up is a fool’s errand.” Wilhelm said, placidly shaking his head as they entered the palace. Their footsteps echoed down the stone hallway to the queen’s chambers, the quiet around them a false peace from the manic bustle shut outside. “And pushing her to admit defeat of any kind is a zero chance at all.”

Danek said nothing in reply, only giving a tired kind of snarl as they reached the queen’s rooms, pushing the doors open to reveal a bustle of healers gathered around where Calanthe lay on a low couch.

“Danek, have they reached the city gates?” the queen demanded, catching sight of them and ignoring the young woman gingerly cleaning blood from a cut on her face.

“They will within the hour your majesty.” Danek said, bowing his head in quick respect as they stood beside her couch. “We have no forces to speak of, little more than a skeleton crew now and badly injured at that. I can have the druid shield the castle gates. It’s a bandage on a head wound but it will buy us a bit of time.”

“A bit of time to what?” Wilhelm interjected calmly, hands behind his back as he looked at the general. “There are hardly more than a hundred people in this castle, the city is lost to us already. There is no chance of saving ourselves now, the only thing to be decided is how quickly we will choose to die and whether we will get Princess Cirilla to safety before or after it is too late.”

“You’re suggesting we simply roll over now for the Nilfgaardian blade?” Danek growled.

“I am not sending my granddaughter into the wilderness alone Wilhelm.” Clanthe snapped, flinching as a healer began stitching a wound at her side. “As long as this city stands we have a chance.”

They did not, and Wilhelm knew it, but as he looked out the window to see the beginnings of evening start to sharpen the smoky sky he also knew how useless it would be to press the issue. Not when she’d just lost her husband and her city and soon everything else with it.

“I understand your majesty.” Wilhelm said. “But now that things have reached a point of especial seriousness I would like to explain to you the plan for the princess’ extraction that has the best possible chance of success. Should you approve of it.”

“What is it?” Calanthe asked tiredly.

“I have good reason to believe that Geralt of Rivia is nearby, and that he has come to the city with the intent of claiming his child surprise and taking her to safety.”

The queen spluttered a choking gasp and even Danek stiffened.

“The witcher will never lay a finger on my granddaughter!” Clanthe demanded, trying to rise from her couch only the collapse back halfway with a pained noise.

Wilhelm gave a quiet sad sigh, moving to kneel down beside his queen so that she was at least a bit above him. “My queen, I know this is the last thing you want, but please for a moment consider the tactical advantages.” he said quietly. “There is no better guard than a witcher, especially not for a young princess who will need to be hidden among common folk in a way that a soldier could not manage. There are hardly any men to spare and even if there was Cirilla’s company would have to be as small as possible to keep from attracting attention. A single witcher is worth twenty men, and as his child surprise the workings of destiny will be on his side.”

“I should have you hanged for treason, how long have you known the witcher was in my city?” Calanthe said, but Wilhelm could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“I have only a well-founded suspicion, your majesty.” Wilhelm said. “But it’s a suspicion that may be the difference between life and death for Cirilla. Were we to entrust the girl to his care she would have a fighting chance. If we do not she has next to none. If you give your approval I can seek him out and begin preparations to get the next ruler of Cintra to safety before it is truly too late.”

Calanthe said nothing, instead staring at the far wall, as if attempting to reduce it to dust with her furious gaze. Wilhelm could see the grief and fury inside her battling, and that the fury was quickly losing.

“I want to see my granddaughter.” Calanthe said, her voice hoarse. “Wilhelm you are dismissed unless you have anything else to report before I discuss what to do next with Danek.”

“No, your majesty.” Wilhelm said, getting to his feet with a grim nod and bowing before he left the room.

Anyone else might suppose he had failed, but he had served his queen too long to be so badly mistaken. She had deliberately not said no, meaning she knew he was right but would deny it until the last possible second when her wounded pride finally gave in.

It would be the last possible second, likely when even the castle gates had already fallen, but Wilhelm already knew that Calanthe would order Cirilla given to the witcher before the night was out. She hadn’t yet, but she would.

Meaning Wilhelm had very little time to find him.

