#geralt hears enough mean things

[thewitcheress2389]

Hello! If you feel like it, could you write something for Geralt x reader? Reader is touch starved and doesn't want to initiate affection, but Geralt catches on bc she relaxes when their shoulders brush or when he pats her shoulder. One day he's had enough of her being so uptight, so he holds her and she just goes boneless with relief.

I relate to this so much Anon, putting my own feelings in this one❤️😂 Hope you enjoy! Sorry if it's jumbled, I was in a state when I wrote this XD

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Witcher's Senses

You forget that a witcher has enhanced senses. Funny enough, Geralt doesn't really need them to figure out your problem.

Most men don't understand, but witchers are even more ignorant. They don't have the need to be held, the need to be touched. Not like a woman like you needs. And you don't just mean "touched" because not all touch is good. Some touch is selfish, uncomfortable, and lacking all mannerisms of a proper gentleman.

No. You want touch to be gentle, full of love.

Geralt was the only man that you could share this with-without his knowledge. Witchers weren't exactly ones for holding hands or exchanging hugs. The only affection they ever receive is from a one night stand that they paid for with their gold from a gruesome hunt. The closest you've ever been to Geralt with his knowledge is when you had to clean his wounds after a dicey encounter with a leshen or a werewolf.

But you needed more. You craved more from him.

"Y/N, can you tie up Roach." It was a command from Geralt, who wasn't looking at you as he handed you the leather reins. You eyed his hand, the way his fingers gently caressed the leather.

"Yeah." You said softly, reaching out to grab hold of the horse. And then, your fingers touched.

You lingered, lingered longer than expected. His skin was rough, but also very warm. You loved it, you loved the feeling that you haven't had in years. You didn't care that he was a witcher. He was still a man that had warm skin and a gentle aura about him. His touch made you relax. Softly, you began to smile to yourself.

"Y/N, Roach is getting anxious." Geralt's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you realized that he had let go of the reins long ago, his touch gone. You blushed in embarrassment when he finally heard Roach pawing the ground.

Mumbling an apology, you led the mare to a nearby tree, Geralt's gaze following you the whole way.

He wasn't stupid.

Jaskier might call him uncaring, ignorant, and hardy but the witcher was actually quite the opposite. He had better sight, better hearing, and a better sense of smell than most men. But even with all that, he struggles to read people sometimes. You were shy, didn't say much to him, but your eyes held so much emotion. But you, you were more obvious than you probably wanted.

When you pretend to trip and bump into him, your heartrate softens.

When he pats your shoulder after a fearful encounter, your muscles relax.

When you grab something from him and your fingers touch, your eyes glow and you smile to yourself.

You longed for touch. You needed it, but you didn't want anyone to know that. You were scared to initiate contact, which Geralt sensed when you were just around him. Your quick breathing, nervousness, and raised heartrate. You were uneasy because you lacked the touch you craved, that only he seemed to be able to give you.

Now with the knowledge he had, Geralt was confused. Why did you seek him out?

He was a witcher, covered in scars and years of abuse. He didn't know what a soft touch felt like unless he paid for it. Geralt didn't know how to give you what you wanted, however, you seemed to know. You were pretty, so it shouldn't be hard for him. Despite all the negative things that Jaskier has said about him, he always has mentioned that Geralt has more of a heart than most witchers.

Perhaps Geralt just needs to find that heart and give it to you.

So, one night, he did.

You guys were sitting by the fire, Roach was grazing nearby, and Geralt just got done putting things away. He then moved to sit next to you. Close to you. Immediately, his senses picked up your beating heart and nervous sweat. You weren't the only one nervous. Geralt was too. However, he cared about you, he knew what you needed and how he could give it.

The witcher scooted closer and placed an arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

"Geralt?" Your voice was small, face extremely red. The witcher, however, was calm as he rubbed his calloused hand over your shoulder to soothe you.

"Shh...just relax." Geralt said and you did. It was like you melted at his warm touch. Every organ in your body immediately calmed down; your heartrate slowed, breathing slowed, and everything else just relaxed. You sighed pleasantly, finding yourself moving closer to him out of impulse.

"Why are you doing this?" You couldn't stop yourself from asking him, the warmth from both him and the fire easing you. The fire light flickered in his cat-like eyes as he swallowed nervously.

"Because I needed it. I needed your touch." He told you, smiling a bit. Relief seemed to fill in your eyes as you took in his words. Every time that you were afraid to initiate any form of contact was just your nerves getting the best of you. Geralt said he needed you, just like you needed him. You nuzzled your head into his shoulder.

However, Geralt said that to ease you, or that's what he thought.

But he found himself relaxing at your touch as well.

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher geralt #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt imagine

[queenunderthatmountain]

okay but book jaskier is so special to me

Him just being this childish, flirty, and self loving pretty man in his fourties who makes inappropriate jokes at the wrong time and always ends up in situations that he needs to be saved from

but him also being so much more than just this basic, seen before, comic relief.

him being an artist, above all else, a really good one, one that can make people passionate and sad and feel all the emotions he feels. wasnt he even a teacher at oxenfurt? like teacher jaskier pls give it all to me

him coming from a rich family, being educated but deciding that his art is all he needs and to live his life in the fullest

him always thinking he's not brave enough, but for the people he loves he goes through danger and discomfort, as long as he possibly could, longer than anyone, including himself would have thought

him also being just a really lovable person? him chosing Geralt, cold seeming, unsocial, sad Geralt as his best friend (in the books thats the kind of realtionship i see them as) and just making Geralt love him, even though he fucks things up on a regular basis, can be annoying as hell and lands them in the strangest ans messiest situation, Geralt loves his bestie so much, he would go through anything for him without making Jaskier feel bad for it

sure he might sometimes be annoyed but would never truly be angry and never ever abandon him do you hear me netflix

he could have all the company in the world, but he chose to stay with the outcast, the brewing, dangerous man who is unwanted and unwelcomed by society, and never regretted it

In conclusion Jaskier is a very special being and means the world to me

#I'm sure there's more to say about him but i can't remember everything about the books #barely anything tbh just that i liked them and they were funny #witcher books brainrot #the witcher #baptism of fire #jaskier #dandelion #julian pankratz #joey batey #joey batey was the perfect jaskier btw #just treat him better #geralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher netflix #henry cavill #anya chalotra #geraskier #the witcher books

[wren-of-the-woods]

Hello! Thank you so much for what you do- could I please have some recs for geraskier fics where geralt is the one pining harder?

Here you go!! I wasn't sure how to categorize who was pining harder in all of these (since our boys are masters of longing lol) but these are all stories where Geralt loves Jaskier very much, and I highly enjoyed them all!

~

favorite by @asweetprologue (Rated G, 5.8k)

Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out.

i’ll kiss you slow by @paintedcrayons (Rated T, 4.9k)

Geralt is not being creepy. He’s not. He’s just looking out for his friend (with a questionable choices in lovers). Lately, Geralt has started to notice the way people treat Jaskier’s affection like a means to an end. They kiss him only to move to the next step, dance with him as pretense to get him into their beds. He would like nothing more than to kiss Jaskier for the sake of it. (He does.)

time and time again by @samstree (Rated G, 5.2k)

Marriage proposals, through the years.

The Best Laid Plans by @dhwty-writes (Rated T, 5.5k)

Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.

A Friend in the Wild by @samstree (Rated G, 1.6k)

In which Geralt acquires a tiny friend who wouldn't stop following him.

Weak and Wanting by @sociallyawkward--fics (Rated T, 36k)

Geralt had thought that inviting Jaskier to Kaer Morhen after all these years would be a good thing. What he didn't plan on was his brothers deciding to have a little fun with their situation. Lambert and Eskel really needed to stop meddling in things they didn't understand, especially when it came to his bard.

Tell It With Your Heart by @bambirex (Rated G, 2.5k)

While Jaskier always says what's on his mind, Geralt works a little differently. That doesn't mean he cannot tell Jaskier how he feels - he just does that without words.

Repeat After Me by @onwardorange (Rated G, 7.3k)

All it takes is (nearly) three years, two meddlesome brothers, and one exasperated sorceress to get Geralt to admit his feelings for Jaskier.

Love Me Better, Send A Letter by @rebrandedbard (Rated T, 12.5k)

Geralt and Julian have been exchanging letters since participating in an inter-school pen pal program in high school, and Geralt has been pining away for Julian for over a decade since meeting by chance one faithful day in Posada. Between work and Ciri, he hasn't had much time for travelling, but he and Julian still exchange their letters faithfully. Finally, Julian's equally busy life coincides with Geralt's long enough for a short visit, and Geralt has the chance to finally introduce Ciri to the man she knows only on paper. Things would be perfect ... if Julian's visit didn't fall within the week of the concert of Ciri's favorite musician, Jaskier.

Music is no solution by @thecrownprincessbride (Rated T, 4.3k)

Jaskier has self-doubts, and Geralt is there for him.

A Careless Omission by @samstree (Rated T, 5.4k)

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely.

Highway Angel (To the Dark I Said Pour and Forgot to Say When) by @fangirleaconmigo T, 2.8k

Geralt is a long haul truck driver. With long stretches on the road away from his family, and with no one to keep him company but his loyal dog Roach, he has to brave most of his life completely alone. Then one day, just as he is passing the city of Oxenfurt, he turns on the radio and hears a voice.

zero for ten by @yaelathewordsmith (Rated T, 10.4k)

The blue-eyed boy on the school's cricket team seems determined to bowl Geralt out. The worst part is, he isn't even fucking trying. * Or, the ten times Jaskier held Geralt's heart in his hands without knowing, and how Geralt grew to want him to keep it.

~

(You can find my other reclists here!)

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher #twn #wren recs #these are the ones i found searching my bookmarks but i'm sure there are many other good ones! so recs in the notes are highly welcome #it looks like there's a pining geralt tag so you could check that out too if you want #also i only noticed after i put this together that samstree is on it three times #you're the master of geralt pining jin XD #some of these probably appear on my other lists too but they fit the category so here you go! #thank you for this ask by the way!! i'd forgoten how much fun reclists are! #and i'm happy you thought of me <3 #reclists

[flusteredtuna]

Focus On The Target

Geralt of Rivia x !fem! Witcher Reader

Words: 3k+

Warnings: ( 18+ Mature Only ) Choking, Finishing inside, fingering, riding,

Summary: After months of tension, a visit to his bedroom sparks something that was a long time coming.

“Focus on the Target.”

Geralt of Rivia was a Witcher to be reckoned with. His hard exterior is thicker than bone and rock. It’s just the way he has to be, to be able to fight those dreadfully awful monsters.

He took you under his protection initially a handful of months ago, when he found you lost in the forest. A lost and broken female Witcher. It was no law of surprise but you both found yourself inseparable. And with every foe you both have crossed, you have insisted that you can fend for yourself. It’s hard for you to resist being stubborn about it since you were both around the same age and once wielded power like his.

Today, he finally decided to teach you the trade of combat. Since you never learned under prior “guardianship”. For, there would be a point where you would lose at your attempt to get involved.

Your leather boots squelch into the terrain below as you pull your arm in with blade in hand. The slight breeze that carries sprinkles of rain falls into the bay of your parted lip. You swing the throwing knife at the target ahead, hearing it whisper its sharpness in the air as it flies. The knife thuds on the ground, refusing to stick into the wooden target.

“Your grip is key.” He places another blade in your hand gripping your fingers tightly around it to show you how hard you should hold it. “The angle you throw should follow your arm’s aim…” Looking over at him, watching his yellow eyes flicker as he focuses on your training, you admire his strong features. His husky jaw and broad shoulders. The way his hair looks like beds of fallen snow and soot, with a strand falling next to his furrowy brows. More than a handsome man, but a damn good-looking one.

“Just inhale deeply and let it go as you throw. Just like the bow and arrow.” You nod “I understand”.

You spin your head back toward the target that is nailed to the wide tree, narrowing your eyes. Throwing again you manage to make it stick, but not in the center.

“Better,” His voice sounds full of gravel. But it’s deep enough to be alluring.

You’ve been attracted to his presence since you met him. And he’s felt the same about you. There have been many times when hands graze, tension fogs a room, and sometimes your lips almost meet during the fading of dusk. Your hearts were more than friends, but you both never mentioned any sort of lust, when it fluttered in the air. You both just let it pass by for some unknown reason. I mean, how could you turn down a man so protective and valiant as him?

“Remember to take your time, the ease will keep you in line with your target.” He gets closer to you guiding your arm with his hand, “When the knife leaves your hand, you want to be aiming higher than the target.” Shifting your eyes from him back to the target, just to get a sense of how close he is. You inhale deeply, letting it all fly away with the throw of the next knife.

Geralt is impressed and nods. “Good, very good.” He hands you another knife. “Again.” His dominating tone makes him all the more attractive.

Continuing to practice, you make a good improvement. Even with the distractions of him looming over you, or showing you how to hold the blade correctly. Not to mention the exchange of glances here and there that feel so seductive. But his expressions are always too cold to tell half the time.

You practice until the sun begins setting in the sky. He plucks the last knives out from the spiral wooden target. “You did well.” As you move toward him he turns around to take the last two from your hand. “I believe I’ve made quite the improvement on the path to proving you wrong, Geralt.” His response is a huff. The closest thing you’ll get to a chuckle from him.

“We should get back inside before it turns dark.” He looks at you, “Get some food and rest”.

You both make your way back to the tall house you’ve decided to reside at for the month. It’s tall and made of cobble. Wide and large, but not as large as a mansion. It’s just more than enough space. The mossy stone is gorgeous with the way the golden light showers its surface.

After eating a sufficient meal you decide to head to the bath. Geralt leaves you to clean up and relax, as you’ve earned it. The bathroom is just as homey yet grand as the house itself. A large sunken smooth stone tub, with buckets and candles around it. Cloth to wash and dry with as well. You undress from your robes, covered in mud and grass stains. Slipping every item off with ease as your breath deepens in relaxation.

The bath is warm as you step in, one leg at a time, then sit on the inner step of the tub. The cuts on your knuckles sting as they meet the water. Training did not only involve throwing knives but it involved throwing punches. Some against hardwood.

Although you are exposed, you feel safe, finding peace within the subtle darkness of the room. You steep in the tub for a while, taking your time cleaning yourself. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes, you soak and relax further.

So relaxed you are reluctant to hear the door creek open. “Oh uhm.” That coarse voice makes you shoot your eyes open to find Geralt standing there. You catch him looking at your wet and free breasts, so beautiful as they glisten from candlelight. He quickly turns away, “Sorry I thought you had finished.” The last word echoes in your head. Finished. The interaction makes you grin. He’s felt the breast he sees before him yet he has trouble looking out of respect for your current nature.

“Not yet.” You tease and play with his words and smirk, looking him up and down. You wouldn’t mind if he were to look again. Maybe come over and join you. “I’m almost done. Unless you want to join me.”

Geralt nods and moves closer, refusing to look anywhere in your direction. You’re surprised he decided to join you, but you guess he just thought it was best to not waste warm water. “I cannot stay for long. I have tasks that need my attention later tonight”. He finally meets your eyes but doesn’t explore anywhere else.

“Well, There’s plenty of warm bath.” You gesture to the other side of the large tub. It’s spacious enough to fit four people. He starts to take off his ragged dark clothes of the day and steps into the bath, only leaving on his medallion. His body was covered in those familiar scars he lets you ask about. He sinks into the tub, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to pay the same respect to him as he did to you.

He seems very at ease in the pool as if everything else is just white noise. He closes his eyes and sighs as if he were waiting for this moment of relaxation. The water blurs everything beneath the surface as it ripples, and you watch the water as it waves.

“So what does the night feature for you tonight? You said you have tasks.” Your eyes meet his. Geralt seems to think for a moment, the water lapping the sides of the pool. “Nothing too serious. Need to deliver a Kikimora leg to an alchemist in town.”

His voice is comforting and relaxing. He has a lot of experience with monsters, so it’s quite natural for him to speak of them so calmly. “I’ll be back in the early hours of the morning.”

“Then you should take your time now before you face another creature.” You grab a sponge and hand it to him. Your hands touch on accident, as they tend to do, and he takes the sponge. “Thank you.” It glides over his muscular arms and chest, and you can’t help but watch him a bit. He groans and it makes you squirm your legs a bit. As the noise would be lovely in another situation.

You let a few strained minutes of stubborn sexual tension pass before you notice how pruned your fingers are. “I’m headed to my chambers, I’m in dire need of my beauty rest.” You grab a towel and start to emerge from the bath. "I look forward to seeing your beauty upon rising.” He turns his face away and remains silent after this, seeming to restrain any further comment on your naked figure before him.

You dry yourself as much as you can before wrapping yourself in the warm towel. Starting to walk out of the room, you turn your head back to meet his eyes again.

“Goodnight, Geralt. And good luck” You smile and turn to walk away closing the door behind you, just hoping he makes it back as unharmed as possible.

-

-

-

You wake up in sheer terror, gasping for breath, clinging a hand to your heart, and feeling your pulse race a little faster than usual. It was another nightmare. One that was rare these nights. You sweep your curly locks out of your face and try to gather yourself. Maybe turning on a light or two would help.

The terrors fade a bit from your memory as you cool down, trying to observe the room to distract you. It must be late in the evening, creeping into early morning as it is still dark out the window beside your bed. He must be back by now, he has to be.

You throw your blankets open and slip out of bed, still wobbly from your slumber. With slightly heavy feet, you make your way out into the hall with candle in hand. The silence of the house is accompanied by the creek of the floorboards and the wind faintly hitting the window at the end of the hall. There is no glow from the outside seeping through the window like there is in the winter. Just darkness and shadows of your surroundings bathe around you and your candlelight.

As you carefully make your way down the hall, refraining from making as much noise as possible, you reach his door. You stand in front of the mahogany and iron, deciding if you should bother his sleep he so well deserved. Although you now desired more than one form of comfort.

Taking a deep breath, you nudge the door with your knuckles just enough to see and peek in. The door’s hinges creak quietly as it moves open a sliver.

You find that his bed is made, and he is not there. A strange discovery as you knew he’d be back in the early hours of the morning.

“Y/N.” A large warm hand lands on your shoulder and you gasp. “What are you doing up?” His hot breath lingers on your neck. You turn to face him, candle at your side. He’s a little cleaner than usual with a few small scratches on his face and his garbs and armor rugged from combat.

“I could ask you the same question.” His eyes glued to you as he takes your candle and sets it on the hallway’s table beside him.

“I am well within my reason. You should be in bed.” He wasn’t wrong about either. But it’s hard to sleep when the best comfort is supposed to be in the other room. Now it faces you.

Taking the pad of your thumb, you swipe his cheek and ignore his scolding. “Didn’t get too beat up, I hope.” He holds your hand in place and closes his eyes for a moment, taking in your palm. Then meeting his eyes with yours again, he lets go of the grasp and lets your hand fall.

“All went well indeed.” He moves a step closer to you backing you up against the wall.

“Now. I will ask you again. What are you doing up?” His voice makes you shiver with how low it is. Although it’s an intimidating tone, you find it protective.

“I’m safe and sound aren’t I? Why does it matter.” You try to throw your attitude at him to show he has no control over you.

“Because. You tend to linger by my bedpost when you’ve had a night terror.” He’s not wrong. You would come to him when it was unbearable because he was the only company you knew to turn to. You stay quiet with a tough look on your face, and he clearly reads you like a book.

He takes a step forward and as a result, you are pinned to the wall between his door and the table with the candle lit. “Or are your intentions…” Leaning in, he puts a hand on the wall right over your shoulder. Another attempt at protective imitation. “More seductive?”

“Perhaps a bit of both…” You analyze all his features, letting your eyes wander. “Perhaps…” You move a smidge closer to him, breath upon breath, “more seductive intentions.”

He doesn’t even let you catch your breath before taking a firm hand to your hip and locking lips with you. The kiss is filled with a feverous passion that makes you ache for more. You reach for his face again, pulling him closer, while you put another hand on his chest starting to unbuckle his armor at the sides.

This felt different than the other moments when you’re lips met each other. This felt like it was going to lead somewhere more permanent. It was rougher and made you more in need of his touch. His chest piece falls to the floor while he works on taking the others off, throwing it to the side. Geralt was now easier to feel, with fewer clothes to shield him from your touch.

In a swift motion, he grabs you by your thighs and picks you up, pressing you into the wall while your legs wrap around him. Tongues interlacing in a dance, swirling.

As you both pull away, your lips burn with sensation. He huffs into your mouth and presses his temple to yours, swinging you around and taking you to his bed. His grip on your ass as you travel is firm.

His room is almost as humble as his, but his bed is just as handsome. The headboard is stained Mahogany with carved features of trees and animals. And the canopy drapes over the bedposts, making it a cozy resting place.

He plops you down onto the edge of the end of the bed and starts to loom over you again. Leaning in to kiss you once more, you scoot backward. Making him work for it. “Catch me if you can, White Wolf.” You make sure to annunciate the name, just to tease him further. Every quick move you make back, he advances. Until you hit the headboard, letting him have his way with you.

The kiss again is tender and filled to the brim with passion. He grabs your wrist pinning it above you as he starts to kiss down your jaw, then your throat, until he hits your night dress. A thin white gown made from cotton cloth that comfortably drapes your body. He sits up, staring down at you for a second.

“I’ll get you a new dress.” He grabs the opening right above your breasts and tears it open, turning the garment into mere scraps of fabric. And just as he found you in the bathing room, you are exposed to him yet again.

He takes you in, being so mindful of every hill and plain on your body. It looks like he’s mapping you out for a plan of sensual attack. He murmurs low at the sight of you, and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

Your knees are bent, stuck together, while your heels lay far apart. With his medallion dangling, he takes a hand from your stomach and glides his calloused palm down your side. He sweeps under to grab your ass, releasing his grip to then move to your thighs. Trailing up his hands meet your knees, and he moves them apart. Opening you.

As his hand moves, his eyes follow to meet the center of your opened legs. His treasure. His reward to reap. He dances his fingers to your inner thigh, closer and closer to your center.

“Am I to watch as you dangle satisfaction above my head.” You say softly while your breath hitches with every change in touch. “Mm-hmm.” He nods as he finally reaches your clit making slow circles. You gasp and arch as his touch consumes your entire being shooting pleasure up every vertebrae.

Leaning in closer, he grabs your face sternly with control and kisses you again. The sensation fills you with desire. He then fills you again but with his fingers. Not rushing but not hesitating either. In and out, he pushes again and again. Although this fills you with more than mere lust, you want to show him how you can overcome his territory.

You push against his chest with a hand and he follows the motion sitting up with you and slipping his fingers out. He might be dominating but he’d do anything for a beautiful creature such as yourself. As he’s up you sit on your knees before him and begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Stopping only four buttons down you look into his eyes with mischief in mind. You tear open his shirt the same way he did to your dress. Taking his medallion in your hands you pull on it just enough so his lips are once again close to yours. “I’ll get you a new one”. You smirk at him and his hint of a smile grows a little larger from your playfulness.

You unlatch the buckle on his pants and push him back onto the mattress. It was your turn to be the cat climbing over him.

As your breasts dangle in his face he starts to take his trousers off. You stop him and do it yourself, throwing them on the floor. Now he’s just as vulnerable as you.

Starting from his ankles you prowl your way to his hardness.

Within your grasp, it is firm and thick. Only growing thicker as your breasts hang in his face again. This throat purs with his low-toned vibrations making you chuckle. Lifting his head, he places his mouth on your breast while placing a hand on your waist. This leaves your entrance to hover over his cock in your hands. A tease for you both as you continue to move your hand up and down his shaft while his tip kisses your wetness.

Moaning and humming, you both stay here in this series of actions. But he desires more of you. Moving his mouth away from your breast, he places both of his hands on your waist. “I trust you remember our horseback lesson, yes?” He says looking at you.

Your grin is naughty after he says this. With his permission you slide onto his mass, stretching you, while he guides you with his grip on your hips. His length fills you and you struggle to look at him straight. It’s just too large to handle without going slow.

Now that you’re sitting upon him, you start to ride. Just like he taught you. Starting slow you bounce up and down letting your hair hang in front of your face. The pleasure is too much to bear with eyes open. Grabbing your face again he says “Look up, darling”.

His grip tilts your head up to face a mirror you failed to notice at the other end of the room, facing right at you. You also fail to continue to ride him, now distracted by the surprise of your reflection. With your hips now hovering, he gives you another surprise and starts to thrust into you. You start to close your eyes again as your face scrunches in pleasure.

“Keep watching.” He tightens his grip on your face as moans continue to escape your mouth. And you watch as he fucks you. He frees his hand on your hip for a moment to smack your ass as it creates a tantalizing sting, leaving your cheek red. He watches as you watch your reflection jolt up and down from his thrusts. Moving his hand down to your throat, he flirtatiously chokes you, while he arches his head back to watch the mirror with you.

Reaching a hand to hold his arm that has a grasp on your throat, he finally lets you throw your head back as you grow tighter around him. “Gods…” You exclaim. “You feel…so…fuck”. He chuckles low at you and starts to thrust at a faster pace.

As you both get closer to ecstasy his hands move back to your hips, and you bow down to meet his temple. Moaning into each other’s mouths, the sensation of your parts meeting is what the afterlife should feel like. It’s more than safe to say that this is the furthest you’ve taken each other than ever before.

Your temples continue to meet as he trusts, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you feel yourself pulse around him. Holding you close his movements get tighter and tighter. Until finally, a rush of sensation washes over you and within you, as he finishes as well.

Slowing down, sweat drips from your brow. He lets you feel him twitch inside you before lifting you by your hips while you gasp at the release of fulfillment. You feel the mixture of fluid drip down your inner thigh, a satisfying tickle.

You both try to catch your breaths lying on his chest. As your hand lays on his heart you feel his body rise and fall with each breath. It’s so calming here, even if your legs already feel sore. He puts a hand on your back to soothe you.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You realize that you had forgotten the original intention of lingering at his door. “I am feeling…” Sitting up you look into his eyes, tucking a piece of hair away from his face. “Magnificent.” A well-earned and rare smile appears on his face as he looks into your eyes. You feel proud to know you made The Witcher smile for once.

#geralt x reader #witcher x reader #henry cavil smut #the witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of river x reader #the white wolf smut #geralt x fem!reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt smut

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Destiny

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Reader

Word count: 1.6 K

Summary: You had to give up on some things when you decided you wanted a life with Geralt, but life has a way of turning things around.

{The Witcher Masterlist}

The nights are starting to grow colder as fall starts to fade, ready to turn into winter. Your small garden in front of the house is still flourishing, even though only a few flowers are strong enough to give you their beauty. So, kneeling on the ground, you pluck some weeds and clean off the dead leaves. The place will be less colorful for some months, but if you keep taking care of them, they'll come back at full power next spring.

You hear horses coming, and a wain. Not many people come this way but some residents of the nearest town since they know this route. Taking the small basket with the weeds and dead leaves to dispose of, you get up. The two horses come into sight and the wain soon after. The couple on it are familiar to you. You buy their carrots, potatoes, and broccoli.

“Good morning.” The man says, not smiling, but with the same respectful expression he always gives you.

“Don't talk to her.” The woman says. She's too young to be his wife, you see it now. His daughter then, but you don't know which one. “She's the wife of that –”

“Hush.” The man says.

“Good morning.” You reply, waving. “Safe journey back home.” Then, you give them your back and head inside.

You throw the weed and leaves on the fire before heading to the kitchen and starting to cut some vegetables for soup, trying not to let the loneliness bother you too much. You knew this was how things would be, but even so, even though you'll have to deal with the cold nights by yourself, it's all worth it. You'd do it all over again.

Passing the sweet potatoes to the pan, you're about to reach for the carrots when you hear it. A low, faint sound of a step on the wooden floor right next to you. Your body moves almost by itself, the grip on the knife getting tighter, but even before you can turn around and give hell to whoever was bold enough to invade your house, a strong arm surrounds your waist at the same time a hand grabs your wrist.

“I was expecting a much warmer welcome, my love.” His voice is what makes your body relax, but your heart, which was already beating fast, starts pounding.

“Geralt?!” You breathe out, dropping the knife and turning around.

Seeing Geralt after two months makes your body almost melt. Immediately, you throw your arms around his neck, your lips chasing his. Only seven months into the marriage, you only had Geralt with you for three. But you don't mind. You love him, and you knew things would be like this. It's the price of marrying a Witcher. A price you're more than willing to pay.

Geralt kisses you tenderly, and you can feel all of his love in it, the warmth, the thirst from all this time away. So you just hold him tight, even when you're both out of breath and have to break the kiss.

“I thought you'd take longer to find that monster.” You whisper, your foreheads touching.

“Ouch.”

“It doesn't mean I'm not happy. I'm... Delighted. Euphoric.” You give a little jump, kissing him again, then placing kisses all over his face as you stand on your toes. “You just scared the living hell out of me.”

“Just wanted to make a surprise. And I hurried with the hunt because the nights are cold and I made a vow to keep you warm.”

“Hm... So let's start by drawing you a very warm bath.” Smirking, you start to walk away, but Geralt grabs your arm.

“Draw us a bath. And let me get the water.”

“I can do it.”

“I know. But I'm your man. Let me do the hard part.”

You don't really enjoy bringing the water inside, so you don't complain.

Minutes later, the bath is ready, and the tub is set in the bedroom as usual. First, you washed with hair and body, and after, Geralt insisted on changing the water so you could get in. And you didn't say anything after the short explanation about how exactly he killed the monster and how some of its guts got on him. So when the new, hot water is ready, you join him in the tub. The temperature is perfect, and you rest your back against his chest.

“I never thought I'd have a real home to spend the winter.”

“Oh, you're supposed to go to that place for the winter. Kar Mare? Kor More?”

He giggles. “Kaer Morhen.”

“Kaer Morhen, yes. I don't mind if you have to go there, I can take the journey.”

“We could make a short trip while the winter hasn't kicked in yet, just so they know I'm still alive but... I have a home now. A real one. And I rather spend my winter with you than with those ugly men.” His embrace grows tighter around your waist, and your smile. “But tell me about you. Anything exciting happened while I was away?”

“Yes! I delivered a baby all by myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Marlën was with another mother in difficult labor. So when Alyn started feeling the contractions, I had to go.”

“And how was it?” Geralt always asks about your things, even though they're nothing compared to the amazing adventures he lives.

“A bit of a mess, I was so nervous.” You chuckle, turning around to look at him. “The husband passed out. He was holding a bowl with water and then he just fell, got the floor all wet.”

“Hm.” He mutters, looking down.

“What is it, my love?”

“You love this. And you love babies and children, and you'd be an amazing mother but I–”

To cut him off, you place a kiss on his lips. “Geralt, I knew of this limitation when I married you. And yet, here I am. And I wouldn't change a thing. I love you.”

He takes a deep breath, a small, sad smile on his lips. “I love you too. But it breaks my heart that I can't give you children.”

“Just give me all your love. That's everything I want.” And with another kiss, you both leave the tub and head into bed.

•••

When you start to stir, you feel Geralt moving. He always wakes up first, and then, he just lies there, holding you, looking at you.

“It's so good to wake up next to you.” It's the first thing you say, moving to climb on top of him. “I missed this. I missed you.”

Geralt smiles, softly grabbing your hips. “I dreamed about you almost every night.”

“Well, I'm right here now.” With a smirk, you lower yourself on him, your lips already chasing his.

Loud, obnoxious knocks make you sit back up. “I'll see who's there. Dress up.” Geralt says as he gets up, searching around for his clothes.

You put on the first gown you find, a white one, that you use to sleep, before following Geralt.

“I'm sorry...” You hear a woman's voice, low and anxious. “...died... Has no one...”

When you get to the door, you see Marlën, with a bundle of fabric in her arms. She passes the bundle to Geralt, who takes it as if it's the most fragile thing. You're about to reach the door when she turns around to leave, walking fast. She didn't even see you.

“Geralt, what's going on?” You ask, walking over to him, staring at Marlën's back. “She seemed so distressed...”

Then, a low, soft whimper gets your attention. Looking up at Geralt, you find his eyes locked on something in his arms. It's unbelievable how long it takes you, you, a midwife in training, to realize the sound came from a baby.

“Geralt, what...”

“She said the mother died... That he has nobody left... That a wet nurse will come twice a day with bottles of milk. I don't...” His voice fades when the baby opens his eyes, moving a tiny little hand up.

“Geralt, I think... I think she meant us to raise this baby.”

He looks at you, and you meet his eyes. Geralt's eyebrows are pinched together and... You've never seen him so emotional. Only when you confessed your love for him. “Raise him? As if–”

“As if he's our own.” Stepping closer, you take the baby's hand. “She knows I always wanted a child... And that I gave up that dream because of my love for you. So...”

“Do you think I can do it, (Y/N)? Do you think someone like me can be a father? A good one?”

Smiling, you take your free hand to caress his cheek. “Remember when you asked the same thing about being a husband? I told you you'd be a good husband.” Your smile grows wider. “And you proved me wrong by being an amazing husband.” The baby moans, and it sounds a little like a giggle. “If you agree to do this, my love... It'll mean a commitment for life.”

“A family.” He says, and then a smile breaks through his lips. “A family of our own.”

“Yeah... A family of our own.” Tiptoeing, you kiss him before caressing the baby's forehead. “Seems like destiny is on our side.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Geralt moves the baby up a little, so he can place a kiss on his forehead. And the scene brings tears to your eyes.

“You deserve it.” Moving to stand next to him, you exchange a look with him before focusing on the baby.

“Guess we'll have to leave Kaer Morhen for next year.”

“And next year, we'll introduce them to a tiny Geralt.” You add, as your heart is filled with bliss. Life has a way of turning things upside down for everyone. But this time, it just was putting things into their places. And you're excited to see where it leads you and this perfect little family you have.

#imagine geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt fanfiction #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia fanfiction #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine

[angelltheninth]

Geralt Having a Wet Dream About You

Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, wet dream, morning sex, morning wood, blowjob, grinding, masturbation, dirty talk, cum eating

A/N: More Geralt stuff! I haven't forgotten about him don't worry. I'm really looking forward to the kinktober fic for him.

Geralt has had a lot of wet dreams but usually he took care of things himself if he didn't have someone stay over until morning

He doesn't want to wake you up so he tries to take care of it by himself

You've heard his grunts and moans enough to know when he's feeling pleasure from something

You expected to find him dreaming, maybe humping the bed in his sleep not with the sheets thrown off him, his eyes closed and head thrown back against the pillow and furiously pumping his dick while grunting your name

A small smile pulled across your lips as you got an idea

Geralt was so absorbed in his fantasy of fucking your hot pussy that he doesn't notice your tongue joining his hand until it licked his cockhead

"Fuck! How long have you been awake sweetheart?" He looked down at you but he's far too horny to stop, he can multitask, talk with you and jack off, "I didn't mean to wake you up. I was having a bit of situation you see."

You pay close attention at how his hand swirls around the red, angry head, the white pre-cum gathering at the tip

"You want to help me with this little problem? You look like you want to. Come here then." Geralt pushed himself up the bed so he's sitting against the headboard, his legs spread apart for you, cock standing tall and hard, little white spots of pre-cum trailing down

You caught them with your tongue before they get the chance to drop onto the sheets, licking up his cock, feeling it twitch, hearing Geralt hum

"Such a talented mouth. Much better than my dream. Seeing you on your stomach, feeling your tongue on my cock, your tight, perfect little throat." His hips jolt upwards, "You can take in more can't you? I know you can. Wrap your hand around what you can't fit in but don't stop sucking understand?"