[Read Chapter 7: Out of Time]

-------------

Thanks so much for your patience between this update, I just got a brand new full time job which has been a huge blessing but had taken some adjustment and getting used to. Happy to be back writing again!

Secondly I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but as I wrote it it split itself into two and then three chapters. More content for you guys, so no complaint there. But yeah as a heads up there will be one or two (probably two) chapters after this one.

I've given Jaskier my "can't even think about eating when stressed even a little" habit. I feel like he only manages to choke down like the equivalent of a medieval granola bar after Wilhelm leaves him, but boy is he going to need it.

#geralt #the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #ciri #the witcher wolf #wit writes

[lover-of-midnight]

The last dragon -chapter 14

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

F/M

M/M

Fandoms:

Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)

Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Merlin (TV)

Relationships:

Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion

Leon/Morgana (Merlin)

Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Gwen & Morgana (Merlin)

Characters:

Merlin (Merlin)

Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Kilgharrah (Merlin)

Uther Pendragon (Merlin)

Morgana (Merlin)

Gwen (Merlin)

Jaskier | Dandelion

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg

Additional Tags:

Fae Jaskier | Dandelion

alternative universe

Pre-Relationship

Established Relationship

Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Mild Language

Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin)

tired Merlin

Tired Jaskier

injured geralt

Notes: I want to say a big thank you for @aalizazareth for betaing this story. I appreciated it.

Jaskier gave his magic a slight push. He and Geralt were in the forest, almost at the same location the worlds had changed.

For a quiet moment, he could not help but wonder if they would ever be able to go back to their own world. He could admit to himself that he was glad to be there to help Arthur and Merlin, but on the other hand, it was time that they went back.

They had their friends and worries that lay in wait. They wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of their lives in Camelot.

Geralt pulled Jaskier silently against his chest. He could feel Jaskier’s heart pounding in his chest. “Calm down, love.” Geralt's voice was low in Jaskier's ear. “I think we will be able to go home when we have done our work on this side."

“More than likely, but we don’t even know how long this will take. What if something happens to them in the time we are here?” Jaskier knew it wasn’t fair to ask this question out loud.

Geralt had already started to show signs that he wanted to move on again.

“Then, we’ll deal with it when we get there. For all we know, time could move slower, or not at all.” Geralt took a breath of relief when Jaskier relaxed against him.

Jaskier tangled his hand into Geralt’s. The smile he gave softened Geralt's eyes. No matter what came their way he knew they would be able to handle it.

There was a moment of silence between them when Jaskier looked serious all of a sudden.

“You remember my half-sister?” Jaskier's voice was quiet.

“The one that died?” Geralt asked softly, for he knew how sensitive of a topic it was for Jaskier.

“Yes. Morgana reminds me of her. Not just the looks, but her personality as well.” Jaskier’s blue eyes bore into Geralt, who returned the gaze.

“I don’t think it is possible to be reborn into a different world, Jask. And Morgana is no fae. If she was you would have known by now.”

Jaskier was silent for a moment. “Maybe, but remember we got pulled here, it isn’t so far fetched that she could have been born on the other side.”

Geralt searched his lover's face, wishing he knew what he could say or do.

Jaskier took a deep breath, his eyes trained on the ground as he said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much in the end. Even if she was reincarnated as a normal human, she won’t be able to come with us. She now lives her life on this side.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier into a hug. He understood how much Jaskier missed his half-sister but, from the tales he had heard, her death was done with a reason.

“Let’s go back to the castle. Someone needs to make sure those two idiots don’t blow up the place.” Geralt smiled when he heard Jaskier slightly laugh against his chest.

Arthur pulled himself away from Merlin. “I am sorry for my reaction. It was wrong of me,” he said softly. He could feel the last pieces of anger leaving him. “I understand why you never told me from the start that you have magic, and I only wish that you had told me after Morgana did.” Arthur's hand touched Merlin’s cheek slightly, where he could feel tears silently streaming down against his thumb. He felt overwhelmed by his own emotions. “I am sorry for hurting you when the only thing you wanted to do was protect me.”

There were a few moments of silence as they just held each other. Every emotion was finally out in the open, and now all they had left to do was move forward.

Merlin tiredly wiped his eyes clear. “I think it is time that you meet the dragon. Just don’t trust everything he says, he doesn’t truly care about the kingdom, only about revenge,” he said wearily.

Arthur tried to wrap his head around the fact that there was a dragon still alive after the great purge.

“When would you like to do this?” Arthur asked quietly. A deep breath helped to steel himself for meeting a dragon.

“Now. The sooner we get this done with, the better.” Merlin dragged his fingers lightly through his hair.

For a moment there was an awkward silence.

“Well then, lead the way,” Arthur said as he pulled the door open.

The walk was silent as they moved through the hallways. When they got to the stairs going down, Arthur almost gave the guards a strict lecture for the fact that they were more into playing their game of dice than work.

He did laugh a little bit when Merlin used his magic to make the dice roll down the hallway, and with ease, they made their way down into the cave.

Arthur watched in wonder as Killighar flew down. Merlin only gave the dragon a slight glare.

“The young Pendragon. I started to wonder when you would show up.” Kilgharrah sounded half-amused with the situation.

Arthur was silent for a moment. His eyes were just roaming around the dragon. “Yes well, there was a lot of stuff that needed to be worked out.” Arthur’s voice was filled with wonder.

Kilgharrah looked silently at Arthur. “So, when are you going to take your rightful place?”

Arthur took a slight step back. Of everything, that wasn’t a question he had expected.

“Arthur?” Merlin gave him a worried look.

“When it is my time.” Arthur’s voice was quiet as he said it. There was no way that he would be able to kill his father. And if something did go wrong, when they tried to take over, well in the end it would only take longer to become king.

A puff of warm air made them both jump slightly.

“You are a fool Arthur Pendragon. The time is right now!” With those words, Kilgharrah flew back higher into the cave.

“He has a point, Arthur,” Merlin said softly. “Now is the time for a change, before Camelot has so many enemies that nothing will be able to keep her safe in the end.”

A sad smile graced Arthur’s lips. “I know, but I don’t know if I would be able to kill him if the need arises, and that is why I don’t want to do this.”

Merlin spun away from Arthur. “You are busy being a coward, Arthur. There is a lot of stuff you don’t know about, believe me when I tell you, now is the time.”

#my fanfic writing #the witcher #merlin (bbc) #fae jaskier #alternative universe #pre-relationship #established relationship geraskier #merlin's magic revealed #tired merlin #tired jaskier #kilghar #uther pendra #morgana #yennefer of vengerberg

[ao3feed-geralt-jaskier]

by bbuckyy

After losing a medallion, Jaskier begins to undergo changes and unearth forgotten details of his past.

Quote from fic: "'Are you in pain?' Geralt relaxed his fingers and let his sword drop to the soil below with a gentle thup. 'I… no…' Jaskier finally tore his gaze away from his wings and stared straight at Geralt, eyes filled with fear and a need for something that Geralt couldn’t quite divine. It was in moments like this, moments where Jaskier completely let down all of his well-built walls and just asked for help, that Geralt was reminded of what he so often tried to forget. At a passing glance, one would think that Jaskier never held anything back, was an open book. But Geralt had learned that, while Jaskier was honest and vulnerable, he was also incredibly guarded, and was well-practiced in dancing around uncomfortable questions or conversations. And then all of a sudden, he’d be staring at Geralt like this, blue eyes each holding a sky of their own within the lens, willing to bare all his secrets to the world -to Geralt- at the drop of a hat. Jaskier carefully folded his wings behind his back, 'It feels as if I’ve had them my whole life, really.'"

Words: 3565, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach (The Witcher)

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Transformation, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae & Fairies, Self-Esteem Issues, no beta we die like men, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, One Shot, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #netflix the witcher #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier

[the-wotog-collection]

current (4/27/2020) list of aus

so! we have one overarching universe (wotog) that almost everything falls under, with the exception of the chromatica crew and the Project 83 kids. and, because we have so many kids and so many ideas, naturally, we’ve come up with (entirely too many) alternate universes to put them in. designated tags for each au are after each description.

this is also gonna be really long so i apologize in advance. everything is under the cut.