With you mumbling right as you pull up to the tip Geralt can't help but push your head further down just a little more

You braced yourself on his strong thighs, rubbing your thighs together to feel friction and some semblance of relief

Geralt of course, ever the vigilant Witcher, noticed you trying to grind on something

"Use this." Geralt reached behind him and handed you his pillow, "And don't worry about getting it wet." He grinned as he watched you fumble with the pillow a little and put it snugly between your legs, bracketing and gripping it with your thighs

As you started to grind on the pillow, feeling it against your clit, spreading your wetness all over it, knowing that this is the pillow Geralt has been sleeping on every night you let out a slew of loud moans and whimpers, your stomach tightening in knots, chasing your pleasure faster and faster

"You're breathtaking. Mouth full of my cock, and my pillow between your legs. You're gonna make me lose it sweetheart, I'm gonna spill my cum down your throat and you will swallow it." That was not a suggestion, it was a demand, an order

Like a good girl you gulped down every jet of his warm cum as it flooded your mouth and throat, doubling the efforts with your hips, craving his cock inside your cunt

Your slick juices ended up soaking his pillow as you pulled away from his cock, a thick rope of cum still connecting the tip of his cock and your mouth

You wiped it away with your fingers, making sure to squeeze out every last drop before licking it up, looking directly into his eyes as you swallowed

Geralt chuckled, "You didn't have to swallow every drop of it, but I appreciate the effort." He pulled you up and cradled you against his chest, a deep, content rumbling sound resonating from him

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt smut #the witcher smut #the witcher x female reader #geralt x female reader #the witcher imagine #geralt imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

After hours

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Librarian!reader

Summary: Geralt has finally handed in the paper you helped him research for weeks... Now what to do about all that tension between you two?

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, p-in-v sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, standing missionary, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), I think that's it?

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Alright! Roughly 4 months ago, I promised my dearest @deandoesthingstome a round with her Crescent Street fave (at the time, sorta). It has finally arrived! I hope you enjoy it 🥰

For those interested in the timeline: This takes place before he ever goes on his semester abroad, meaning that at this current time, he hasn't met Sol yet.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @livisss @brattymum96 @kingliam2019

“Thanks for all your help the past few weeks.” You’d been hoping he’d show up all day, and now that the library was about five minutes away from closing, here he was. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d be able to hear your heart furiously beating in your chest. It’s a good thing that wasn’t possible. Right? 

“You’re more than welcome, Geralt,” you answered. For some reason you were avoiding his eyes. “Got that term paper done?”

“Handed it in a few minutes ago,” he said as he put a stack of books on the counter with a deep sigh. His voice drove you nuts, it had been doing so for weeks, haunting you until long after you had gone home - oftentimes deeper into the night than you cared to admit. 

“You don’t sound too confident?” No, but you did? Where was that coming from? You had expected yourself to crumble in the presence of this… long-haired hunk? Fine specimen? God? All of the above? 

“I’m sure it will be fine.” His smile surprised you the most. “If I’m being honest I’m mostly sad I… don’t get to work on it any more.” Your eyes moved to his as if by magic, because your brain still screamed at you to avoid them at all costs. And it was right to warn you, because as soon as you saw their beautiful color, you were lost. Every shred of the tension you’d spent weeks convincing yourself was a figment of your imagination, rushed back, and now there was so much of it you could almost see it in the air.

“Can I help you put these back?” Geralt said after you had signed his books back in, and you nodded in reply to his question, knowing full well the shelf they came from was all the way in the back of the library. You knew you’d been the only one in here for well over an hour now, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. 

“Let me get the door,” you said, before almost rushing to it and locking it quickly. You could swear you heard him chuckle under his breath at the way you moved, but you didn’t care.

You both scanned the aisles for people you’d missed, but per your expectations, the whole library was empty. It was just the two of you now. The walk to the mythology section of the building felt way too long, and you were definitely walking faster than you were used to, but you weren’t complaining - and neither was Geralt. You somehow found the time to start second guessing your interpretation of the situation, and had to very consciously remind yourself that putting four books back on a shelf was hardly a two-man job. And you were right about that; returning those books took maybe a minute, and when you were done putting the last one back, Geralt pulled you off the step you were standing on and looked at you. 

Once again, all the tension that had built up over the past few weeks came flooding back to you as you stared into his eyes. Your gaze only strayed from his long enough to notice the way the muscles of his jaw moved beneath his stubbled skin as he clenched his teeth. His hands felt warm and heavy as they rested on your hips, and your arms seemed to auto-pilot their way up until your lower arms were against his. Touching his biceps was a mistake - alright, not a mistake, but you were definitely shocked by the amount of muscle beneath the thin fabric of the dark sweater he was wearing. Geralt licked his lips as you let your hands travel up his arms to his shoulders, and when you reached them, he pulled you in. There was no going back now. 

He kissed you hard and in a way you’d almost describe as merciless, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Every move he made revealed a tiny bit more of the immense strength you had already suspected he possessed. Something told you that you’d be getting more proof of that - maybe even more than you bargained for, but you couldn’t care less. When you felt the warmth of his tongue against your lips, you didn’t hesitate to open your mouth and let him in. He tasted of God knows what, but it was good, and the way he kissed you made your head spin and your knees weaken to the point where you weren’t exactly sure how you were still on your feet. Probably, you realized when you analyzed the situation a bit more carefully, because he was holding you up. Now that you were pulled against his body, his hands had moved away from your hips, and one of his arms now wrapped around your waist while the other pushed between your shoulder blades, crushing you into his chest. One thing you were very sure about was that you were not going to complain about any of this. 

You were glad to see that this had an effect on him, too. His heavy breathing matched your own and you felt his pulse drum against your fingers erratically when you laid a hand against his neck. Most of all, you were surprised that he was hard already, which made you feel a little bit less embarrassed about the slick mess you were absolutely sure you’d find between your legs. 

For weeks, you’d thought about asking him to join you for coffee after spending hours on the research for his paper together, or straight up asking him to take you home, even, but what was happening now bested even your dirtiest fantasies. Geralt still wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t exactly patient, either, and it wasn’t long before the hand he kept between your shoulders moved to your side, where it carefully began to creep up  over your clothes. Its destination was clear. You weren’t born yesterday, and he was a man; he obviously wasn’t interested in the feel of the fabric of your sweater. It was almost odd how he didn’t just immediately slip his hand underneath it…

To your disappointment, he broke the kiss, but luckily it was only to regain his ability to speak. 

“This is a lovely sweater, but it’s in my way.” You had been wrong: he did actually go on to comment on the softness of your sweater. That didn’t take away the fact that the way he cocked his eyebrow at you was a silent way of asking for your permission to take the thing off - which you gladly gave him. After a few short seconds, it was on the floor. Much to your own surprise, you told Geralt to just send your bra the same way immediately, while you frantically pulled at the hem of his sweater. After all, you needed to level the playing field a bit. The clasp of your bra was no match for his nimble fingers, which made you feel a little sad. Of course that wasn’t a new move to a guy like this - even though his being twenty-one made him a fair bit younger than the guys in your past. You were about to decide to not linger on the feeling, when Geralt made you forget about it altogether by kissing along your jaw to your ear. He moaned in it softly - a deep, gravelly sound that made you lose whatever little sanity you still possessed - and murmured a soft ‘fuck’ before moving away from you to take off some of his own clothes. 

It took everything you had to keep your mouth from falling open - and you were only about forty percent convinced you were actually successful. You’d always thought you had been more than generous in your wildly inappropriate dreams, but absolutely nothing on the planet gave this guy the right to be this fucking ripped. Despite probably managing to keep your mouth closed, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring, and you battled the strange urge to lick every inch of his body; your hands would have to do. Your fingers trailed softly over his shoulders and chest, and you bit your lip as you let them slowly travel down over his abs to the waistband of his trousers. On a whim, you hooked your fingers behind it and pulled him closer to you again. There was a devious smile on his lips when you did, which gave you more courage than you ever thought you had. He let out the most delicious grunt when you softly palmed his erection through his jeans, which was partially lost against your lips when you pulled his face down to yours for another kiss. You resisted the urge to pull your hand back when you realized what this guy was packing. 

Geralt squeezed your ass through your skirt and grunted again - a sound you gladly answered with a moan. He bowed his head and put his lips to your neck, seeking out the spots that made you squirm and whine. After a short while, he pushed you back a few steps until you felt the cold concrete of the wall against your back. You shrieked at the sudden coolness against your skin, involuntarily arching your back and pressing your chest into his. Geralt laughed softly before resolutely pushing you back against the wall, lowering his head again to continue his quest further down your chest. You gasped when the warmth of his breath brushed past your sensitive nipples. The touch of his tongue made you lean into him again as he drew circles around the pebbled skin. His hands made their way to the hem of your skirt, pulling it up until he could comfortably reach between your legs. His fingers ran over the fabric of your underwear, and you shivered when Geralt deliberately circled your clit with slow, lazy movements. 

He raised his head again, leaving your nipples exposed to the merciless cold air of the room, and looked straight in your eyes when he pulled your panties to the side and dragged a finger through your slick folds. He wet his lips, and you heard a soft growl rumble in his chest every time he exhaled. It was torture, the way he kept teasing you until you were begging him to give you what you wanted, but somehow, the glacial pace with which he pushed a finger into you was so much worse. 

"Fuck, you're killing me," you growled. 

"Tell me what you want, then." God, his smile was amazing. You almost forgave him for teasing you beyond any reasonable boundaries. 

"I want you to stop teasing me," you replied. 

"You've been teasing me for weeks," he said to your surprise, "don't I get even a little in return?" You quirked an eyebrow at him. He had been the one teasing you for weeks, for crying out loud! He laughed when you suggested that.

"I don't think I care who started it," he growled into your ear as he finally pushed two fingers inside you and curled them in search of the perfect spot. Of course he found it in no time, and you were a squirming, shaking, whimpering mess in his arms within seconds. 

He kissed you again. It was rough, like before - and an excellent way to keep you quiet as his fingers continued to pump into you unrelentingly. Your nails dug into the muscle of his shoulder so fiercely you were sure it hurt him, but he didn’t look bothered by it at all. Every moan that escaped you seemed to inspire him to keep going until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“That’s it.” You clearly heard the excruciating smugness in his voice as he pulled you over the edge. Leaning against the wall wasn’t enough to keep your knees from buckling, but Geralt seemed to have no problem holding you up while he rested his forehead against yours. After a while, your legs were once again able to carry your weight, and you stood a little straighter as you once again ran your hands over the ridiculously muscular torso in front of you, not stopping until you reached the waistband of his jeans, which you swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped. As soon as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, Geralt moaned loudly, your mouth swallowing the sound up as you pressed your lips to his again. The kiss could hardly distract you from the thoughts that raced through your mind as your hand greedily explored what mother nature had blessed him with, and you couldn’t stifle a moan. 

Your fingertips didn’t touch. That sentence ran tireless circles through your mind as you gently, experimentally, moved your hand, attempting to draw a reaction from the man in front of you. Your fingertips didn’t touch, but instead of contemplating the probability that this was never in a million years going to fit, you let out a continuous stream of moans as you touched him. If the past few weeks had taught you anything, it was that you didn’t care whether this would be easy or not. You needed him. 

The sounds that spilled from Geralt’s throat were like music to your ears, ranging from dark, guttural growling to equally dark and guttural moans. He took the liberty of pushing his pants down to give you easier access, which finally inspired you to set aside your doubts and get on your knees. 

Geralt inhaled sharply when your tongue darted out to meet the tip of his cock, and you found yourself almost giddy with excitement. There was just something about making a man this size crumble beneath your touch, and from your current perspective, everything about him seemed even more massive than when you’d been standing up. You smiled as you listened to the noises Geralt made as you circled your tongue around his head. That smile widened when those sounds grew more impatient with every passing second, until he placed a hesitant hand on the back of your head, gently urging you to stop teasing him. 

There was no way you could take all of him into your mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind. Men this generously endowed were probably used to that particular misfortune. Curiosity ultimately got the better of you, and you steadily moved further down his shaft until you reached your limit. At first, the hand Geralt kept on your head didn’t move at all, until there came a point at which he seemed to have confidently learned the extent of your capabilities. He was still gentle, applying only the slightest amount of pressure, never forcing you further down than you could handle. The occasional moan escaped you, the vibrations of which caused Geralt to groan, and his cock to twitch slightly in your mouth. 

It had been a while since you had been able to lose yourself so completely in a blowjob, and although you had no way of knowing how much time you spent on your knees, it must have been a rather long time. When Geralt pulled on your hair slightly - and more firmly after gaining some confirmation that you weren’t opposed to that kind of thing - and your almost trance-like state was broken and you were faced with reality again, the first thing you noticed was the excruciating sensation in your knees. You chuckled when the memory of one of your friends fought itself to the forefront of your mind. In your own days at the university, she had publicly - loudly, too - declared the library ‘carpet burn central’, and your knees were now living proof of her assessment. 

A large hand wrapped around your arm as Geralt pulled you off the ground rather unceremoniously, and pushed you back against the wall, kissing you fiercely. 

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath as he fumbled with something. The options regarding the source of the crinkling sound you heard - especially considering the context of the situation - were limited. Truth be told: anything other than a condom at this stage would have sorely disappointed you. Luckily, your educated guess was dead-on. 

“Need some help with that?” you taunted, not considering whether potentially antagonizing Geralt was a smart thing to do - it probably wasn’t. He huffed impatiently, breaking your kiss and looking at you with a lifted brow. There was something resembling amusement in those gorgeous amber eyes, and nothing of the annoyance that you had heard in his voice. 

“Got it,” he said, the smallest grin appearing on his lips. 

Without warning, he captured your body between his and the wall, pulling one of your legs up to his hip. It was not yet enough for him to comfortably move. While shaking his head slightly, a smirk on his lips, he lifted your other leg as well. The suddenness of your feet leaving solid ground made you shriek, and you wrapped your arms around Geralt’s neck. One thing was certain: there was absolutely no reason to doubt his strength. In fact, you wished furiously that you had chosen a less limiting and maybe more conventional position and location than the ones you currently found yourself in. Positions and locations with more possibilities for Geralt to show you what he was really capable of. At the very least, that location would contain something to tone down the sound of the screams you were sure he would pull from you.

As your thoughts raced through your mind about what could, would, should or might be, Geralt entered you slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust to the size of his cock. Much to your surprise, things went smoother than you had expected. The first thrusts came slowly, and were too gentle to really match the raunchiness of the position - or place - you were in. 

That didn’t last long. 

Whether it was his idea, inspired by your sloppily muttered ‘I can take it’, or a combination of both, you didn’t know - and quite frankly: you didn’t give a damn. Right now, it was just you and Geralt, and the way your arms were wrapped around his neck, and your legs around his waist, as you held on for dear life while each thrust came harder, faster and deeper than the one before. It was fantastic. Something about the way he moved had you hiding your face in his neck in a hopeless attempt to hide your screams. You squirmed in his arms as your hands closed into tight fists around locks of his white hair - which he didn’t even seem to notice. 

Geralt was an unholy combination of strength and stamina: rough, untamed, and seemingly always on the brink of losing control. For a moment, you were consumed by a single drop of sweat that traveled down his forehead, headed for the furrowed brow that sat over a pained expression. That tortured look gave you an idea of the sheer amount of restraint he needed right now to not topple over into the abyss of his own feelings, and chase nothing but his own pleasure. He’d hurt you. You were as sure of that, as you were of your suspicion that you wouldn’t mind so much as one microscopic little bit if he did hurt you. Never before had you surrendered so completely to a man, and if you had to be honest: never before had any of them earned your submission like Geralt did. 

He lasted way past the point where you should probably have asked him to slow down, then past the point where you wondered if you genuinely wanted him to slow down, and finally another while past the very moment any discomfort warped itself into pleasure again. That familiar, throbbing ache begged for attention - yours or otherwise - as Geralt slowed his brutal rhythm. A sigh of relief escaped you, not because it wasn’t good before, but because this was a pace at which your mind could keep up with the continuous, overwhelming flood of sensations. Geralt urged you to loosen your arms, which were still wrapped tightly around his neck. He held your hips tightly as he stepped back a tiny bit, giving you space to reach between your bodies and focus some attention where you needed it most. 

Geralt thrust into you with a steady rhythm while your fingers drew tight circles around your clit. Your breath caught in your throat as you came closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust, each touch. When you finally exploded around him, a hint of a smile cut through the grim expression on Geralt’s face. His harsh features softened as his previously unrelenting rhythm finally faltered and made way for the uncontrolled and passionate thrusts that announced his nearing release. His fingers dug into your hips, and the growls that fell from his lips bordered on the feral. When he came, those growls largely died against your lips as he swept you into yet another breathtaking kiss. A hiss escaped you when his sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip and bit down painfully. 

When he finally - maybe after slightly more time than he should have allowed - slipped out of you and put you down again, you had to brace yourself against the wall in order to stay on your feet. This guy was genuinely every bit as amazing as you’d imagined he’d be - and then some. Or rather: he had been. As you gathered your discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, scrambling to make yourself at least somewhat presentable again, you realized that this was it. It was over. The one thing you had spent weeks looking forward to, was now something of the past. Suddenly, a wave of something you couldn’t quite place washed over you. Not regret, no, you’d recognize regret. Even the where and how of this encounter couldn’t hold a candle to your worst drunken mistakes - the ones you actually did regret. There was absolutely nothing to regret about something this amazing, except maybe the fact that it was over. 

As you questioned why part of you was questioning your unquestionable life choices, you vaguely took note of Geralt sneaking off to the bathroom. Of course, your initial fear was that he would sneak off altogether, but you remembered the only entrance to the library was locked, and you were the only person present with a key. Your suspicion was confirmed when Geralt returned to you a bit later. 