pirate: this is actually set somewhere in the beginning-middle of True Canon, after the og crew (minus anne and viren) went around the continent, witherhurst, and decided “yknow what? there’s nothing else to do here, let’s go be pirates i guess” so they proceeded to steal a pirate ship and go be pirates. #pirate au

ccak: cats, coffee, and kink. this is the generic modern au, and i love it so much. to me, this is True Canon but for the modern aus. set in fantasy-modern new york city, it’s basically slice of life as the kids just kinda exist together. #ccak

flowers: ah yes, the soulmate au. [redacted] actually came up with the idea for this one: everyone is born with at least one soul mark. they have one that’s their own, and it takes the shape of their favorite flower somewhere on their body, and is filled in with the actual colors of the flower. but, because this is a soulmate au, most people have more than one mark. okay this is gonna be a little hard to explain so. person A has a rose on the back of their left hand, and that’s their soulmark. they have a romantic soulmate, person B, so they might have a red lily on their right forearm (or wherever it is on person B). they also have a platonic soulmate, person C, so they have a blue daffodil on their leg, and a familial soulmate, so maybe a green peony on their back. and a person doesn’t know what kind of soulmate they’ll have until they meet their soulmate and their marks start to fill in. a person’s personal mark goes gray if they go against destiny and love someone who doesn’t share a mark with them, and their mark fades almost completely when that corresponding soulmate dies. (in addition, fantasy races don’t exist in this one, and if i remember correctly, magic isn’t a thing either.) #flowers

wings: this one is pretty straightforward. everyone has wings (and everyone is human, rather than fantasy races), and it’s great. #wings au

wolf/vamp: so in this one, everyone is human, but can be turned into (or born as, i guess) a werewolf, a vampire, or, in some rare cases, a cross between the two: a vaewolf. this one is kinda grittier to me, but that’s just the impression i personally get from it. #wolf au #vamp au

outbreak: the obligatory zombie apocalypse au, feat. low magic and a very soft magic system. Zombies are made of a mix of magic and disease, so a cure is virtually impossible. Typical gritty ‘everyone’s depressed and just doing their best to survive’ apocalypse shenanigans. #outbreak

hanahaki: self-explanatory. a modern au, i’m imagining it as similar to ccak, but in which the hanahaki disease is a thing and occurs. #hanahaki au

fae-u: a modern-ish au, in which mythical creatures exist! has heavy ties into japanese folklore and myths, with some more western ideas as well. this one is pretty xander-centric. #faeu #fae u

pantheon: the kids are deities! based more on greek mythology, and takes place in ancient greece, if i’m not mistaken. #pantheon

vigilante: heroes and villains are a thing, and where there’s heroes and villains, there’s vigilantes! this one is mostly centered around xander, hatch, and glo. #vigilante #vigilante au  

reaperverse: set in a world where reapers come to collect souls when they die, one stubborn woman (spoilers: it’s eve) simply refuses, and forgets, to die, and shenanigans ensue. #reaperverse

prince and the gardener: based on a tumblr post i'll look for later, the palace gardener falls in love with the prince. they are, of course, none other than hatch and xander. they have therai, palace guard, and eve, reluctant queen, on their side, and life is good. #prince and gardener

warrior cats: the guilty pleasure au. (for me, anyway.) the kids, but set in the warrior cats universe, so they’re all cats. sue us. (actually please don’t, neither of us have any money.) #warrior cats au

dark carnival: Based on the vocaloid song Dark Woods Circus (i lost the link im so sorry), this au is Pippin-centric. Focuses on Pip as they’re dragged to a twisted hell by a demon that goes by the name of Ringmaster (Intem). Everyone in the carnival is a sinner, who was sent to hell for crimes they committed in their lives. Eve and Vik are the twins (Also based off ‘see no evil speak no evil’), Dante’s the deformed diva, and Therai is the blue beast??? He’s the cannibal guy. There’s a happy ending I promise. #dark carnival au

accidental summoning: based on the fic Twine (x) by CrunchyWrites on ao3, hatch is a witch and accidentally summons xander, a demon. they kinda fall in love, but also stuff happens. you’ll see. #accidental summoning

reputations au: ah yes, an au based on an au. this one is based on the fic Reputations (x) by Tromper on ao3. two empires have been at war for the past ten or so years, and it’s been a bloody one. until! each side decides to have their best warriors marry each other as a sort of peace treaty, and it’s a slow burn enemies to husbands to friends to lovers. #reputations au

class swap: basically, we were like “hey what if everyone swapped classes” so! this was born. gotta remember who swapped with who. vik and pippin switched (vik is now a rogue and pippin is a bard), therai and tal switched, i think eve and intem switched, and xander and maybe hatch switched? i think. #class swap

merfolk: everyone is a merfolk! their society is essentially made up of lesserfolk, higherfolk, serpents, and leviathans. anyway it’s life under the sea and it’s great. #merfolk au

pokemon: a pokemon au! we came up with our own region for this one, based on alaska, and it’s actually really good and a lot deeper than i thought it would be! #pokemon au

fairy au: different from FaeU in that everyone is a fairy, instead of mythical creatures. this one is pretty straightforward too. #fairy au

a pirate’s life for me: okay so we were both involved in our school’s production of the musical A Pirate’s Life For Me ([redacted] was cast, i was crew) and after a couple showings we were like “hey new au idea” so. this happened. long story short: eve is a lady, bored of noble life, and decides to go become a pirate to spice things up. her suitor, tal, is heartbroken and says yknow what! if it’s a pirate she wants, it’s a pirate she’ll get! so he goes and becomes a pirate too. eve runs into the notorious Captain Scars (intem) and Captain Vex (vik), and carves a place for herself in infamy as the pirate queen. #pirates life au

warrior princess: [redacted] came up with this one and it’s really cool actually! so, eve is a warrior princess, a role she filled after xander, the kingdom’s warrior prince, mysteriously vanished one day. she fills this role quite well, even if she isn’t particularly happy with her life, until a ~mysterious stranger~ offers to whisk her away to the feywild, so she can be free. (spoilers: she goes with him.) #warrior princess au

the witcher: this has been our hyperfixation for the past couple of weeks (at the time of writing this). marlowe and i decided to watch the witcher netflix series and said “hey new au idea”. i read copious amounts of fics and [redacted] is consuming frankly scary amounts of witcher media, so, this au was born. therai takes the place of geralt, and where would he be without his bard, eve? #witcher au

#gonna tag all the aus here we gooo #pirate au #ccak #flowers #wings au #wolf au #vamp au #outbreak #hanahaki au #faeu #fae u #pantheon #vigilante #vigilante au #reaperverse #prince and gardener #warrior cats au #dark carnival au #accidental summoning #reputations au #reincarnation au #class swap #merfolk au #pokemon au #fairy au #pirates life au #warrior princess au #witcher au #that was entirely too many #mod ash

[omgkalyppso]

41. resting foreheads together and 54. pulling in to dance pretty pretty please!

OMG this is going to be so long. I hope the Read More works. @feared-dear I wrote Claude x Ashe for you for prompt 54.

41. Resting Foreheads Together

The twins were two days old, or so people kept telling Fae. They felt like they had slept on and off enough for weeks to have passed.

“It’s so quiet, Claude.”

“I—?” Claude hesitated, stroking a thumb across their face. “I can ask about moving you?” He wondered where they could place Fae, that they might hear more servants and guards, and maybe the wyverns, without disturbing their health and sleep.

Fae shook their head as they moved to look him in the eye, resting a hand on their stomach. “My hearts are gone.” They failed to smile through their sadness, tears stinging their eyes again while Claude’s expression betrayed his shock and then his helplessness. “And you won’t let me see them.”

“That’s not…” Claude whined. He started again, his voice stronger. “I’ve seen them, and they’re beautiful.”

“I should be feeding them,” Fae whined. “Whether with a bottle or my body… I … I had that reassurance before,” they caressed their abdomen, strangely silent to them now, “to know that they were fine… You’re not lying to me? You wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I promise,” Claude insisted, huffing in sadness. He wished Fae hadn’t suggested that he could lie to them, but understood why they had, and that they might still not believe him.

Fae could see that they’d hurt him, and winced in frustration, nodding as they accepted his answer. The room they’d been resting in balanced features that advertised its use, for healers and royalty both. It was worse to not be in a familiar bed, and a relief to be in Claude’s arms as they sat so their toes touched the cool tiles on the floor, in suspense and discomfort.