The two of you found yourselves in a very interesting situation. If the morning after a one night stand was awkward, the moment after a wicked semi-public quickie in the library was at least twice as uncomfortable, and then some. You didn’t speak as you locked up and left the floor you were on, and while you walked, at least a hundred scenarios crossed your mind that did nothing to settle your nerves about saying your goodbyes. Whatever you conjured up in your brain was also useless in preparing you for the one thing that actually did happen. 

“Come back to my place,” Geralt said as you stepped outside. No matter how hard you tried, you were ultimately unsuccessful in keeping your eyes from going wide as you heard his words. Something about it wasn’t a question, which turned out to be enough to bring back the thrumming between your legs and weaken your knees. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt #179 crescent street #179cs #179cs10 #geralt of rivia x reader

[just-some-random-blogger]

10 Second Elder

The Blonde Boys Club

Daemon Targaryen x Sorceress!Reader, Geralt of Rivia & Sister!Reader

Summary: Yeah, so your twin tried to kill Caraxes and now you have to convince his rider, the mother fucking Prince, that it was all a misunderstanding (it was not).

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: THE ONLY INCEST IN THIS IS THE CANON TARGARYEN INCEST ALRD IN HOTD OTHERWISE MISS ME WITH THAT BULLSHIT, fem!reader, witcher!twins, reader is kinda a witcher lol, I describe reader's hair and eye color, crack fic, typos, etc.

A/N: I JUST GOT A BUNCH OF IDEAS FOR THESE BLONDES AND OTHER FICTIONAL BLONDES PLEASE IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ??? SERIES???? (dont quote me on that, idk what it is) ASKFL:AFHALS:F. AND SHHH whatever plothole you have for the witcher!twins, just, just, roll with it i beg also I'm tagging @lexi-anastasia HI!! i actually thought of this prompt cos of your display pic. IDK IF YOU EVEN LIKE hotd but i hope you like this for the witcher!twins LOL I'm also tagging @avaleineandafryingpan because they reblogged my the blonde boys club post T_T (mahal kita) and of course @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda P2 "Dry Humor"

Geralt had smelt it in the air before anything else. He had his bow in his hand, drawn and ready. His stance was low. The steps he took against the leaf covered ground barely made a sound.

He straightened himself up when he saw an opening and pulled his arrow all the way.

When a gust of wind blew, he inhaled deeply, now certain of his opponent. A dragon.

Geralt inhaled deeply as the beast shifted in the spot it was laying. He saw the saddle on it, scoffing. Suddenly things were clearer as to why a dragon would be out in the open, so exposed. It was also clear that whoever the rider was did not care about how their ride had ravaged the nearby farm and village.

He knew his arrow would barely injure the creature, if it could pierce its skin at all, and yet he shot at its curled neck anyway.

No avail. The thing didn't even flinch.

Geralt purses his lips as he redraws his weapon. The dragon shifts again and this time, Geralt's golden eyes see an opening, quite literally an opening by the rib, just below the saddle.

The sound of the string tensing fills the witcher's ears. He narrows his eyes as he adjusts in his spot to further assess the wound, as well as to properly get an opening.

He notes how the injury was a not new, and yet it was still healing. He tries to listen in on the heartbeat, but even with how large it was, it was still too far for him to hear anything.

He withdraws a bit of tension from his bow, enough for it to still reach the dragon, but only to cause it discomfort, not really to reopen its wound, to rile the beast up enough for it to want to leave with its rider.

Geralt draws in a deep breath and releases it along with his arrow.

The dragon roars and rises from its place once the arrow hits its side.

Dramatic, if you asked him. Geralt was certain it didn't hurt as much as the thing was making it out to be.

As the dragon whined, Geralt unsheathed his blade and surveyed the area, listening in on the rider that would inevitably come next.

He inches closer to the dragon, by its tail, and soon enough he hears quick footsteps and frantic breathing.

When he turns over his shoulder to the source of the sound, the wound tension in his shoulders relaxes a fraction, then tenses again at the shrill whisper-yell.

"What the fuck did you just do?" I demand, throwing the severed head I had in my grip off to the side as I readied my sword in my hand as I went into a defensive stance, "we came for the monster I already slain."

"This thing is the reason why the village burned."

"And you think you can kill it!?"

"No, but its rider will get the message."

I lower my sword, in utter disbelief of what I was hearing, "you think it has a rider?!"

Geralt narrows his eyes, "It has a rider," he corrects, "I shot at its open wound below its saddle."

"THEN YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!" I seethe, gritting my teeth, raising my sword again. Geralt watches me as I stalk closer to the dragon. I catch the way he knit his brows, and it makes my eyes twitch, "you don't know what it means."

Geralt nears me and I elbow him to the chest, "motherfucker."

All at once, the dragon is alerted by our presence.

The massive creature stands on its legs and growls at us.

I feel him, the dragon. I feel his regality, his tie to his rider, and his distress over the arrow. He knows it was one of us that caused it. He draws in a deep breath, ready to burn us both, along with the entire forest.

I drop my sword and I raise my hand, speaking in the dragon's tongue, "calm yourself."

Geralt measures my reaction and is unconvinced by both the language I am speaking, and the fact I disarmed myself.

"We mean you no harm, your grace," I call out, slowly walking over to the dragon.

He screeches and shakes his head.

"You think it can understand you?" Geralt grunts, tensing his jaw as he brings his weapon higher.

The dragon does not appreciate this one bit.

"Just because you don't doesn't mean he doesn't," I quip.

Geralt does not care and pulls out an elixir from his pocket, quickly downing it.

"You fucking idiot! We are not-"

All at once, a command is shouted, "DRACARYS!"

Without thinking, before fire could leave his jowls, Geralt shoots chaos, causing the dragon's head to shoot up and his fire to burn above overhead.

"LYKIRI!" I repeat the same High Valyrian command to the dragon. As his head downturns, the flames he breathed ceases.

Before I realize what is happening, I hear a man shout out as he charges, "WITCH!"

Geralt blocks my view of the incoming assaulter as well as his sword that was sword meant to slay me, "Witcher."

Their weapons skid against the other's. They are upon each other, attacking aggressively, as though their lives depended on it. The dragon grows, restless in the background.

"GERALT, STOP!" I scream as my brother's silver hair swooshes in the air, as does his equally blonde opponent's. My stomach drops at the sight of him, at the sight of the man who bore all indications of a Targaryen prince.

They charge at each other, stepping forward and back, metal crashing against metal. And for a moment, the long haired prince' anger gave him the upper hand, but I knew how Geralt was evading him; he was pulling his punches, but not for long.

I decide to divert my attention to the distressed dragon, finally seeing his saddle, and the arrow stuck to his side like a thorn he could not get out.

He does not like the fact I am quickly nearing him and snaps his teeth at me.

"Do not be insolent," I quip in High Valyrian at the creature, lifting my head up to him with his hand, "I am here to help you."

I could feel my pulse quicken as I make my way to his side.

I decide it's enough that he has not yet killed me for getting this close to him.

"Calm yourself, boy," I mutter under my breath, as I reach up to the arrow on his side. The dragon does a clicking noise, and I do not have time whether to debate it is a warning or a cry for help.

Without another thought, I pull out the arrow with a grunt. The beast whines then withdraws a long breath. I turn to him as it cranes it neck to do the same to me I drop the arrow coated with his blood in front of him. I raise my hands, "it is done."

"CARAXES, DR-"

"Shut the fuck up."

So that's his name. Now who would be his rider?

I turn to Geralt, whimpering in annoyance and dread. I watch him dig his knee on the man's back as he pulls his arm behind him, causing him to yelp. Caraxes rises at the sight of his overcome rider, screeching just as the prince pants beneath my brother on the ground.

Geralt makes a face and shuts his eyes when dragon spit splatters on his face. He clenches his jaw and mutters, "lyriki, beast."

"You do not even know what that means," I retort, "and get off him."

"You do understand that the only reason why that thing hasn't killed us is because its rider is under my knee."

"FUCK OFF!" the said rider growls.

Caraxes responds to this with yet another ear piercing cry.

Through all this, I suddenly remember the name I was looking for, "Aemon! Aemon. Caraxes' rider is Aemon."

Geralt makes a face, realizing what I meant, "you're telling me this is Aemon Targaryen?"

"Well, do you see anyone else commanding the dra-"

"CARAXES-" breaks into a yelp.

"We are having a discussion," Geralt leans down as he growls.

"Geralt," I quip tightly, "get off him," I step closer to the both of them, "now."

The black of Geralt's eyes begin to fade once I am directly in front of him. I kneel down on his side and meet the telltale violet of the eyes of the prince. They narrow when they meet the violet hue of my own.

"You must forgive my younger brother for his insolence, my prince," I mutter as I swat Geralt by his thigh.

He rolls his eyes and finally gets of his captive, "ah yes, older sister," he mocks.

"Time is time and blood is blood," I retort as I eye him before helping the prince from where he laid.

"I remember," the Witcher mutters, "High Valyrian. An elective."

I smirk as I turn back at him, "one you did not take."

"Yes," he sighs as he stands, motioning to his side, "language of the dragons."

"Old Valyria," I correct as I help the prince, who was catching his breath, rolls over, "the Tar-

"Targaryen," he says, heaving, as he falls to his back. He reaches his hand out to me. I knit my brows at him as his fingers find my cheek.

Geralt looks down at him with contempt, lips curling in disgust, "watch your fingers, prince, or you might lose them."

I grunt, "I've quite had enough of you," I snap, rising to my feet. "You have been insufferable since we got here-"

"You're one to talk, little girl," Geralt eyes me darkly.

I crane towards his, "you do understand the consequences of-" I cut myself off when the prince stands to his feet. I change languages, "he is the prince of the seven kingdoms, heir to the throne."

"You whisper this to me as if I have ever cared, sister," he replies in Elder Speech.

"You should," Aemon responds as he looks between us.

We turn to him.

"You know Elder Speech?" I question, narrowing my brows.

He smirks at me, as he brushes his shoulder off, "an elective," he offers, "though I admit I only understood the word prince and guessed what you were saying." He tilts his head, "it seems my intuition has not failed me yet."

Geralt hums deeply and steps forward, "but it did when you misjudged me and allowed me an opening to strike you."

Aemon lifts his gaze upon my brother, whatever smirk that was on his face fades away.

"Enough!" I grunt, pushing them away with chaos.

A gush of wind rips between them.

My brother, who is used to it, steps back once, but the prince reels back and falls to his hind. I quickly extend my hand out to him and flash a guilty look, "apologies."

He looks at me for a moment before taking my hand, "Daemon."

"What?"

I pull him up as he repeats, "Prince Daemon, son of Prince Baelon, brother of Prince Aemon."

"Ah," I nod as I pull away from him. He steps forward when I do and watches me as I respond, "you are Aemon's nephew. His second rider. I will do well to remember, Prince Daemon."

"Indeed," he mutters with a soft smile.

I am pulled back by my arm and wind up crashing against Geralt's armor.

I look up at him he roughly swats the white streaks of my black hair away from my face that consequently was flying up to his because of the wind. He warns me in Nilfgaardian, "focus."

"Do not speak to me as though it is you who has a plan to get us out of this mess," I quip back in the same tongue.

"It would be easy to kill him and make it look like an accident."

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

"So, you are a witch," Daemon cuts in, making both of us turn to him.

"Witcher."

"Sorceress," I correct as I pull away from my brother.

"And what house do you belong to?" the prince asks, tenting his hands before him.

Just then, the dragon who we seemed to have forgotten, makes himself known and cries out to his master.

Daemon raises a dismissive hand and swats his away, sparing him only a second's glace. My brother and I watch as Caraxes huffs and rolls into himself, closing his eyes without another care.

Interesting.

"Kaer Morhen," I say, although questioningly, as I turn to my brother, "perhaps for me, I suppose, Aretuza."

"But Vesemir gave you your name as well."

"Yes, well, in that case, I do su-"

"And who are your parents?" Daemon interjects, tone less curious, and more impatient.

"Now that is the question indeed," Geralt grunts, then once again when I elbow him roughly.

"He's being serious."

"I know he's being serious, look at him."

"Why do you ask, prince?" I shake my head, stepping towards the said man.

Daemon examines me intently, so much so that, had I not been used to such scrutiny, I would have broken eye contact in discomfort. "Your eyes," he trails off as he peers down upon me, "are Targaryen's."

"Ah," my jaw drops. I find a chuckle leave me. "Much like his white hair is," I say, pointing to Geralt. I snort and slap a hand on his arm, "brother, you never told me we were secretly royalty."

He hums, nostrils flaring, "slipped my mind."

I chuckle to myself as I turn back to the prince. I watch as his jaw clenches and will my amusement to evaporate with my sigh, "tis not royalty that made our features so, prince Daemon, but the cruelty of magic. My own hair burns with white streaks because of his," I say.

"And what good is that knowledge to him?" Geralt makes a face as he turns to me.

"Well," I turn back to him, "he asked, did he not?"

"He did not ask you about your hair, any more than his dragon did."

"This is exactly why you have no friends."

"And you say that as though it is a bad thing."

"And you two are blood siblings?" Daemon cuts yet again.

We turn to him.

A moment passes.

The insinuation of the idea we could be anything else with our dynamic brings the familiar shiver down our spines.

"It gets no less revolting through time," Geralt mutters, "much less, knowing the traditions of his house."

I ignore his comment as I clear my throat, "twins, your grace, and I the el-."

Daemon ignores me, averting his attention to Geralt now, "you mention the traditions my house, and yet it seems you are unaware of how it is in my nature to seek satisfaction."

"Hmm," Geralt's brows quirk, "I would too, if my arse got handed to me."

I step in between them before Daemon could lunge. Because of this, I am trapped between the chests of the two hot headed blondes.

"Move," Geralt warns me, although his eyes do not leave Daemon.

"My prince," I ignore him, grabbing onto the fabric Daemon's arms, "you must forgive my baby brother."

Daemon dryly scoffs, eyes not leaving Geralt, "he'll have to get on his knees, my dear."

"You mean my soft belly-"

I shut him up with a gesture and heave, "it is a misunderstanding that we find ourselves in."

Daemon watches as Geralt struggles; he is unable to open his lips.

The prince's eyes finally turn back to me, they glimmer with mischief, "a misunderstanding, you say."

"I should like to treat you to a pint, if you would allow me the honor, so that I may... explain our predicament," I offer a soft smile. I feel my brother move from behind me, and so I shove him away with chaos, lest he shove me away to batter the prince in silence.

Daemon watches as Geralt propels back and hits a tree. By then, my incantation is lifted and so a string of curses leave his lips.

"That depends on whether or not your twin will be joining us."

"If you would prefer only one of us to drink with you, then I shall make it happen."

"Like hell, you would!"

"Then I will hear your explanation for this terrible altercation."

#daemon targaryen #daemon fanfic #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut #witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfic #geralt fanfic #geralt fluff #the witcher fluff #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfic

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride!! geraskier? 🏳️‍🌈

Yennefer doesn't think anything of the silver ring on Geralt's left hand. He's a witcher, for fuck's sake.

She keeps not thinking of it until she stumbles on him at a pub, which wouldn't be too strange except there's a semi-talented bard belting out a tune, jaunty and uplifting enough that the whole place is rowdy with it.

"I didn't know you liked music," she says, sliding into the chair next to him with a goblet full of mead.

He doesn't seem surprised at her presence, but he never does. He almost smiles at her, the closest he gets when they're still clothed. "I don't really have a choice."

She's still trying to puzzle that out when the bard careens towards their table and plops himself in Geralt's lap, continuing to play and sing from his new position.

Yennefer freezes, waiting for Geralt to shove him aside or start yelling or even draw his sword. Instead he smirks, pointedly turning his head away to drink his beer. The bard goes so far to lean back into his chest, his head falling over Geralt's shoulder and singing directly into his ear.

The volume can't be comfortable if nothing else, but Geralt doesn't so much as flinch. Neither do the other patrons, laughing and shouting and no one screaming obscenities' or going green at the sight of a witcher.

For a moment, Yennefer almost thinks that she's not speaking to Geralt at all, but she dismisses the thought just as quickly. Her magic would sense if he were a doppler or under a glamour.

The bard only stands once he's finished, bowing to all the clapping patrons and accepting several beers when he refuses an encore - or a second encore, based on what several people are yelling.

People eventually dissipate and the bard drops into the seat next to Geralt. "Who's the pretty lady?" he asks, taking Geralt's beer instead of any of the full ones littering the table.

"She could eat you," he says but the bard just laughs.

She notices a familiar silver ring on his left finger and her eyes drop to Geralt's hand. They're identical.

"Sorry that he's so rude," the bard says, holding out his hand. "I'm Jaskier. You're gorgeous."

She doesn't take his hand, instead slowly moving her gaze between them. "How do you two know each other?"

Geralt sighs. "Don't-"

"Carnally," he says, "physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, metaphysically-"

"Do you even know what that means?" Geralt asks.

"Alchemically," Jaskier continues, "holistically-"

"I'm going to divorce you," he says, which at least answers that question.

Jaskier shrugs. "You can try. How did you two meet?"

Yennefer stills. She's not pleased with being the other women, but she's not about to get in the middle of anyone's marital business, even Geralt's, so she'll just agree with with whatever lie Geralt tells.

"She put a curse on me and now we sleep together," he says.

Jaskier looks her over, but less like a jealous lover and how she's used to men looking at her. "Nice."

He holds his hand up for a hand five which Geralt ignores. Jaskier pouts.

A very pretty barmaid comes over, holding a cup of the same mead Yennefer is drinking. "Hello, Jaskier," she says shyly, the lines around her eyes taking nothing away from the lush curves of breast and thigh. "You have such a lovely voice. I'd love to hear more of it, later, if you're free."

Jaskier looks to Geralt with a raised eyebrow. Geralt shrugs.

"No time like the present, my lady," he says, bouncing to his feet. He takes the mead in one hand and settles the other on her hip, leading her toward the stairs.

Yennefer stares. "You're just going to let him do that?"

He shrugs again. "You can sleep with him too if you want. He's the one that taught me the thing with my tongue that you like so much."