It was ten days before Fae could meet their twins, and after, in private, Claude may have cried harder than them over the reunion.

The sun had set and the sky was the orange of late evening, peeking through the windows across the hall, when the healers confirmed for the monarchs that their children, now five weeks old, were healthy enough to no longer require isolation. Though they were still given privacy; and the family gathered in the safety of their walls, the echoing comforts of home and victory yet ringing off battles from years ago.

“Oh, my sweet child,” Fae cooed, scooping up one of their little princes, who scrunched his face in disappointment and made a noise as if to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Fae hushed, bouncing him close to their chest. “But I missed you, my heart.”

Claude collected their other baby, who was quieter and grunted upon being moved. He too held their child close to his heart, and thought of all that had fallen into place, just so, for him to have these children, and this life to offer them.

“Fae,” Claude beckoned, nodding them to a bench beside the window, where they could watch the rising line of orange on the opposite wall; a performance from the setting sun.

“They’re crying,” Fae said, and Claude wondered if Fae shouldn’t be feeling more distress, but they seemed happy, excited, relieved. “All those warnings about how I never cried and that I… But they’re crying.” Fae descended into hushes and coos that seemed to be doing nothing, and Claude had to keep from laughing about it, ridiculous and endearing as it was.

He leaned towards them, with a careful hand around his infant’s head, and Fae leaned towards Claude too, bumping against him in defeat.

“Here, let me try,” Claude suggested. Leaning his one child into the crook of one arm as he turned towards Fae, Claude leaned back with his right hand cupped in a way to assure them of his capability. Although Fae grimaced about the prospect of their baby rejecting them after so long apart,  they helped lay the infant on Claude’s chest, his hand fitting around the babe as he pressed him in place.

Claude took a minute longer than he expected to recover from this, being surrounded by his family. When he finally moved to stand, intending to offer the silent twin to Fae’s arms and babble around his crying child, Fae touched his shoulder. “Wait.”

“Hm?” Claude peeped curiously, and Fae nodded his attention to the scratching on his chest. The twins were each stretching out to the space in his arms, to a suspicious degree. Claude cocked his elbow until the quieter babe, squeaking a warning, shifted closer to their sibling as Claude shifted his arm to hold the children closer together.

His crying baby flailed a little, accidentally slapping the other child, and Claude tossed his head back in distress as Fae shushed them again.

“Won’t you relax now? You’re together again. We’re together,” Fae promised, kissing the side of their child’s head.

Still leaned back as he was, Claude could see where the babies were now holding hands, and felt himself grow light as his infant started to calm, crying replaced by grumbles that faded into snores.

“A natural,” Fae teased, kissing Claude’s cheek next.

He shook his head, whispering, “I didn’t even do anything.”

“Look at them again before you lie to me,” Fae insisted.

Doing as he was told, Claude also looked behind himself to find the window frame, being sure to lean against the wall and not the glass, and conceded to himself that maybe even that was helpful. Holding them, watching them sleep, wondering about their joined hands, Claude realized that if he and Fae supported this bond, his children might never know loneliness in the ways he had as a child, that they wouldn’t know to fear every intimate gesture.

“Are you okay, Baba?” Fae asked softly.

“Yeah,” Claude sighed. “Yeah, I’m… I love you,” he said to Fae and then to the infants in his arms. “I love you.”

“We love you too,” Fae answered, feeling strange speaking for their children now that they were present.

“Come here,” Claude requested with a tilt of his neck, kissing Fae’s lips, feeling their arms wrap around him and their children as they shifted closer. They rested their chin on his shoulder, and Claude pressed his forehead to theirs and asked, “So who’s who?”

The names had been decided, it was only a matter of distinguishing either child. Though each born with blue eyes, one child’s had changed to brown, and they were not wholly identical, so that once assigned, the names should be easy to differentiate them.

Fae chuckled softly, eyes closed in comfort. “Should I not know them longer before I presume?”

“That’s not how it’s done in Fodlan,” Claude observed, where naming ceremonies did not exist. “I want to know if we’re on the same page.”