Interesting, but not currently her focus. "Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

How the hell is a witcher married? To a bard, of all people?

"You didn't ask," he answers, and then says nothing else.

Okay, just for that she is going to sleep with his husband.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #kourasmenos #witcher

[dftea]

Under my own vine

Soft pastoral guilty Geralt (hurt/comfort, geraskier, family of destiny)

"Are you farming?"

The question isn’t mocking but incredulous, as if Yennefer of Vengerberg cannot possibly be associated with a farmer. Sorcerers and witchers and kings and bar–

But no. He isn’t thinking about that. About him.

"What are you doing?”

Geralt hesitates for only a moment before swinging the hoe into the soil again, breaking ground on a new patch of earth.

He can sense Yennefer’s scrutinising gaze on his shoulder, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak.

“Are you farming?”

The question isn’t mocking but incredulous, as if Yennefer of Vengerberg cannot possibly be associated with a farmer. Sorcerers and witchers and kings and bar–

But no. He isn’t thinking about that. About him.

“Geralt, do you even know the first thing about farming?”

He knows enough. The rhythm of the land through the seasons, the growth of a tree over decades, the way a noonwraith blights a crop by its presence. The important things.

For the rest, there’s Alma, the shrewd alderman who gave him the seeds, pointing him towards the abandoned farmstead. They were keen to rebuild a community after the wars, she said, and this land was heavily saturated in blood and magic.

Good for the harvest and perfect for monsters, he thought.

Of course, he says none of this to Yennefer. He is not surprised that she has tracked him down, not after everything they’ve been through, but that doesn’t mean he knows what to say to her. How to explain why he left Oxenfurt at dawn and never looked back.

Except in his dreams, where the same bloody face haunts him.

“You know I could just…”

He imagines she’s waving her hand in some vague gesture of magic and he clenches his jaw, hearing the growl that escapes. “No.”

She sighs under her breath. “Come home, Geralt.”

He wants to tell her that this is his home now, that he has a rundown cottage and the beginnings of a vegetable patch and a place he belongs for the first time. But they both know he would be lying.

Instead, he continues with his task, and she eventually gives up on him, as everyone does in the end.

# # #

“Well, the witch hasn’t gone completely mad then.”

Geralt glares at Lambert from the corner of his eye and goes back to fixing his scarecrow. He thought his presence would be enough to deter the crows from theft but apparently not. 

“Let me buy you a drink! Play some Gwent, and we’ll…talk. Or whatever.”

It’s an awkward offer, but Geralt appreciates it all the same, even if he doesn’t quite know how to accept it. He hasn’t gone to the local tavern except to trade for some small beer and to pick up rumours of monsters and contracts. 

The villagers are strangely pleased to have him living there, rightly believing that they don’t have to worry about supernatural threats as long as he’s present and keeps his swords sharp.

They’ve even given him all sorts of gifts and offers of help, despite his sparse conversation and general glowering disposition. It’s unnerving.

Of course, he knows who to blame.

“Eskel was sorry he couldn’t join me. Something about drowners choking a river.”

“Not Vesemir?” Geralt asks, before he could think better of it.

The silence from Lambert is telling. Vesemir had visited him in Oxenfurt, reminded him of his duty to the Path, to humanity. It was a grand speech, but he has never been moved by words unless they were sung in a lush tenor with a lute at their back.

“You can come in, if you like,” Geralt says, finally, after he’s wrestled the scarecrow into place. “I have pie and beer. And potions.”

Lambert blinks at him. “Potions? What do you need potions for, out here?”

“Do witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they get slow and get killed.”

Or when they're too slow to protect what matters.

“I still kill monsters,” he says, but it’s a half-hearted protest. “I have spare.”

Geralt gestures to his growing garden and the nearby wood. With time to think and plan, he has managed to cultivate a number of common potion ingredients locally. If he can help Lambert and others passing through, he might feel a little less shame for what he’s done.

And he knows they will pass through. No doubt Yennefer has told everyone what has happened to him. They will want to witness it for themselves, check he hasn't taken leave of his sanity like a Cat.

“Come inside,” he says. He can’t keep everyone out forever.

He knows the price of that all too well.

# # #

When Triss comes, she doesn't ask any awkward questions. She brings him an apple tree for the garden and a case of good Toussaint red, as if this is a housewarming, the likes of which he has only witnessed at a distance or in a storybook.

She shares a meal with him, savouring the early carrots and leeks alongside the roasted rabbit he caught that morning.

“Are you baking now too?” she asks, gesturing to the bread and creamy butter on the table. 

He shakes his head. He has an arrangement with a local family where they bake an extra loaf and he keeps them in fresh game, and he can trade for butter with the herbs he forages in the wood. 

“The village,” he says, with his usual economy.

Except it wasn’t all that usual, not before he decided to settle in this place. In the past few years, he learned to talk and laugh and breathe, to be silent in a way that didn’t shut anyone out.

With Triss, he feels those old muscles stretching, but it brings sorrow with it. Because she will leave, and he will be alone again.

As he deserves, he knows. But the solitude hurts more than he expected.

“You’re part of the community now,” Triss teases, and he tamps down on the part of him that leaps at the idea.

Witchers don’t have friends, after all.

# # #

Winter is the hardest season.

He is cold and alone. He has been cold and alone before, of course, but now that he’s known warmth and companionship, the contrast is harsh and bitter.

Game is scarce, and the harvest was not bountiful enough to provide well throughout the winter. He attended the village meeting where they discussed their supplies and who could offer what.

He gave what he could spare, and was surprised when his opinion was sought on the local wolves and roving bandits. He offered to help cut down trees to keep the draughts out of their houses, and ended up with a few spare planks himself.

He makes a chair for the fireplace and then he makes a second for no reason at all. He feels foolish seeing it there, knowing that no one will occupy it, but he cannot bring himself to break it up for firewood.

When Alma brings him a knitted blanket in soft pale wool, he sets it on the second chair. He pretends he doesn’t know why.

# # #

“It really does need to be seen to be believed, doesn’t it?”

Geralt drops his pitchfork and whirls round, sending his new chickens clucking and scurrying away in all directions.

Jaskier is dressed as inappropriately as ever, in grey and light blue silk, though he wears a dark blue shoulder cloak as a concession to the chill. The walking stick looks ornate, almost ornamental, but Geralt knows it isn’t.

Beside him is Ciri, clad simply in black that cannot disguise the tall regal woman who withers opposition with a single glance or word. But she is not queen or witcher or sorceress today - only a disappointed daughter. Geralt recognises the familiar clench of her jaw, the set of her shoulders, from where he’d caught his own expression reflected in fury.

Geralt dared not dream of seeing Jaskier again and now he's here, he cannot stop staring. He looks better than when Geralt was in Oxenfurt, but that is certainly not a difficult feat - the drunken, despairing wreck was barely human when he left. When he forced himself to leave before he watched Jaskier drink himself to death.

All because of him and his mistakes.

Jaskier has clearly regained strength and health, though Geralt notices how he leans heavily on the flimsy stick, how Ciri hovers near his elbow. Perhaps not as hearty as he wants people to believe.

“Will you be all right from here?” Ciri says to Jaskier, ignoring Geralt as she swings a pack from her shoulder and sets it on the ground.

It takes a moment for Geralt to register what’s happening, but then he’s not sure why he’s surprised. Of course Jaskier has turned up expecting to stay - it has never mattered before, after all, how they parted nor for how long.

“Quite fine, darling,” Jaskier says, kissing her cheek and embracing her. “Remember to write.”

“I’ll send a letter with Yennefer when she comes for Belleteyn.”

Which means Jaskier intends to stay for at least the spring, until Yennefer arrives for the festival and the celebration of her birth. 

With barely a look at him, Ciri takes a step away from Jaskier to create a portal and then disappears from view. Perhaps she will forgive him in time, or perhaps not. He feels the pain of her dismissal regardless.

“Even for you, this is quite a silence.”

Geralt detects a hint of nervousness about the words and hurries forward, as if a spell has been broken. He stops only a few inches from Jaskier, close enough to catch him if he falls, and Jaskier’s expression softens into a tired smile.

He looks good for fifty, a few strands of grey decorating his temples, the lines of his face only making him more handsome, roguish. Kissable.

Gods, Geralt has missed him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly, quietly, even though he doesn't quite know how to continue. He’s not going to waste this third, fourth, hundredth chance he's been given.

Jaskier snorts his amusement. “Please. We’re not doing this again. You’re terrible at apologies and, this time, it was mostly my fault. I drove you to it - no one could dispute that, not even our Ciri. Though she tried, bless her.”

Vividly, Geralt remembers that last conversation, the bitter disgusted tone worse than the words.

“Fuck off back to the Path, Witcher. You’ve done more than enough.”

“It wasn't that,” Geralt says, looking away in shame, in guilt. “You were right - it was because of me.”

His sword misses the griffin, a fraction too slow, the advantage of Aard lost as the great beast takes to the sky again.

Then it swoops down - but not towards Geralt.

Towards Jaskier.

A hand brushes his cheek, lute callouses rough against his skin. Jaskier has been playing again. 

He looks up, to see his bard, with a soft warm expression, the familiar light in his eyes. Back with him, truly back with him.

“I would follow you anywhere,” he says, curling his palm against Geralt’s cheek. “Because I want to. Because I need you. Do…do you have need of me?”

“Yes,” he says, immediately, intensely. “I need you.”

And he knows it’s true for him - it has been since the moment they met, if he’s honest with himself. The village has need of him too, because it isn’t enough to survive. They need light and laughter and music, and a charming man in pale silks to tell stories of everyday human things and daring adventures and the heartache of love and hate and the exquisite agony of both together.

They need Jaskier as much as Geralt does.

Jaskier looks down then, because a chicken is trying to peck out the gold embroidery on the cuff of his trousers.

“I’m not sure I’m dressed for farming,” he says, amused.

“Since when has that stopped you peacocking?” Geralt grumbles, and it’s like it always was.

Except that when Jaskier smacks him, he loses his balance and tilts towards him, his laughs swiftly turning to coughs.

Geralt must look frantic with worry because Jaskier smacks him again. 

“I’m not an invalid,” he gasps. “It’s just bloody cold out. Light me a fire, darling, and dig out a slice of this pie Lambert won’t stop crowing about.”

But Geralt can see that he’s tired, how even this short piece of exertion has affected him. He is better, yes, but he is not the eighteen year old who bounded up to a witcher in a tavern or even the forty year old who made the climb to Kaer Morhen.

They are both slower and older now. And so they are going to live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, apparently.

Geralt shoulders the pack and then lifts Jaskier up into his arms like a bride, despite his protests and his half-hearted efforts to hit him with the walking stick.

He carries him across the threshold of the one-room cottage and settles him in the chair by the fireplace, the one with the blanket, and moves to tend to the fire.

But Jaskier fists a hand into his shirt - a dark brown homespun he’d taken in trade for a butchered boar.

“Geralt,” he murmurs, “I won’t break if you kiss me.”

And Geralt kisses him, taking his face in both hands, swallowing the moan from Jaskier as he opens his mouth to him.

He breaks the connection before Jaskier loses his fragile breath, amused when his bard tries to follow his lips.

“It’s been more than a year since I last kissed you,” he complains. “And that's all I get?”

“For now,” Geralt says, knowing exactly how long it’s been. “I want to warm you up.”

Jaskier bats his eyelashes coquettishly. “Well, I have some ideas about that.”

“With tea,” Geralt tells him, because as much as he wants to take Jaskier to bed and relearn the map of his body, he sees the lines of pain on his face, the way he holds himself in the chair. 

“I didn't come here to be cosseted, you know,” Jaskier says, without ire or shame. “I came here to take care of you.”

And Geralt believes him, because he is devastatingly sincere and Geralt knows he’s right. Nothing has been the same without him.

Now, finally, he is home.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #family of destiny #retired witcher #hurt/comfort #it takes a village #this fic brought to you by too many hours of coral island #dftea writes

[thewitcheress2389]

Could you write a story where the reader's whole body aches, but reader keeps it secret from Geralt? I personally have a health issue so I've terrible pains especially in the mornings...

I'm sorry to hear that! I hope you enjoy this story then!💖

And sorry for the long wait...I've been feeling down for a while and going through some stuff, so sorry if things ever take a while. I have other stories on other blogs I'm still sorting through as well, but I'm posting this now cause I feel bad. Stay lovely everyone, and I hope you feeling happy and having good times!💖

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Body Aches

In hopes to not worry the witcher, you try to keep your body pain to yourself. But you forget that a witcher has such keen senses.

You woke up the same way every day, with painful aches all over your body. There was no reason that you could entirely pinpoint that would explain it. You've done nothing taxing to make your body do this. It was just something that has become a part of your daily routine.

But you kept it to yourself.

Geralt stayed with you. Your house was a sanctuary that he could come to rest and heal, and because of that, you didn't want to worry him with any health issues that you had. The witcher had enough to deal with when it came to beasts and demons, and you saw how he was when he came back. Tired.

He didn't need to worry about you, especially when your demon couldn't be hunted down and killed.

But no matter how hard you try, keeping it secret wasn't exactly an option.

You woke up that morning, trying your best to not wake Geralt, who was asleep beside you. Your whole body ached to the point that moving even a bit caused you to whimper in pain. In truth, you were quiet enough that you figured that no one would be able to hear you, and you could keep this a secret for a while longer.

However, Geralt was a witcher.

"Alright. I've had it. What's wrong?" Geralt's voice caused you to scream and nearly fall off the bed, making more pain shoot through your body.

Turning around, you noticed that it looked like he just woke up. White hair disheveled, sweat from whatever nightmare or hot dream he had, and he was still shirtless. However, his eyes were clear, like he had been awake for hours.

"W-What do you mean?" You tried to play it cool, keeping your muscles as still as they could possibly be. But it was hard, and Geralt saw right through you.

"For hours now you've been shuffling around, uncomfortable. I could hear you whimpering. And it wasn't just this morning either." Geralt said and you wanted to go and hide yourself in a hole. He's known, and it's been for days.

You forgot about a witcher's super human hearing. You blushed in shame.

"So, I ask you again...what's wrong?" Geralt pressed further, sitting up more to look at you. You played with your hands a bit before sighing.

"It's just...my body aches randomly. I don't know why or how or what to do about it." You confessed, tucking some hair behind your ear. Geralt nodded to himself, remaining calm.

"Why not tell me?" He asked. It was a fair enough question, and you figured you had a fair enough answer. However, with the way his cat-eyes were boring into you, you thought otherwise.

"I didn't want to worry or burden you...you have enough going on." You told him and he fought the urge to tell you otherwise because your feelings were valid. But still, you shouldn't need to keep secrets like this.

"I was going to worry either way, but now that it's out in the open, I can help." Geralt said, moving the subject along so you don't dwell on any guilt or other feelings you might have in this situation.

You gave him a perplexed look.

"No offense Geralt, but you aren't exactly Mister Healing Hands. There's nothing that can be done." You said in defeat, knowing this is exactly what would happen. He would find out and want to help, but there is none. No healer could make it go away, so why could he.

"I can't, but perhaps Triss or Yen can." He offered the assistance of the sorceresses, and you smiled faintly. You didn't want to bring them into this, but perhaps magic would be your answer.

And Geralt looked like he wasn't going to back down.

"Thank you..." Was all you could say at the moment, and that's when Geralt laid back down again.

"Good. Now, let's try to get a bit more sleep. If you can't, please tell me this time." The witcher said, and you agreed before slowly moving to lay beside him.

You thought it was good to keep this to yourself, but you felt such a weight off your shoulders knowing that he not only knew, but that he cared as well.

With his assistance, maybe the pain can finally go away.

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher 3 #the witcher geralt #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia

[flowercrown-bard]

ahhhh Accidentally admitting that the other is really pretty, leading to both of them getting very flustered with Geraskier 🥰

Jaskier was not, nor would he ever be, jealous of a horse. Because that would be quite ridiculous, right? Silly, really. And no one in their right mind would ever attribute either of those things to him.

He was a very serious man. Definitely.

So no. He was not jealous of Roach. Even if Geralt had spent a good portion of the past hour doting on her, talking softly to her, brushing her down and sneaking her treats. All while he had been ignoring Jaskier's attempts at conversation. Granted, those attempts had included ranting about Valdo Marx, going off about the merrits of certain rhyme schemes and planning his outfit for the next ball he wanted to attend.

So maybe those hadn't been the most engaging topics for Geralt. Still. He could have at least given Jaskier one of those exasperated yet fond looks that Jaskier had grown so fond of. If he was being honest, those looks were the main reason why he talked endlessly about topics he knew were of no interest to Geralt.

But today Geralt had the audacity to ignore Jaskier completely in favour of Roach.

"You're the best," Geralt told Roach, as he combed her mane with his fingers. "Loyal and brave."

Jaskier's eyelid twitched.

"And now your coat is all clean again too. Your the prettiest horse in all the Continent again -"

"Yes, yes, we all get it!" Jaskier threw his hands up. "She's the perfect companion for you. Just as loyal and brave and pretty as you are. No need to rub it under my nose that she's a better companion than me."

Geralt looked at him, stunned. He stopped patting Roach and turned fully towards him.

"What?"

"Oh, come on. You've been going on about how great she is. Clearly, you're trying to tell me -"

"You think I'm pretty?" Geralt asked quietly and oh. Ohhh no. Oh fuck.

Jaskier felt himself flush.

"Uh... Well, I mean..." He stammered and trailed off into an awkward smile. "Nevermind." Abrubtly, he turned away and pretended to be very busy tuning his lute. "Just. Continue doting on her. Don't let me distract you. Just - ignore me."

He glanced at Geralt, mostly to see if his brilliant and subtle deflection had worked and - oh.

There it was. That look of fond exasperation.

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat. He watched with bated breath as a shy smile spread over Geralt's lips. Ever so reluctantly, Geralt turned his attention back to Roach.

As he picked up where he had left off and patted her on the neck, he said just loud enough that Jaskier could hear, "You know Roach, you and Jaskier really are the best companions I could ask for. You're both so loyal, brave and pretty."

#Thank you for the prompt! #Geraskier #Roach #Jaskier #Geralt #Sorry I might be slightly tipsy #So yeah idk how many mistakes there are in this #Or if it makes any sense #Also I wrote 5his on my phone so there's that too #My writing #Witcher

[mothpiercings]

i wrote this while on vacation then forgot about it for a week anyway

jaskier travels to future modern day where geralt is like 800 years old

after the dragon hunt geralt and jaskier part ways

geralt didn’t mean anything he said ofc, he was just angry and frustrated and he took it out on the one person he could always count on

but his stupid pride won’t let him apologize

even though he feels sorry as soon as the words leave his mouth

he watches jaskier walk away, and knows that he has to give his the bard some time

three years is a lot of time to give but geralt can’t find him

he has literally looked everywhere

oxenfurt, lettenhove, pasoda, hell even cintra (which he vowed to never go back to, but he needs to find jaskier)

the bard is nowhere

five more years pass

geralt still looks for him everywhere

every time there’s a bard with bushy brown hair or blue eyes or a lute with flowers on it, he’s reminded of jaskier and is filled with hope for one quick second

but it’s never jaskier

he hears it in a pub

it’s a no name pub he’s never been to, one he just stopped in after a hunt

and he hears it

the bard in the corner, talking to some patrons, acting as if it’s just casual conversation

“yes, yes, the great bard Jaskier, meletele bless his soul, wrote many ballads in his day, and had he not fallen to horrid fate, we might have more. but alas, we make do.” and he finished with a laugh.

a laugh

geralt storms out of the pub, probably scaring the few townspeople sober enough to notice

he takes on contracts that he knows are too dangerous for him

he goes to kaer morehn every winter and drinks himself near death

the others are worried for him, but bringing it up leads to geralt locking himself in his room for weeks

they don’t talk about it

he isn’t sober for more than a few hours at time for a decade

eventually geralt finds his child surprise

and he knows that he can’t keep this up AND be a decent father figure

he and yennifer sort things out and she helps him sober up

blah blah blah season two happens mainly as it did in netflix cannon except without jaskier

a few hundred years pass

everyone’s alive (all the witchers, yennifer, ciri, magic is the answer to everything)

it feels like forever

geralt never stops thinking about jaskier

everytime music changes or a new instrument is invented, all geralt can think about is how jaskier would respond

he cries the day he found out ab recording

all he can think about is how he would never get to hear jaskier immortalized like this

jaskier would never be remembered

that thought makes him cry harder

it takes yennifer and ciri a week to pull him out of his drunken depressive episode

geralt has settled in pretty well though

he’s generally good at adapting to change (even though the fact that his dog is named roach says otherwise)

he has a job that he mostly enjoys (he’s a park ranger. it’s the most fun he’s ever had and he loves it so much. if anyone ever found out he would kill them and then himself)

he and his family try to get together at least once a month

they got closer after they stopped having to kill to survive

when they finally got to a point where they could just be

they almost always go over to vesemirs (because despite what they say, he’s their dad)

it’s at one of these dinners, as everyone’s saying their goodbyes, a loud crack and swear is heard from the backyard

it’s a swear they haven’t heard in a long time

centuries maybe

then more swearing

geralt pauses and listens to the voice that he knows is dead

this is a nasty trick

the other witcher’s know that something’s wrong as soon as they see geralt’s expression change

they got rid of their swords a long time ago (it was the 70s after someone lambert tried to take them to a festival and almost killed someone. now they stay in the attic)

but they all carry daggers ofc

they grab their weapons and slowly stalk towards the yard

where the voice is still ranting and cursing

still in a language long dead

they open the door

geralt doesn’t belive it

“where the fuck am i, geralt” the bards voice is just like it was that day on the mountain

chapter/story two

none of them move for a beat

they can hear the man’s (jaskiers?) heart beating so fast it could come out of his chest

he doesn’t seem like a fake (dopplers went extinct a few centuries ago anyway)

if this was an imposter, they were too good at it

“jaskier” has the same scent he always has (wild flowers and a field after rain)

jaskier looks at the witchers, all big and scary and totally pointing their daggers at him

he can assume the other men are geralts brothers

though they don’t have a madellian, they each have a large ring with a wolf engraved

don’t ask jaskier how he noticed this

he doesn’t know

geralt stalks closer to the man (the man who was dead for almost 1000 years, the man who shouldn’t be here right now)

he hears a light growl from behind him and eskel lightly gripping his arm

but he has to do this, so he shakes the hand off and continues forward

with each step that geralt takes, jaskier smells… calmer

this confuses geralt, because even though they had been… friends for a long time, they parted ways on awful terms

in a language he hasn’t heard in such a long time, jaskier begins to speak

“geralt…” he repeats, “where the fuck am i?”

it takes a moment for geralt to process, and not just because he barely remembers the language

but the man’s voice sounds so much like jaskiers

and jaskier looks not a hair out of place

he looks. like he was simply plucked out of thin air in 12xx and deposited in 2022

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier fanfiction #kaer morons #kaer morhen #i’m gonna write this eventually #maybe #hopefully #also #if u couldn’t tell #idk how to use tumblr #it’s difficult #so the formatting probably isn’t great #or good #but #we’ll survive

[samstree]

moonlight and love songs (never out of date)    

After discovering Geralt has never been courted before, Jaskier tries to fix the situation. (4.1k ☆ also on AO3)

“It’s unacceptable!”

“Jaskier…”

“But it is! Everyone should be courted once in a while, given flowers, taken on dates and everything. Doted on. The doting is quite important. It’s a full experience! An integral part of the human experience, I might add. You, of all people, shouldn’t be left out.”

Jaskier keeps on chewing his food, his chin bulging like a grumpy squirrel. If it weren’t for the tight frown on his face, he almost looks adorable like this.

Geralt simply picks at the carrots in his bowl, trying to push them to one side. The kitchen must have forgotten again. “As you said. Human experience.” He shrugs.

The squawk Jaskier lets out is so sharp it draws attention from the table next to them.

“You know perfectly well what I meant! You being a witcher has nothing to do with it!”

“Why are you so worked up anyway? So what I’ve never been…wooed?” Geralt sighs. “It just never happened. I don’t even care.”

Jaskier’s frown becomes a pout. Something shifts in his eyes as he continues staring at Geralt, his food ignored. He has that look again, like he’s seeing right through Geralt.

Geralt recognizes that look.

So he looks down to avoid it. He always avoids that look.

The tavern is loud enough during the rush hours, with all the students coming from their classes. A couple is sitting at the table next to them—they must be new lovers. They haven’t been able to keep their hands off of each other for the whole evening.

Oxenfurt is like this in the fall. The first breeze of cold air brings new students, and with them, new love. It’s very inconvenient that Geralt only stays here during the fall. He cannot escape the smell of lust and love anywhere.

Geralt glances at the couple, just for a moment.

“It’s unfair, is all,” Jaskier says, finally. He looks at the table next to them, and back at Geralt, his eyes softened. “You’ve been alive for too long to have never been courted, my friend. You had more lovers than I could count. Beautiful lovers, powerful lovers, sorceresses and queens alike.”

“Queen,” Geralt corrects. “Just the one”.

“Yes, yes, no need to keep bragging, but…” Jaskier trails off. “Did they never do things like this for you? Not even flowers?”

There is a small bouquet on the next table, resting next to the lovers’ linked hands.

“They knew what they wanted, and so did I,” Geralt answers. “It’d be a pointless dance.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose it makes sense, in a sad way. Except, no, it doesn’t. It’s not pointless. Courting is about—it’s about getting to know each other. It’s a marvelous dance, actually. It’s about being cared for. It’s about laying down all your defenses, showing your heart and knowing the other person will show theirs in return.” Jaskier worries his bottom lip. “I miss it now. Teaching is good, but I’ve scarcely had time to meet anyone who isn’t a student or a professor. I miss that…spark, you know? That fluttering of your stomach, the nervousness, the thrill, all of it. It’s a shame you’ve never known it, and I’ve also nearly forgotten what it’s like.”

A pang of loss hits Geralt, but before he can speak, Jaskier looks up suddenly, his eyes shining with mischief.

Geralt recognizes this look too. It means Jaskier is about to have the worst idea. “No,” so he says preemptively. “Jaskier, no.”

“I just had the best idea!” Jaskier proclaims. “I shall be the one to court you!”

“Jaskier…”

“Hear me out, it’d be good for both of us!” Jaskier squirms in his seat, giddy and eager. “What is a date or two between friends? I’ll get to stretch my romantic muscles, and you’ll finally get the whole package!”

Geralt knows he’ll regret asking, but he does. “Package?”

“The Jaskier package, of course!” Jaskier stretches his arms, his grin bright as day. “The charms of the most famous lover. It’s the reason the world falls for me, darling, don’t you know? You must have seen a trick or two, being with me for so long. It’s a complete package! You should fully prepare yourself for it. Bathe on the day and everything!”

Jaskier looks like an excited puppy, sans a wagging tail.

Geralt is about to say no again. “It’s not that—”

“Please?” Jaskier’s voice quiets. “I just…I want to do this for you. The fall will end soon, and you’ll be leaving for home in no time. I’ll miss you terribly until next spring. This way, I can show you a good time before you go. Oxenfurt is too beautiful in the fall to pass up the chance. It’d be a real shame. Please, Geralt, do it for me?”

Do it for me.

Jaskier thinks Geralt will do anything as long as he asks in that soft tone of his. It’s a tragedy how true that is.

“Damn you,” Geralt finds himself saying. “Fine, then.”

The smile on Jaskier’s face is a sweet, private thing, one that is reserved for few in the world. Geralt’s slow witcher heart flutters for a beat, but he can’t even bring himself to regret anything.

“Good.” Jaskier rubs his hands. “It’s a date!”

The maid brings their desserts, and as usual, Jaskier splits his and puts half on Geralt’s plate. He devours the other half of the sweet pastry and waits for Geralt to finish his extra share.

☆

Geralt adjusts the collar of his tunic, trying to smooth down the creases. It’s an old shirt, the fabric worn and faded, but it will have to make do.

The date is tonight.

“Fuck.”

The buttons are too tight around his neck, but it’s the only way he can look something resembling decent, and he wants to look decent for Jaskier.

Against his better judgment, no less. Geralt is taking this way too seriously. It’s only a date. He’s lived a century and watched humans perform this particular ritual for just as long. It’s nothing new. His stomach shouldn’t be tumbling with anticipation like this. He’s not even being courted for real.

And yet.

The shirt stretches uncomfortably when Geralt observes himself in the mirror. It’s not a bad look; he even put time into braiding his hair into a half updo.

Geralt tugs at the hem one last time when a knock comes from the door.

Finally. For someone who’s been teasing about tonight, Jaskier is surprisingly absent for the whole day, but when the door opens, it’s only a page boy.

“Sir witcher,” he says, “you have a gentleman caller.”

Confused, Geralt follows the boy through the hallway and down the stairs. He makes another turn, and lets out a quiet oh.

There Jaskier is, standing at the bottom of the stairs, his body turned away. The setting sun casts a soft hue on his hair, lining his silhouette with gold. His doublet is a plain one, the design simple and reserved. An earring dangles from his left ear, catching a spark in the sun. It’s a simple tear-shaped pearl.

Years ago, Geralt found a pearl at the coast and gave it to Jaskier as a simple gift. He assumed Jaskier had played with it and eventually exchanged it for money.

Geralt has to catch his breath for a moment, his hand resting on the rail.

The floor creaks when he takes another step, and Jaskier turns around. His eyes cast upward to find Geralt, and suddenly the sunset dims in comparison.

Geralt descends the stairs like this, while Jaskier watches in awe. He should feel uncomfortable being observed like this, with full attention, scrutinized, even. But not with Jaskier.

Jaskier only sees him.

“Oh my,” Jaskier breathes, “you look lovely today.”

He reaches out when Geralt stands on the last step, and catches Geralt’s hand. With the height difference between them, Jaskier presses a kiss on the back of his fingers.

“Um…” Geralt says, intelligently, “thank you?”

Jaskier chuckles. “You do. I love the way you did your hair.”

“My best friend taught me to braid it,” Geralt answers, and catches the quick thrumming of Jaskier’s heartbeat. “I like your earring too.”

“Really? It was also my best friend.” Jaskier touches the silver-adorned pearl. “A gift from him. I think he’s forgotten by this point, but it’s my favorite.”

“He’s got taste.”

“And he’s too smug for his own good.” It is only now that Geralt notices the small bundle of flowers Jaskier is holding. It’s too late into the fall, so they must be from Oxenfurt’s greenhouse. The bouquet is fresh and colorful, tied together with a ribbon. “Never mind him. Tonight is about you, and this—” Jaskier puts the bouquet in Geralt’s hand. “—is a gift for you.”

Geralt takes a subtle sniff and finds the scent pleasant on his sensitive nose. “My gentleman caller,” he muses, bravery rising in his chest. “Did you pick them out yourself?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“You must have gone through a lot of trouble.” Geralt raises his brow. “What is your intention with me?”

“My beloved witcher,” Jaskier smiles, his blue eyes flowing with romance. “I have the full intention of courting you tonight, if you’ll have me.”

The buttons around Geralt’s neck are truly too tight. He has to loosen one of them just to get air into his lungs. He looks down in a panic, as if the bouquet has become the most interesting thing in the world.

“I…” The flowers are too nice, too delicate next to his scarred hands. “Jaskier, I…”

“Hey, Geralt. Look at me.” Gentle fingers tip his chin so Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes and his genuine concern. “You are in safe hands, alright? If you truly don’t want to do this, just tell me at any point. A pretend date is supposed to be fun for both of us. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. If you want to call it off now, we can just have a normal dinner instead.”

Oh, but Geralt is not strong enough to say no to Jaskier when he’s kind like this.

“No.” he shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Good. I want you to feel good. The whole Jaskier package, remember?” Jaskier winks like it’s a private joke between them, an intimate secret. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“You can’t,” Geralt answers perhaps too quickly, because he cannot imagine a world where Jaskier can ever disappoint him, and it hits too close to home. He clears his throat, trying to shake the gravity of it. “Because, you see, I have nothing to compare it to.”

“How reassuring.” Jaskier turns to the sunset and loops his arm around Geralt’s elbow, guiding him down the last stair. “Just relax and let me woo you thoroughly tonight. Just tonight, and don’t you worry a thing. It’s only pretending.”

“Right.”

The sinking feeling in Geralt’s chest is strange, but he follows Jaskier out of the door. Their arms are linked together, and Geralt holds the flowers very close to his chest.

☆ 

The astronomy room sits on the top floor of the Oxenfurt Observatory, its round dome made of glass. By the time they make the climb, stars are appearing at the edge of the dark blue sky, the orange hue of the sunset fading into the horizon.

The metal spiral staircase is steep. When Jaskier reaches the top, he turns around to take Geralt’s hand, just to help him walk up the last few steps.

It’s ridiculous. Geralt is a witcher who has hiked through the most dangerous terrains, and Jaskier is already out of breath from climbing a building.

He takes Jaskier’s hand anyway.

Jaskier holds Geralt steadily, his cheeks flushed from the exertion, and he doesn’t let go. Instead, he links their fingers together to lead Geralt to the edge of the room where the glass panes stretch from the floor to the center of the roof.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jaskier says, facing the view. “It’s the highest point of Oxenfurt. You can see Novigrad from here on a clear day.”

The town sits below them. The evening market gathers with its bustling, now made merrier with Saovine so near, but the glass muffles out all the noises. Houses spread into the distance, warmth radiating from their windows. The Pontar hides behind them, its waves catching the new moon’s silver light.

They could be the only two people in the world, standing on top of it together.

Geralt turns to Jaskier, tugging at his hand. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Don’t be cheeky, witcher. I’m the one courting you,” Jaskier says. “I should be the one showering you with compliments.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier walks to the other side of the room to find a lit candle, using the flame to light up more. A picnic is already set up near the giant telescope, a few blankets put on the dais to make for somewhere to sit. There is a basket too, with two wine bottles sticking out.

Geralt sits on the blankets and carefully puts down his bouquet. Jaskier uncorks the wine and pours two glasses.

“Here you go.”

The smell of summer hits Geralt’s nose. “Oh,” he lets out an amazed hum, remembering the midsummer festival at Beauclair last year. It is the same wine.

Jaskier grins proudly. “I know it’s your favorite.”

“I never said.” Geralt steals a sip, and another.

“You didn’t need to. You have this…look, when you are contented with something but not daring to show it, lest it disappears the next second.” Jaskier nurses his wine, observing Geralt. “Did I tell you about this orange tabby I had when I was a child? The poor thing was left on the street, all wet and shivering when I found him in the rain. He had the same look whenever I gave him treats. Could never shake it for years.”

Geralt would be offended if the wine wasn’t so good. He closes his eyes for a second, sweetness lingering in his throat.

“So I’m another charity case you took in?” he teases.

“No,” Jaskier looks down, seemingly not sure what to do with his hands. “It’s just a nice look on you, is all. I just wish you’d let yourself enjoy things without the fear of losing them. They are not going anywhere.”

“And neither are you.”

It comes out of Geralt’s lips naturally, as a fact, a truth, unchallenged by any century-long doubt he may still harbor. Jaskier stays, and he will always stay. It’s as simple as that. Sometimes, Geralt is still overwhelmed by the thought.

“And neither am I,” Jaskier says softly, his cheeks pink and eyes warm.

The sky has darkened over, and the candles burn brightly around them. Geralt lets out an exhale and just holds Jaskier’s gaze for a moment.

“So what’s next?” he asks, finally.

“Next?”

“Next in the Jaskier package,” Geralt reminds him. “You promised a full experience.”

“Right!” Jaskier’s eyes light up. He puts down the glass to reveal the dinner in the basket. “Never claim my fame as a lover is false, my dear. The night has only just started. It’s the most important rule of courting, you see. The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. And I swear to you—” He puts a hand over his heart. “—no carrots in there.”

Geralt rumbles out a laugh. “My gallant knight.”

“You know how it is.” Jaskier winks. “Anything for you.”

☆   

The picnic dinner is a simple affair, with bread, cheese and various cold cuts. It’s nothing luxurious, as one might expect from Jaskier, but Geralt enjoys every second of it.

For one, Jaskier is getting pleasantly tipsy, his face flushed and his smiles bubbly. The wine isn’t nearly strong enough for a witcher, but the dizzy feeling of being wine drunk creeps up. It’s easy to feel drunk by proximity when Jaskier is like this, so Geralt lets out his laughs easily.

In the end, it’s not unlike any other night of their life together. Jaskier takes out the dessert from the basket, two strawberry cream cakes. He splits half of his and gives it to Geralt.

They drink, and talk, and Jaskier leans over to wipe the cream on the corner of Geralt’s lips. By the time they leave the observatory from the same staircase, Jaskier has entered his tactile phase of being drunk, giggly and half-leaning into Geralt’s side.

“They are dancing, Geralt,” Jaskier says, watching the people gathered at the marketplace. A bard is playing the lute, a sweet, romantic song—he’s not as good as Jaskier though. “Let’s dance too.”

Geralt chuckles. “Is this part of it?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand. “May I have the next dance, my beloved witcher?”

The next thing Geralt knows, he’s being led into the dancing crowd and held close in Jaskier’s arms, their feet moving together. The night is crisp with the autumn wind, but Jaskier is warm, and his scent is content.

“You are a terrible dancer,” Geralt says, after Jaskier messes up the steps a second time. “And a terrible flirt.”

“I am only guilty of the latter.” Jaskier preens. “You are just too easy to flirt with.”

“Am I now?”

Jaskier simply tucks a strand of stray hair behind Geralt’s ear, his fingers lingering, resting on the nape of Geralt’s neck. “Not in a bad way,” he answers. “I just…really enjoyed courting you tonight, every moment of it. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. And I’m proud of you too, Geralt, for putting up with all of my nonsense.”

Geralt swallows. “Your nonsense wasn’t…unpleasant.”

“My, my, a high praise.”

“It’s just…”

Jaskier pauses for a moment, pulling away ever so slightly, worry creeping onto his brow. “What is it? You can tell me. Did I do something to upset you?”

Geralt shakes his head before Jaskier could finish, his hand rubbing small circles in Jaskier’s back to reassure him. “Nothing like that, bard. I only wonder, how is this different?”

“How is what different?” Now Jaskier looks more puzzled.

“How is today any different from any other day?” Geralt asks. “Courting, not courting.”

The crease between Jaskier’s eyebrows relaxes. “Well, today I do everything I can to make you happy.”

“And how is that any different?” Geralt asks again.

Because Jaskier has been doing it for years. He’s been taking care of Geralt every day, singing songs for him, brightening the day for him. He’s been sharing half of his dessert with Geralt since their first month of traveling together, just because he noticed Geralt’s secret sweet tooth.

He knows Geralt, his quiet joy, his small secrets. Every day, he does everything he can to make Geralt happy.

“Huh,” Jaskier muses. “I guess it’s not. Not really.”

Geralt buries his face in Jaskier’s neck and closes his eyes, his breath shuddering.

One song ends, and another begins. Every line of the lyrics sings of love, but for the first time, Geralt feels like he’s holding it right between his arms.

☆   

They walk the winding hallway of Oxenfurt’s faculty quarters in silence, Geralt’s pinky finger hooked with Jaskier’s, their arms swaying together.

“This is you,” Jaskier says at the door, letting go first. “I bid you goodnight here, my beloved witcher.”

Geralt looks at the door, and back at Jaskier. “We both live here, Jask.”

“You oaf.” Jaskier nudges him gently. “If we were truly courting, this is where I’d be leaving you. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, see you home safely and politely leave. I shouldn’t assume you’d invite me in.”

All they need to do is push open the door, and the spell is broken. It’ll just be them, witcher and bard, no more than best friends.

“How does it end?” Geralt grasps at something, anything. “The Jaskier experience. What is your final move?”

Something inscrutable flashes across Jaskier’s eyes. “Do you truly want to find out?”

“It’s what you promised.” Geralt takes a step closer. “The whole package.”

“If you insist.” Jaskier smiles, taking a step closer, mirroring Geralt’s movement. Their faces are only a hand’s breadth away, the faint scent of alcohol lingering on Jaskier’s skin. “If tonight were real, I’d want to find some excuses to touch you. Like this.”

Jaskier reaches behind Geralt’s head to untie his braid, loosening his hair and brushing absently, his fingers feather-light, sending a shiver down to Geralt’s core.

“And?” Geralt says, his voice deep.

“And I’d lean into you, but not too close. I’d wait for you to reciprocate.”

Their bodies are near pressed together, and Geralt takes Jaskier’s waist to close the distance. His heart picks up, nearly as fast as a human’s, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat like a hummingbird’s wings, quickening in return.

“I would,” Geralt whispers. “What next?”

“I…I’d look at you, just like this.” Jaskier’s gaze is so intense, so full of want, Geralt nearly shies away from it. It takes everything in him to let Jaskier observe him like this. “I’d tell you I had a lovely time tonight.”

“Did you?”

“I had a lovely time, Geralt,” Jaskier replies seriously. “It’s always lovely when it’s you.”

“You too, Jaskier. I’d tell you the same.”

Jaskier lets out a smile, his breath fanning over Geralt’s skin. “Now, I would look down.” He looks down at Geralt’s lips, his lashes cast low. “And I…”

Geralt’s throat bobs, his eyes also falling to Jaskier’s soft lips. “And you…”

“I…” Jaskier breathes, “I’d wait for you to kiss me.”

So Geralt kisses him.

He cups Jaskier’s cheek to pull him in. It’s a chaste thing, a barely-there kiss pressed on Jaskier’s mouth, and it’s over in a second. Geralt pulls away to find Jaskier’s eyes wide and unblinking.

“Um, yes.” Jaskier stammers, his face growing impossibly red. “Well done, Geralt. You are getting it. If we were courting, this is where we would kiss. You really are a fast learner—”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt says carefully, his thumb trailing down to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “It’s not a part of it. It’s not pretending. It’s me. Just me. I’m kissing you.”

Their second kiss draws out sweetly, with Geralt’s hand pressed into the small of Jaskier’s back, dipping him backward. A small moan escapes Jaskier’s throat, and his fingers thread into Geralt’s hair.

“Wait—” Jaskier breaks the kiss, his chest heaving. He has no right to be this affected by two simple kisses, and yet his breaths are coming out fast, his lips red and eyes shining. “Geralt, wait. It’s not that I’m unhappy about this. I’m so gloriously happy, but…” he hesitates, “why?”

Geralt shrugs. “Why not?”

Jaskier stares, his expression going from confusion to determination. He leans forward to kiss Geralt on the corner of his mouth. “We have so much to talk about.”

Geralt kisses him back. “We do.”

“We could mess this up.”

Jaskier’s lips trail down to Geralt’s neck.

“We could,” Geralt croaks, tipping his head back to give Jaskier easier access.

“Knowing us, we will,” Jaskier says breathlessly between kisses. “We could ruin our friendship if not careful, and I could lose you, after.”

Geralt sobers up at that, pulling away to lock eyes with Jaskier. He looks at Jaskier and sees a flash of doubt in those blue eyes. It’s the same doubt that used to reside in the darkest part of his mind—being left. Being alone.

Not anymore.

“Never,” Geralt promises. It’s a more solemn vow than any he’s taken. “Jaskier, you will not lose me. Not because of this. Never because of this.”

Jaskier lets out a choked sound before catching Geralt’s hand and pressing it to his heartbeat. “Well then,” he says, “We should go inside. It’s time we moved things along.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees. “It’s time, don’t you think?”

Jaskier pushes open the door, their hands still linked together. He stops, suddenly. “But you see, it was the first time you were courted. It still seems unfair to me. You can’t be won over by just one night.”

Geralt brings Jaskier’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. “What can I say? I’ve been wooed thoroughly.”

“Still, you deserve much more,” Jaskier insists.

Taking a moment, Geralt lets a smile spread across his face. “There’s always tomorrow, and every day after.

“Every day after,” Jaskier repeats, smiling in return. “I like that idea.”

Geralt can’t complain if the outlook for the future is being wooed by Jaskier every day. He shall just fall in love every day in return.

The door shuts behind them, and they let tomorrow begin.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #fluff #getting together #once again i write out of pettiness

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Puppy love

Masterlist

Starring: Dad!August, Mike, guest appearance; Syverson

Summary: August is not happy when his daughter first starts dating 'that Syverson boy'.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Fluff, overprotective dad!August, family drama, teen angst, super-duper unreasonable parents, and vague mentions of teens having sex, I guess that needs a warning or something?

A/N: And now for something completely different... Written from August's POV. Unfortunately, he got married, and they had a baby, and unfortunately the baby was a girl, who is now unfortunately 16 years old, and unfortunately wants to date boys, who unfortunately happens to be the son of his college rival; James Syverson. 80% of this fic is just August being on the verge of having a fucking heart attack because of teen shenanigans. And they're not even that bad.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @littlefreya @mayloma @summersong69 @livisss @winter2112rose @changenameno @wa-ni (still not allowed to tag you, sorry :( )

“Daddy, come on, it’s just a date!”

“Princess, you’re too young to date.”

“Oh my god! Mom!” She stormed out of the kitchen, and you foolishly thought you could pick up the paper again. “Please talk some sense into dad!”

And there she was again. Both of them, even. You sighed and put the paper back down.

“August, for the love of God, she’s sixteen! She can date!” Your wife put her hands on her hips — you hated it when she did that.

“Not with that...” You struggled to find the words without letting the entire house in on why exactly you didn’t approve of this boy. Other than him wanting to do unspeakable things to your daughter, of course.

“He’s a sweet kid,” your wife said, rolling her eyes — you hated it when she did that, too.

“He’s a Syverson!” you blurted out. “She’s not going out with the son of that sleazy, good-for-nothing son of a—”

“Only if you can say it in church, August!” You didn’t even go to church! Neither did your wife, but it was her go-to way of keeping you from swearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, it worked.

“Junior can forget it,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Go get ready, sweetie,” your wife said to your daughter. Your blood was boiling. Did you have absolutely no authority in your own damn house? Not usually, no... “I’ll have a chat with your father.”

“So, you want to take my daughter out?” You took pleasure in staring the boy in front of you down, and you were pleased to report he was scared to death. Or at least he had the decency to fake it.

“Yes, sir,” he said, swallowing audibly, “we’re going to see a movie. I’ll have her home by eleven.”

“Ten,” you replied brusquely.

“Dad!” your daughter squealed as she came down the stairs. “Can you be normal for like... Five seconds? Mom! He’s doing it again; he’s ruining my life!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, princess!” you scoffed.

“August, that’s enough!” You glared at your wife, who turned to the boy in front of you.

“You two have fun,” she said. “Bring her back in one piece, James.”

“Eh, it’s Mike, ma’am.” He didn’t look at her as he said it.

“I’m sorry?”

“My middle name is Michael. I’m not overly fond of the whole ‘Junior’ thing,” he admitted. “Anyway. When is her curfew, exactly? I really don’t want to get her in trouble.”

“Then leave—ow!” Maybe you deserved that kick in the shins.

“She’s late,” you grumbled. “And I mean he brought her home late.”

“Oh, August, please! They’re right outside, you can hear them!” She rolled her eyes at you again.

“There’s too much giggling if you ask me,” you sneered. And right when you said it, the giggling stopped — which was far more disconcerting, as far as you were concerned.

“August, don’t,” your wife sighed as you got off the couch and walked towards the front door.

“That’s quite enough, young man,” you snapped when you pulled the door open and were met with the unpleasant sight of the Syverson boy harassing your precious little girl. That had to be it, right?

“Dad, oh my god! Stop embarrassing me!” She let out a frustrated scream and turned to Mike. “I’m so sorry, Mike... I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

As soon as the door closed behind her, you knew you were in for it.

“Dad, you are certifiably insane, okay? It was just a kiss, for fuck’s sake!”

“Language, young lady!” you tried, but you were fairly sure you’d find no backup in this case. Your wife was staring you down from the couch in the living room.

“No, dad,” she yelled. “You’re nuts. That’s it. Why can’t you just be normal? Why do you have to be crazy? You just totally humiliated me, like...”

“Princess, I’m just trying to protect you,” you said as you reached out to pull her into a hug, but she pushed you away.

“Daddy, I’m serious! We went to the movies, we had a really nice time and then he drove me home and so what if he kissed me? Like, you didn’t have to show up like that, acting like a complete psycho. It was beyond cringe! I’m literally mortified, like what were you even thinking?” She sighed dramatically and threw her hands up. “Whatever. I’m going to my room. Stay out of my business!”

“Well, that went... Well,” you said as you sat down on the couch, with the — admittedly false — hope of getting some sympathy from your lovely wife.

“No, August, it did not.”

“Ok, so, we’ll be in my room,” she said, already tugging Mike along towards the stairs, and before you could say anything, they were gone.

“Hold on—” you started, but your wife grabbed your elbow, calming you down slightly. But only slightly.

“Let them,” she sighed, the sound cutting through you like a knife, “remember when we were young?” She wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you, and it took everything to not push her away, knowing where her mind was — with her sixteen-year-old self, in her bedroom, fooling around with her high school sweetheart: none other than James Syverson.

Yes, James Syverson senior, the father of the boy who was upstairs with your daughter right now... The man who had beat you for captain of the football team. Twice. The man who had made a pass at your then-girlfriend when you were years into dating her and she was wearing your ring and your jacket with your name on it. Twice. Was it really so weird that you trusted his son about as far as you could throw him?

Soft lips on your neck pulled you away from your thoughts. “Try to remember that I married you?”

You smiled at her before leaning in for a kiss, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Ew, gross. Can you, like, not?”

A devilish smile played at your wife’s lips for a moment before she kissed you again a tad too theatrically.

“Oh my god, stop it! You’re old!” The look of disgust on your daughter’s face was absolutely priceless. “This is a kitchen! It’s a communal space!”

“So is the porch, princess,” you replied.

“How many times do I have to tell you two; this door stays open—oh for the love of God! I don’t need to see that!”

“Then by all means, dad, leave the door closed!” You caught the pillow she threw at you, and Mike made a point of moving as far away from her as the bed would allow while mumbling an apology.

Your wife had been right — which you were never telling her, which didn’t even matter because she already knew, anyway — and Mike really wasn’t a bad kid. That didn’t mean you were okay with him feeling up your daughter, though. Or worse.

“We’re not doing that, princess. Nice try though.”

On your way downstairs, you were fairly sure you heard the bedroom door close again and you sighed.

“It’s okay, love,” your wife said as she wrapped her arms around you.

“It’s not,” you sighed. “I wish that boy would keep his filthy paws off our daughter.” Was it genuinely too much to ask for her to find a nice, non-hormonal boy her age who only wanted to sit next to her on the couch and hold her hand under strict parental supervision?

“Yes, August, that’s entirely too much to ask,” your wife snickered. You hadn’t even realized you’d actually voiced your thoughts. “Boys like that don’t exist. I remember you when you were eighteen… We were doing much worse things than they are.”

“But we were in college. Can’t we just… ban him from the house?” You slumped down on the couch and took the cup of coffee your wife was now holding out to you.

“We could,” she said, and for the first time, a smile appeared on your face that she managed to wipe off immediately: “But I’ve seen the inside of that car he drives.”

It had been an interesting phone call, at one o’clock in the morning, from your daughter’s best friend’s mother, asking if her daughter had come home yet.

“How would I know that?” you had snapped at her. Surely, she didn’t expect you to know who was in her house in the middle of the night? It was her house…

“Because she’s staying with you,” the concerned mother had answered.

“Ah,” you answered, grabbing your wife’s shoulder and shaking her until she was awake. “We were under the impression that our daughter was staying with you.”

Your wife had called Mike’s parents, who had also established that their son was not where he was supposed to be.

Long story short: Everyone was in serious trouble.

And now you were on your way to some club, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, and you barely managed to stifle a yawn. In the passenger seat, your wife threatened to drift off to sleep. The only reason you had taken her with you was so you wouldn’t make a gigantic scene — no matter how much that was exactly what you wanted to do.

Syverson and his wife were already there, attempting to convince the bouncer to let them into the club without paying some ridiculous entrance fee, while your daughter’s friend’s parents stood off to the side, looking more and more nervous by the minute.

Your wife walked to the door. “Now you listen to me, pal,” she snapped. “My daughter is in there and if you don’t want me to get everyone here fired and then sue this place to high heavens for letting minors in, then you let us go in there and look for her right now, or so help me God!” She could be impressively scary, you noted as a smile slowly grew on your face.

She paced back to you and scowled at you when you kissed her on the forehead. “What the hell was that for?”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” you said.

Your kids were, indeed, inside. They — your daughter and Mike, at least — were unlucky enough that you were the one to find them. Dancing. If you could call it that — and you quickly decided that you absolutely couldn’t call it that.

The music — again; if you could call it that — was incredibly loud, giving you a headache on top of your already particularly murderous mood, and you held on to your last shred of self-restraint with all your might to make sure you wouldn’t genuinely murder your daughter’s… boyfriend. Even just thinking the word made you want to punch something. Him, preferably.

Mike spotted you first, and you felt an overwhelming sense of pride when his face morphed into an expression of complete and utter terror. He also had the common sense to step away from your daughter immediately, who looked up around at him when she felt Mike suddenly disappear from behind her. He pointed at you, and she turned around again. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Good.

With a single finger, you beckoned them both to come over, and when they were standing in front of you, you dragged them both outside.

“What were you thinking?” your wife snapped at your daughter, who looked up at you.

“Daddy, I…” You just shook your head and let your wife handle this.

When she was done — your daughter was now grounded for a month — you turned to Mike: “And your involvement in this was…?”

“They wanted to see the DJ, and I… I told them I could sneak them in. It was stupid and irresponsible—”

“Not to mention illegal.”

“—yes, that too. I’m sorry.” Mike looked down, clearly doing his best not to tremble visibly. He failed. Good.

“How’d you even swing this, James?” Mike’s dad wanted to know, his wife standing behind him, clearly trying very hard to keep her mouth shut to prevent herself from saying something she’d regret.

“It’s Mike,” Mike corrected.

“Not when I’m this goddamn mad at you it isn’t, son.”

“Hello, mrs. Walker,” Mike greeted your wife while handing her a bouquet of flowers. You rolled your eyes, even though you had no reason to. He handed a second bouquet — it was just a handful of daisies — to your daughter. “Thank you for the invitation.”

It wasn’t exactly n invitation you’d been all too excited to extend, but alas. Here he was again. Maybe grounding them hadn’t been such a good idea (even though you’d laughed at Syverson’s idea to have Mike’s punishment start two weeks later than your daughter’s, so that they’d have to go without each other for longer), because now they were just unnecessarily and inappropriately touchy.

“Thank you, Mike, these are lovely,” your wife said as she handed you the flowers. “August, darling, could you put these in a vase, please?”

You were glad to have something to do. “Of course, my angel.”

“Gross,” your daughter said while rolling her eyes, and you glared at her, biting your tongue to keep yourself from making your sarcastic remark.

“Eh,” Mike shrugged, “my parents are worse. I think it’s sweet.”

You watched over the edge of the newspaper while Mike helped your daughter set the table, while your wife continuously glanced at you in her signature ‘I told you so’ kind of way. You had already tentatively agreed with her that he wasn’t a bad kid! What more did she want?

Dinner was unbearable, and your wife had to warn you more than once to stop cutting your food so hard you nearly sawed your way through your plate on more than one occasion, and you gritted your teeth as you tried to focus on your dinner instead of watching the two lovebirds. At least they were trying to keep it decent, which was much appreciated, but it didn’t necessarily make things much easier for you.

“What did you tell her?” you asked your wife — calmly, you hoped — when your daughter slammed the door behind her after an unusually quick escape from the house.

“Not much,” she answered. You knew for a fact she’d been pretty on top of the sex ed stuff for years now. “A reminder that she shouldn’t do things she isn’t ready for. And to use protection.”

“Hmm.” Whether you were finally getting used to the idea of your daughter going out with Michael Syverson, or your wife and her relentless support of their relationship had finally worn you down, you didn’t exactly know.

“August,” she said as she sat down next to you and leaned into your side, “I know you’re trying to protect her, but you can’t stop this. It’ll happen sooner or later. Sooner, rather than—”

“I know,” you growled.

“You were sixteen when—”

“I know.” It hurt to clench your teeth the way you did, but it was all you could do to stop yourself from screaming. “If he hurts her…”

“She takes after you, dear,” your wife chuckled. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“He asked you to where now?” Your eyebrows shot up a mile and at least a month’s worth of acceptance disappeared like snow in the desert when your daughter told you the news that Mike had asked her to prom.

“Prom, dad. You kn—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you don’t have—”

“Senior prom, dad. His prom.”

“You’re a sophomore,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Yes, dad, Mike asked me, a sophomore, to go with him, a senior, to his senior prom, which I wouldn’t be able to go to unless I was invited by a senior. Like him. Can you exit psycho dad-mode for three seconds? Can I please go?” Your wife had been right when she said your daughter took after you in many ways, but damn if she didn’t have her eyes. And you were powerless against those.

“Yes, princess,” you sighed softly. “You can go.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck, and for the first time in months you saw a little more of your princess and a little less of the teenage monstrosity she’d grown into over the past few years. Apart from the horrible shrieking in your ear, that was.

“Can you do me one favor, please?”

“Tell me you’re not asking to approve my dress, or whatever?” Ah, there she was again. The monstrosity.

“Take your mother shopping for it. She’d like that.” And, hopefully, she’d come home with something halfway presentable, at least.

The doorbell rang at seven o’clock on the dot. At least Syverson had bothered to teach his boy some manners. He handed another stunning bouquet to your wife — which might have been more impressive if his mother hadn’t owned the flower shop in town — and nervously fidgeted with the box that held a rather beautiful corsage. No doubt also a courtesy of his mom.

“That’s a very nice tux, Mike,” your wife said with a smile in an attempt to diffuse the ever-growing tension in the hallway while you waited for your daughter to finally finish getting ready.

“Thanks, it’s mine,” he answered. “Dad has a ridiculously big family; I have a million cousins… lots of weddings.”

“Hey.” You all turned to the source of the sound; the voice of your daughter standing at the top of the stairs.

“Holy sh—” Mike cleared his throat — smart move. “Wow. You look… wow.” He rushed towards her to help her down the last few steps of the stairs.

“You look good too,” she said shyly.

“Not next to you, I don’t,” he managed — but barely.

As you watched Mike awkwardly trying to help your daughter with the corsage, memories of your own prom came flooding back to you, and you couldn’t fight a smile off your face. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course, but the sight of them was simply too… adorable to stay mad about. Next to you, your wife grabbed your hand and squeezed it. She had tears in her eyes, you noticed, when she rushed past you to get the camera.

“Mom. Mom, stop. You took like four thousand pictures already, it’s enough. Enough! Please, let us leave, we’re going to miss the whole thing… Mom! Dad, tell mom she’s being insane!” Finally, you weren’t the one who was considered insane!

“I think that’s plenty, darling,” you said as you pulled your wife back and put a hand on the camera to get her to lower it. “Get out, you two, I only have so much to say around here. Have fun… but not too much fun.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” your wife added.

You rolled your eyes. “Like that narrows it down.”

“Dad!” your daughter shrieked before pulling Mike towards the door.

Your wife had successfully convinced you that going to bed early would be best. You needed a distraction, after all, and if she was so kind to offer to provide you with one, who were you to refuse her?

It was nearly midnight when you woke up with her curled up next to you, to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A set of footsteps too many, that was.

“August, don’t,” you heard next to you when you attempted to get out of bed to put a stop to these shenanigans immediately. What did she mean ‘don’t’? You were just supposed to let them… “If it weren’t for you, I’d have let him stay over the first time she asked. Going in there, guns blazing, is not going to make this go away. They’ll find another place. Another time. And I meant what I said about the backseat of that car… If you have any faith in the way we raised our daughter, then trust her.”

Falling asleep again was hard, but nowhere near as hard as not throwing Mike down the stairs when you ran into him a few hours later, when he was on his way to the bathroom.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?’

You took a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself before speaking. “We’ll talk about that over breakfast. I can and will promise you right now, that you’ll be in some real trouble if you sneak out before then.”

“Coffee?” you grumbled when your daughter appeared in the kitchen the following morning, freshly showered, with Mike walking a step behind her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she whispered as she sat down as far away from you as possible. You looked at the two trembling teens in front of you and realized your wife had been right — yet again — when she had said that if you handled this wrong, they’d never come to you if they were in trouble. Ever.

“It’s been brought to my attention that I may have been a bit… overbearing,” you said, ignoring the eyerolls from both your wife and your daughter. Mike just stared at the table. “And I’m sorry.”

You sighed as three jaws dropped in complete and utter bewilderment. “That being said… The two of you still broke the rules, and he stayed here without permission, which means you, young lady, will be grounded for a week,” you said, watching your daughter grab Mike’s arm. She looked hurt… “Starting tomorrow.” The two exchanged a surprised look and finally smiled.

“Does he have to leave?” she asked carefully.

“No, princess,” you said softly, “he doesn’t.”

“Where’s that ruthless jerk I married?” Your wife wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close while you let out a deep sigh.

“He said ‘I do’,” you grumbled. “And he had a daughter.”

“Daddy?” Your daughter’s voice was soft and small. The hurt in it crushed you, although you had to admit you were relieved to have confirmation that Mike was upstairs in your shower all by himself, if you were honest. “Are you mad at me?”

You reached for her, and she hugged you — almost like she used to. “No, princess, I could never be mad at you.”

“I’m still your—”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Are you mad at Mike?” Her voice got even lower than before, and she avoided your eyes.

“No,” you answered truthfully. “Unless he hurt you in any kind of way, in which case he’s a dead man.”

“Did you forget you forced self defense classes on me until I was a black belt?” she laughed, wiping away the single tear that had escaped her eye.

“That’s my girl.” You couldn’t have fought back the grin if you’d tried.

Your daughter wrestled herself out of your embrace and made her way towards the hallway again, turning around in the doorway. “Ehm, does the door still have to stay open?” she asked innocently.

“I think we’re past that point,” your wife answered, ignoring your exasperated sigh.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered as your daughter sprinted up the stairs.

“Does she know you’re here?” It didn’t take you two guesses to figure out why he was at your door. You actually remembered the moment you knocked on the door of your then-hopefully-soon-to-be-in-laws all too well.

“She does,” he answered, thanking you quickly as you impatiently gestured at him to come in. It was cold out, and money didn’t grow on trees…

“Does she know why?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not here to ask for your permission, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he said with a smirk that brought out some residual feelings of wanting to smack him. “I’m actually looking for Mrs. Walker.”

“You’re right not to,” you admitted. “She’d kill you.”

“It’s a bit of a catch-22.” He laughed. “My dad will kill me if I don’t ask, so…”

“So it’s a matter of who you’d rather be murdered by.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with my old man,” he said. “At least he’s not related to you.”

Smart man.

You followed him into the living room, where you found your wife with her nose in the book she hadn’t put down for hours. As soon as Mike walked in, she slammed it shut and put it away.

“Michael, can I help you?” she said in an unusually quirky tone, with an unusually happy smile on her face.

“I think so, yeah,” he stammered. Those nerves were finally kicking in, huh? Good. “I… Eh… She told me something about a ring… eh… her, eh…”

“Her grandmother’s engagement ring?” she helped him along gently.

He nodded furiously. “Yeah. She said that, eh… When the time came, she’d eh… She’d like to wear it. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“God, Mike, I think I’ve never seen you more scared of me than of August,” she laughed, and you gladly joined her, leaving the poor boy standing there with bright red ears and an uneasy smile.

“First time for everything, right?”

Over the years, you’d been subjected to many a feminist lecture on outdated patriarchal values and whatnot, so it had come as quite the surprise to you when your daughter had come to you, asking you if you’d walk her down the aisle. Now that you were standing here, with her to your left, squeezing your arm so tight you feared it would result in lasting damage, you wished you’d declined, so that you’d just have been able to sit quietly next to your wife, instead of being here with no prayer of getting a handle on your own nerves.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice taunting but with an obvious shakiness to it.

“You’re one to talk, princess,” you retorted, “I can barely feel my fingers.”

She relaxed her grip on your arm a bit, chuckling softly. “Will you behave?”

“Me? Always.”

As far as you were concerned, the walk could have lasted forever. You knew it had to end, and it did — way too soon — and all that was left for you to do was…

“I love you, daddy,” she whispered before you managed to move.

“And I love you, princess,” you replied softly. “Always.”

Then, you finally placed her hand in Mike’s. “She’s your problem now, son. And I have a very strict no-return-policy.”

#august walker fanfic #mike hellraiser #august walker #mike hellraiser fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fluff

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Food

Witchers were known for being tough. For being able to survive conditions a normal human would not be able to. Witchers were stronger, more resilient, resistant to disease, and able to heal faster than humans.

Their bodies were altered to survive on little food, water, and sleep, and to be able to metabolize the poisons they drank to fight. It was very hard to poison a Witcher. They were made to keep going.

Geralt was no exception. When he was on the Path, he could drive for days without proper sleep (sometimes no sleep), and he would only stop for food when he absolutely had to.

Before he started living with Yennefer and Jaskier, it was just him, alone, so he didn't really worry too much about eating and sleeping regularly. He could eat what he wanted, when he wanted, which, admittently was usually a sandwich or microwave item from a gas station. And only when he had enough money after buying fuel.

But then he met Jaskier, and things changed. He aquired an old van so Jaskier wouldn't have to sleep in the dirt on the side of the road, or crammed in the small truck Geralt had been driving. He had to stop more often so Jaskier could eat, or get a decent amount of sleep.

Geralt was a little annoyed at first. He wasn't used to stopping so often. He was a 'We aren't stopping until we get there' kind of guy, but now he had a fragile human to keep alive, so he grudgingly started making regular stops so Jaskier could get something to eat.

Gas stations became unacceptable food sources after a janky sandwich left Jaskier violently ill. Jaskier convinced Geralt (between bouts of vomiting) that eating (real, safe food) regularly was a good thing. Just because he could survive on little food (or suspicious gas station food), didn't mean it was a healthy thing to do.

"Why shouldn't Witchers eat well, Geralt? Why shouldn't they get a decent amount of sleep and take care of themselves?"

"Hm,"

"Because they're Witchers? That's a sh*t argument, Geralt."

"You keep your swords in excellent shape. You make sure they are clean, sharp, and in good repair. You should do the same for your body."

"Hmm."

Geralt thought about it, and admitted to himself that Jaskier was correct. Some of his contracts would not have been nearly as hard if he had been well rested and had been eating better.

He started making sure that he and Jaskier ate regular meals. If it was a quick stop, he made sure it was food from a deli, or other reputable place with actual sanitary food handling standards.

Although sometimes all they could get was questionable gas station food.

Jaskier *holding up two sandwiches*: "Geralt, would you like explosive diarrhea or projectile vomiting?"

Geralt: " I'll take the projectile vomiting."

And then he met Yennefer, and they decided to move in with Jaskier at his house in Oxenfurt.

At first Geralt stuck to his old habits of eating only when he was really hungry and he absolutely had to eat.

He started keeping a small hoard of food in his room. He couldn't really explain why. It was mostly bags of beef jerky, crisps, and granola bars. There were also a few honey buns sprinkled in.

He got over it after Yennefer caught him trying to replenish his hoard.

"Are you actually hoarding food? Like a f***ing hamster?"

"We have food, Geralt! And don't think I haven't noticed you not eating properly!"

"Well, maybe if you would f***ing eat with us three times a day you wouldn't be hungry."

You're supposed to eat three meals every day, you plank! And eat real food, not this junk!"

"You aren't on the Path, and even when you are, you don't have to worry about money for food, so you don't have to starve yourself."

You can keep your snack hoard, but you're going to join Jaskier and I for every meal, or there will be consequences. Do you hear me, Geralt? Consequences!"

"And give me one of those honey buns, I love those things."

Thus, after a brief adjustment period, Geralt got used to the idea of eating regularly. It was odd, sitting down to three full meals every day. He had been so used to being hungry all the time, that it was strange to...not be.

After a few months of eating well, Geralt noticed that his hair and skin looked better too. And then he noticed something else.

He was stood in front of the mirror in his room, studying his reflection. He turned this way and that, and looked at how his usually very well-defined muscles where kind of...soft looking.

Geralt had been concerned and mentioned it to Yennefer. The witch had rolled her eyes and told him he was being silly.

"You aren't supposed to look like a shrink wrapped string of footballs, Geralt. Normal people have a layer of fat under their skin that is supposed to be there!"

"Hm!"

"A Dad Bod? That's not a Dad Bod! And even if it was, so what? What's wrong with a Dad Bod?"

"Hmmm!"

"Oh, for f**k's sake! You aren't overweight, you muppet! You finally don't look like a starving wolf! Good gods, those don't even count as love handles!"

"Hm..."

"Stop being ridiculous! You aren't supposed to look like you've been vacuum sealed. That's just an unhealthy body standard pushed by idiots and morons."

Geralt wasn't terribly convinced at first, but he eventually realized that Yennefer was right. He decided he liked this new body. He noticed that he had more energy, fighting monsters was easier, he was recovering from toxicity more quickly, and he just overall felt so much better.

He did end up with a Dad Bod after putting on some extra weight over the winter when there was nothing much to do but sit around or go to friends and family for holiday celebrations with lots of food.

Geralt got to experience his first food coma that winter. They had gone to Madeleine's house for the winter solstice. She and Yennefer had made lots of food. Geralt had passed out on Madeleine's couch, with crumbs on his shirt front, gravy on his cheek, and his belt and the button on his pants undone to make room for his overly full belly.

More than a few comemorative photos had been taken while he'd slept.

He was self-concious after gaining the extra weight, but Yennefer and Jaskier never made fun of him, or made any derogatory comments. They never commented at all about his love handles, or the extra padding on his belly, which was kind of starting to loom over his waistband. In fact, they seemed to like this 'squishy' Geralt.

They were constanly huggng him, or snuggling up with him on the couch while they watched the telly. Sometimes they even made him lay on the floor and used him as their personal heated cushion.

There was just something comfortable and nice about a soft, warm Witcher belly! It was better than any old pillow or couch cushion.

Sometimes they even fought over who was going to get first pick of what part of him they were going to cuddle.

"You got to put your head on his pillowy boobs last time, Yen!"

"Yeah, well you got to sleep with your face in his tiddies for months!"

"That doesn't count, Yennefer! I was dealing with a traumatic event! I couldn't even enjoy it! And they weren't even this cushy!"

"Tough sh*t, f**kwit, it still counts!"

"It does not, you a**waffle!"

Geralt ended the argument by grabbing both of them and smashing their faces into his tits. The surprised yelps quickly turned into muffled giggles.

When the weather warmed up, turning back into Spring, Geralt spent a little time off the Path, getting himself back into shape. He set up a little workout area outside in the backyard, and put it to good use every day, unknowingly giving their elderly neighbor lady a nice little show.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher modern au #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #geraskefer #geraskifer #yenskier #yennskier #yennaskier #yenneskier #food headcanon