“Alright,” Fae said warmly, sitting up. They stroked a finger through the fluffy green hair on their closer child, the one who’d been crying. “Nader,” they declared, extending their finger to tap the top of the other twin’s ear, “and Geralt.”

“I’m good with that,” Claude said, smiling wide.

Fae clicked their tongue. “Were we on the same page, or not?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Claude teased, excited, biting his lips. “You’ve named them now, ceremony or no.”

Fae gasped. “That’s hardly fair.”

Claude willed himself not to laugh or bounce, not beyond his breathing. “It’s perfect,” he promised. “This past hour? Perfect. Let me…” Carefully Claude started to stand. “Let me help you hold them.”

It was less complicated than Claude expected to transfer the twins to Fae’s arms, and he stood in front of them, crouched over with his hands on his knees in case they needed him to reach out.

They were much warmer than Fae expected, and their hearts weren’t beating loud enough to hear or anything supernaturally strange, beyond their appearance, but they were teary anyway to be reunited with their hearts, quiet and comfortable, and finally ready to live together.

54. Pulling In To Dance

Ashe had found rather quickly that dancing with strangers at a ball had not been near as romantic as any book might lead you to believe. More than half the crowd was twice his age and looked on him like a schoolmarm might an unruly child. The orphan adopted by a traitor, who’d sought rewards and power simply by virtue of being distantly associated with a once-absent king.

He was only on a second flute of champagne, but it had been more enjoyable to skirt the edges of the ball, talking with old friends as much as they dared or had time for. The throng of people was so thick and insistent, that except for his opening speech, Ashe hadn’t even laid eyes on Dimitri; or rather, His Highness, as he hated to be called by those closest to him — and wasn’t that proof enough that he and Dimitri had once been friends, even if the months that passed made it feel more and more impossible.

In all, even the addition of Almyran guests had done little to convince Ashe that this was anything short of another political meeting that he hadn’t actually needed to be present for.

There had been a few recurring sights to the evening; Felix had threatened no less than five nobles, for example, and Ingrid had caused a bit of a commotion when she’d girded her loins to participate in feats of dexterity and follow dancing lessons from some of the Almyran ladies, but these had been numbered events, that Ashe could have counted on his fingers. More eye-catching than them, it seemed every time Ashe turned his head, there was King Claude, making a point to dance with each eligible member of the Fodlan nobility. A suspiciously-Sylvain performance, Ashe had thought at first, until he really started to mull it over.

They weren’t children anymore, and while others hounded Dimitri, so too must there be a crowd that taunted Claude with the importance of a spouse and an heir. To Claude’s credit, it would certainly force some kind of reconciliation if he married someone from Fodlan.

He nearly coughed half his flute back into the glass when he realized he’d finally been staring long enough for Claude to notice him.

Slamming his glass down on a side table, Ashe raised his left hand to his mouth as he fumbled for a handkerchief with his right. Relief washed over him, though his heart was still racing, when he’d managed to clean himself up before having to stand straight in front of the foreign ruler.

“Hey,” Claude greeted, warm and cheery, with half a laugh that made Ashe bemoan his embarrassment. “Long time no see.”

“Your Majesty,” Ashe said politely, bowing. “It’s wonderful to welcome you to Fodlan again.”

Something flashed in Claude’s eyes that Ashe was glad he wasn’t too drunk to notice.

“Lord Ashe,” Claude agreed, extending a hand, “Fodlan’s welcome is all that I could hope for.” Ashe shook Claude’s hand, decorated in ribbons and jewels, and started to shake his head. “I hear congratulations are in order, and His Kingliness tells me your family is well. Or at least he did … ten months ago? It’s truly a shame that time passes so fast.”

“I—” Ashe hesitated. There was a lot to unpack about Claude’s statement. Had Claude asked about him? Or about everyone? Or had Dimitri simply volunteered the information? Ruling, even a small estate, had not been what Ashe had trained for, and neither did it feel like it warranted congratulations, with the exception that it allowed him to confirm the security of his siblings. “Ashe,” he corrected finally. “Just Ashe is fine. I’m still getting used to the Lord bit.”

Claude smiled again, nodding, and Ashe wondered if there was something of years ago in it even before Claude looked over his shoulder to confirm their seclusion before answering, hushed, “Then call me Claude while you can get away with it.”

A wink from Claude’s green eyes at this proximity had Ashe diverting his gaze, hoping his blush could be dismissed with the thrill of misbehaving. People always mistook his emulation of virtue as a respect for tradition and rules, but every one of his friendships involved exceptions of some sort; being offered to call an old friend by their name would not be so thrilling under most other circumstances.

Ashe decided that rather than be rude, he had to look back to Claude and nod despite his blush having yet to fade, but it felt doubled when Claude chuckled at him.

“Good,” Claude agreed. He extended his hand again, palm up this time. “Would you want to take this conversation to the dance floor?”

“Oh,” Ashe peeped, looking down at himself and trying to decide if what he wore was clean and formal enough to dance with a king.

“I promise I’ve improved since our academy days,” Claude offered, swaying his head.

“No — I mean, yes,” Ashe fumbled. “I’d love to dance with you.” He placed his hand in Claude’s and started following him the few necessary steps to the dance floor. “I guess I just made some wrong assumptions about who you were dancing with.”

Claude spun Ashe and himself in a half circle, in time with the dance and the music and seemed ready to speak, until Ashe nearly fell at the end of the spin, his feet tapping along the floor to keep from falling. Suddenly Claude was closer, an arm around his waist.

Ashe confessed, “I-I only know how to lead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Claude chuckled, changing their stance. “I should have asked. I should have realized…”

“It’s fine,” Ashe promised, taking lead, smiling and avoiding eye contact with a group of nobles watching them. “But wow! It’s more than an improvement to learn these dances forwards and backwards.”

“I’m … adaptable,” Claude allowed, scrunching his face dismissively and shrugging one shoulder. “And anyway a dance floor is an invitation, whether someone asks you to dance or not. People are more willing to whisper secrets if they think they’re hidden under music and conversation.”

Ashe felt his blush coming back and rushed to say, “That’s very astute — and I don’t mean that in the way one might feel obligated to compliment their monarch. You’ve always been rather observant, whether that won you battles or allies, even from the days of our youth. I always admired that… M-m-m-more so, when it came to light that more than the heir to the Leicester Alliance, you were a secret prince, vying for your people, no matter where they came from.”

“Hmm,” Claude said thoughtfully, his brow lowered in assessment, a pout to his lips.

“That-that isn’t to say—” Ashe began.

“You’ve thought a lot about that,” Claude observed, and Ashe nearly tripped over his own two feet again.

“I mean, not as such,” he protested. The song ended and left him dead on the dance floor. “I’m sorry,” Ashe said with a bow. “I’ve offended you.”

“What? No,” Claude hissed, looking back and forth at the crowds. He took Ashe in arms to pull him into the next dance, as if to keep him from running.

“I didn’t mean to romanticize your life,” Ashe confessed. “I know you’ve been through war, same as the rest of us.”

Claude smiled sadly. “Even with that being why I’m here. Let’s not talk about that for tonight, okay Ashe?”

There was something about the use of his name that had the hair on the back of Ashe’s neck stand on end. “Of course,” he agreed. “It’s a happy night.”

“Sure,” Claude said dismissively. “Who did you assume I was dancing with?”

“Oh Goddess, I said that didn’t I?” Ashe lamented, trying not to think of dance steps and just follow Claude’s lead.

“Making assumptions about foreign royalty is the game here,” Claude insisted, gesturing to the court at large.

“Maybe so, but I didn’t mean—” Ashe sighed. “I just thought I’d noticed you dancing with eligible members of the nobility.”

Claude’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled, all teeth and confusion. “Yeah?”

Ashe frowned, more confused than Claude now.

“And what are you,” Claude asked, deliberate, “Lord Ashe?”

Surprise replaced confusion as Ashe remembered his position, but he was able to close his gaping mouth quickly enough that his smile felt calm, natural. The set up was exactly like one of his books, and Ashe thanked his past self for reading so much that he could answer, a little more suave than he’d been otherwise, “Intrigued.”

Claude licked his lips, and Ashe sighed in wonder. Had he been intriguing enough to warrant more than a moment of Claude’s time? A wink said yes.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #ashe duran #claude von riegan #faedolyn #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean