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#geralt: can you stop staring at me or...
stars-before-sunrise · 9 months
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(HCs) When you're riding them
joel miller, miguel o'hara, marc spector, geralt of rivia
reader is: female
warnings: minors dni. smut. 18+
taglist: @evyiione
Masterlist
Joel Miller
He's watching you. He's lying on his back, hands on your thigh and circling your clit. The sounds you're making are so filthy, so raw, and Joel's loving every single bit of it. The way you're absolutely lost in the pleasure, lifting yourself up and down his cock, it's enough to drive him over the edge. "you're doing so good baby girl." "Joel.." You moan. "'M gonna cum.." "mm-hmm. can feel you squeezing my cock. fuck, gettin' so tight for me." Joel keeps moving your hips back and forth as you cum, collapsing on top of him and panting. Joel chuckles and raises his brow at you. "why'd you stop, baby? I'm not finished." You try to push yourself back up, but when Joel notices your legs shaking, he just flips you over and starts fucking you himself. "look at my little girl, can't even hold herself up for her daddy. so messy for me, sweetheart."
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Miguel O'Hara
He loves, loves, loooooves to tease. He loves to see you struggle taking his entire length, and when you just can't take it anymore, he'll grab your hips and push you down further. His tip is kissing and pushing your cervix in such a painful yet delicious way. "Aw, what's wrong, princesa? you can take it, can't you? I know you can.." "Miguel.. it's too much.." You whine. "Look," he brings your hand to feel where his base is. He's all the way inside, and you gasp. Miguel pushes the bulge on your lower abdomen and smirks. "All the way up there." You ride him slowly. The stretch, the sting, it's all too much.. but Miguel's not a patient man. In the end, he's controlling your movements, bouncing you up and down despite your protests, and there's nothing you can do to stop him. "too much for you, baby? is that why your eyes are rolling back now?" "is my princess so cock-drunk she can't even think straight?"
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Marc Spector
"Ngh. Fuck. Just like that." Marc's buried his face into your neck, leaving bites and kisses all over. He's holding you so close it's a little hard to move, so you settle with rolling your hips. Marc moans at your actions. You've never seen him so disheveled before. He's sweating and looking at you like he's begging you to pleasure him. "Please, baby. I need to cum. please. let me cum?" He's clawing at your back, and you moan, nodding and giving him permission to paint your walls white. Marc holds you down in place as he ruts into you. But just as you're about to pull away, he holds you still and continues thrusting slowly. "M-Marc-" "Just one more. Please make me cum again? I wanna cum inside you one more time.. just one more." You're beyond exhausted at that point, but Marc keeps begging for just one more. And so how can you refuse him?
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Geralt
"Well go on, then." Geralt is soaking in his tub while he waits for you to sink yourself onto him. You've been eyeing him all night, and when he finally invites you up to his room, you'd thought it's all a dream. He watches you carefully while drinking his ale, and you finally take his cock inside you, your pussy squeeze-loving the stretch of his cock. Your hands are on his chest, and he holds them behind you. "Keep them there." He says. You move yourself, rocking your hips and keeping a steady rhythm, and Geralt can't stop staring at your soap covered breasts. He takes the slippery bud between his fingers, rolling it and loving the way you sigh. Oh what you'd give to be able to touch him right now. He chuckles and slaps your butt. "Come on, you can do better than that, can't you?" You whine and pick up your pace, water splashing everywhere. "That's a good girl..."
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scarlet2007 · 7 months
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₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ The Witcher's Witch₊︶꒷꒦︶
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader.
[ Master list ]
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
Summary: Being rescued by the Witcher after being accused of being a Witch was the last thing you expected in life. But it looks like kindness can go a long way if shown to the right people.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
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꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
Warnings: Mention of murder, beast slaying, taming wild animals, witch hunting, the reader is beaten up and was about to get burned alive.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
Word count: 3.3k
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
The Witcher was finally in town, it was pretty clear from how the people were crowding towards a certain white haired man who stood besides a horse.
The crowd was sneering at the Witcher, calling him names and yelling at him, as if the Witcher was nothing but a mere dirty dog in their eyes. The Mayor of our town finally made an appearance, making the angry people go silent as they all waited for their "king" to speak.
"Ah, Witcher! We have been waiting for your arrival." The mayor chuckled, walking towards the Witcher, who stood tall amongst the crowd, clearly used to the sneering and insults of the people.
"There is an unknown monster lurking in the forest near our town, it had already murdered two people brutally. We need you to take care of the monster." The Mayor spoke as the people continued to glare at the Witcher. Some mothers even went as far as to try and 'shield' their kid from him as if he was the monster that would tear apart their children.
You stood slightly far from the crowd, watching everything occur as you scoffed at the hostility of the people towards the Witcher.
"They are acting as if he can't just kill them all in an instant..." You mumbled, chuckling darkly.
"You better be as good as they say you are, Witcher." Someone hissed, staring at the Witcher in disdain as they tried to stare him down. The Witcher ignored them all as he looked at the Mayor, nodding silently as the Mayor handed him a bag filled with coins.
"Where is the beast?" Asked the Witcher, making you sigh as the people started to talk about the beast all at once. Half of them were made up while the other half were useless.
Finally, the mayor explained everything that they knew about the beast, and where it attacks. You listened intensely, still standing away from the crowd as you stared at the ground in focus.
The Witcher nodded along, before he started to walk in the direction of the forest that was now forbiddened from entering for the safety of the people. You quickly walked in the opposite direction before entering an alley that lead towards the forest as you tried to track down the Witcher.
"Stop following me." A gruff voice said from behind you, making you jump as you turned around to face the dark and tall figure in front of you.
"Oh! It's you..." You sighed in relief, making the Witcher frown.
"Um... Mister... Uh.. sir? Whichever you prefer, I have some information about the beast that might help you." You chuckled nervously, looking around to see if someone was spying on you. You might get in trouble if you were to be seen with the Witcher alone.
"Speak."
You glanced at the Witcher before nodding, "Well... If you think the attack is being done by some sort of animal like a wolf, it's not true. It's not a wolf." You said quickly.
"What makes you think that?"
"W-well-... A wolf was injured because of the said beast and the wounds didn't look like it was from a wolf fight either so..." You mumbled, trying not to act suspicious.
The Witcher stared at you silently. You were acting suspicious and it was evident by the way you talked that you knew more than you told him. The Witcher took a step towards you, making you look up, still standing your ground nervously.
Witcher frowned at your weird behaviour, you were scared but not because of him, but because of something else. Something else was making you nervous.
He opened his mouth to speak before a sudden growl intrupted him, making both of them tense up as he grabbed his sword, stepping in front of you protectively. A wolf stood before them, glaring and growling at the Witcher, ready to pounce.
"Stay back-" The Witcher mumbled was unheard as you stood in front of him, glaring at the wolf.
"Sky!" You hissed, still standing in front of the Witcher. It would've amused him if they weren't in a tense situation. You, a young girl, perhaps in your mid 20s, standing before the Witcher with no weapons, as the Witcher behind you towered you with his height. You looked tiny compared to his frame, both height and muscle wise.
The Witcher felt annoyed at your pathetic attempt to tame a wild wolf, as if the wolf would suddenly transform into a domesticated puppy and obey your every command.
The wolf continued to growl but it slowly started to approach you, the wolf stance becoming slightly relaxed as it stared at you and your hand that was outstretched in front of you. The Witcher looked at the exchange in slight confusion, his expression was still stoic but he felt confused.
"Sky, come on, what did I tell you about jumping in front of guests like a beast? Hmm?" You mumbled as you patted the wolf, the wolf's tail wagging behind him.
"You... Tamed the injured wolf..?" Asked the Witcher, eyeing them warily. It's not everyday that someone saves a wolf, let alone tame them.
"I would prefer 'befriended' and yes, I did. He is a sweetheart. That is also why I wanted to warn you that this wolf is not the beast. Oh! And the beast also does not live here. It lives deeper into the woods, this area is just the edge of the forest. The people... They forgot to mention something important." You glanced at him as you stood up, the wolf standing besides you in his fully height, his black fur and tall height made it look intimidating, the wolf looked strong and but the bandages around his torso also did not go unnoticed by the Witcher, making him believe the story that you told him about patching up a wounded wolf even though it sounded bizarre and made up.
"What is it?"
You bite your lips, looking at the forest, deep in thoughts before finally speaking.
"The town people provoked the beast. Some drunkards wanted to prove to the people that there was no such beast residing in the depths of the woods, so they went ahead despite the warnings and... Well, only their mangled up bodies made it back here. That's why the people think that the beast resides in the edge of the forest and not deep within."
The Witcher's frown, staring at you for a while before speaking.
"They knew that there was a beast?"
You nodded, "The beast is older than most of us, the tales have been circulating amongst the people since past few generations, it can probably be dated back to the generation of our grandparents, something similar happened but this time, the beast is... More angry. It didn't kill people before like it did now, or at least that's what the people say."
The Witcher sighed at your words. This was more work than he intended to do. If the beast was as old as you said it was, then it wouldn't die without putting up a great fight and he was in no position to get into a full-on battle in his tired state.
"Sir..? You look tired, and I doubt the villagers asked you to rest or offered you food, would you..." You trailed off, laughing awkwardly as you stared at the Wolf, Sky, instead of the Witcher as you continued in a quiet manner, "Like something to eat?"
The Witcher froze, not expecting an act of kindness, especially from someone like you. He stared at you suspiciously, thinking that you had ulterior motives to offer him something like that. You looked at him in alarm, as if sensing his chain of thoughts as you waved your hands in front of you. "I don't need anything in return, i promise! It's just... You look tired and hungry."
The Witcher didn't say anything, simply staring at you for a solid minute before nodding his head along with a stoic, "hm."
"Um.. sir? Where did you leave your horse?" You asked suddenly.
"It's outside the woods."
"Ah... You can bring your horse in, this part of the woods is safe and Sky isn't going to hurt your horse, I can assure you that much." You smiled at him, the Wolf still standing guard besides you.
"How do you know it's safe here?" The Witcher rolled his eyes.
"Well... I live here. My cottage is just a few minutes walk away from here."
"You... Live in the middle of the woods?"
"It's the edge and yes, I prefer living here." That made the Witcher frown his eyebrows in confusion as he walked beside you to get his horse.
"Why? Isn't the town safer?"
You stayed silent for a while before chuckling softly. "Perhaps. But I am not too fond of the people there." The Witcher could see why, so he stayed silent and walked towards his horse.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
You provided food and a place for the Witcher to rest, which he found weird and bizarre but didn't complain about. You insisted that the Witcher rest for at least a day before he went to hunt down the beast, saying that it will give him more benefit in battle if he is well rested and fed. The horse, which you learnt was called Roach, was spoiled rotten too. It looked like you had a liking towards animals and insects, finding them adorable and taking care of them and for some reason, animals seem to like you too, even the most wild animals liked you and it was evident with how the wild wolf acted like a domesticated dog in front of you. The food you prepared for the Witcher was amazing, and the spare room was also comfortable enough for the Witcher to sleep in but you insisted that he slept in your room instead, that the spare room wasn't that clean and that you would sleep in the spare room instead. The Witcher tried to decline politely but you were stubborn and he ended up getting the best sleep he ever has in your bed while you slept in the spare room.
Your whole cottage was filled with plants, flowers and books. The plants weren't everywhere but the ones you did have inside were too pretty and went well with your theme. Your cottage had a cozy feeling to it, the aroma of tea and lavender was always present, along with some books lying here and there. It made the cottage feel like a home that the Witcher didn't have.
The Witcher thanked you before venturing off to hunt the beast, giving you a small, awkward smile before leaving. You waved enthusiastically at him, wishing him luck before rushing after Sky, who has decided to run after a rabbit.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
When the Witcher came back, the cottage was a mess, making him frown as he couldn't find you or Sky. It looked like you left somewhere in a hurry as there was still uncooked food on the table, half done and some books were scattered on the ground.
The Witcher went towards the town, the head of the beast was hanging from his hand. The battle against the beast wasn't easy, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
The town was filled with commotion, people gathering around a tall tree, yelling at something or rather, someone.
As he walked closer, he could hear what they were saying clearly.
"Burn the Witch! Burn her! She was the one who brought the beast to the town!" Someone yelled venomously, making the Witcher frown his eyebrows as he walked towards the crowd. The Mayor took immediate notice of his presence as the people stopped yelling.
"Ah! Witcher! You are back and you brought the beast's head with you." The Witcher paid the Mayor zero attention as he stared at the scene in front of him. Someone was bounded to the tree with thick ropes, blood pooling underneath them as it dropped from the wound on their arm. It looked like a young girl, which made the Witcher slightly nervous. He couldn't see her face, as her head was down, her hair covering her face. The only thing that made it evident that she was alive was the quick motion of her chest falling up and down as she breath heavily.
The Mayor, displeased with the Witcher's ignorance towards his words, turned his attention to the girl instead. He stepped closer to the girl and gripped her hair, making her wince as he forced her to look up.
Witcher's breath hitched as he saw your pained face, staring directly at him before looking at the Mayor in fear.
"The beast you called upon is long dead now, Witch. You have no one to save you now." The Mayor hissed, staring at your face as he continued to hold your hair in a tight grip, making you wince.
You were already weak from the beatings and the lack of food, your head throbbing painfully under the harsh Sun. You were dehydrated, hungry, wounded and scared.  Oh, you were so so scared.
A lot has happened in the span of just four days after your last meeting with the Witcher.
You flinched when someone threw another stone at you again, wincing at the sharp pain that erupted from your temple, where the stone landed, making it bleed.
You couldn't even look at the Witcher, humiliation filled your body as you stared at the ground, willing yourself to not cry. You have yet to let the tears flow and you want to keep it that way. You want to keep some of your dignity, if there was even any left.
"What's going on?" You closed your eyes as you heard Witcher ask the Mayor. You didn't want him to think that you were someone evil, but you weren't sure if the Witcher will believe you over the Mayor's word or the people's word. You just silently hoped that they won't answer his question but your hopes died quickly as the Mayor began to tell him what happened.
"This girl, this witch, is the one that unleashed the very beast you hold in your hands. She was seen with a wolf, commanding him to attack innocents! She can put animals and beasts under her spell, making them do whatever she please." The Mayor spit out, glaring at you as you kept your eyes closed and your head low.
"Just look at her! She has been punished but she has yet to utter a word of apology or even a tear in remorse! She is a threat to the town and the people!"
"Burn her!"
"Kill her!"
Were the words that followed soon after the Mayor stopped talking, making the Witcher step in front of you protectively, just like how he did before when he saw Sky as a threat.
"Witcher, what are you doing?!" The Mayor fumed, staring at the Witcher in anger and annoyance.
"Keep your hands away from the girl." He said quietly, his sword already out, the beast's head thrown somewhere on the ground. No one dared to put up a fight against the Witcher, everyone was too cowardly to try and fight him.
"The Witch has put you under a spell too, Witcher!" The Mayor exclaimed as the people started to insult both of you.
You whimpered, staring at the people and the Witcher in fear.
"What good will it do to you even if you safe her? She is a damned witch that should rot in hell for her crimes!" The people agreed, trying to step closer to her before the Witcher pointed his sword towards them, making them step back in fear.
"I will keep her."
That made the whole town silent as you stared at the Witcher in confusion and shock.
He couldn't let them kill you, not when you were the only one that treated him like a human and showed him kindness, it pained him to see you in such a state and he will not let you get harmed. You took care of him, and it was now his turn to do so.
He gripped his sword tightly, glaring at whoever dared to step towards them.
"Give me the girl." He hissed, his gaze making everyone scared, some even rushing away to their home to not face his wrath.
The air was tense, people stared at you and the Witcher with scared and disgusted expression while the Mayor was deep in thought. The town was known for its cowardly people and after watching the Witcher walk with the head of a beast in his hand, nobody wanted to fight him.
"What will we get in return if we let the girl go unpunished?" The Mayor asked, smirking as he stared at the Witcher.
"You can keep your coins." He grumbled, throwing the pouch of coins towards the Mayor that he got as a payment when he first came here to slay the beast.
The Mayor checked the pouch before letting them go, commanding people to go inside their houses as they rushed away.
"You are lucky, or else today would've been your last day, witch." The mayor muttered venomously before leaving them be.
You flinched when Witcher's blade cut throw the thick ropes, all at once as you stumbled forward. He caught you, making you wince as it made you put some pressure on your wounds. The Witcher carried you towards your cottage, but not before the Mayor warned them that they had to leave before noon, and if they failed to do so, they will both be punished and killed. The threat made you tense, as you tried to make yourself as small as possible in his arms as he walked you towards your cottage.
"Where's sky?" He asked, trying to break the silence.
"I made him leave. The... The people saw him and they would've hunted him down or hurt him..." You mumbled, sniffling a bit as he sat you down on your bed.
He nodded in understanding, before cleaning yours wounds.
"You should go wash yourself and pack." You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by 'pack'.
"We need to leave. Make sure to only pack the necessary things like clothes and some food." He muttered, staring at you.
You looked scared, and timided, not like the lively girl he met that day that took care of him. It made his heart clench painfully for some reason.
"Oh... A-are you... Taking me in?" You asked slowly, stuttering a bit.
He nodded silently, walking out of your room to let you bath and change. Your voice suddenly made him stop.
"You... You can use the bathroom in the spare room to freshen up too!" He smiled a bit as he heard you, making his way towards the spare room.
After you were done packing and ready to leave, you both stood in front of the Mayor at the gate of the town, you stood behind Witcher, trying to hide from anyone's view, the Mayor stared at you both as you began to walk away from the town, making sure that you both were out of the town.
After walking beside Witcher and Roach, you glanced at him as you handed him a pouch with gold coins.
"U-um... I know what you did for me can never be paid by coins, but... I still want to thank you and repay you for saving me and giving up the coins you got as a payment." You mumbled quietly.
"Keep them." He grumbled, walking towards you.
"Do you know how to get on a horse?" You shook your head, making him chuckle at how cute you looked while doing so.
"Let me help you." You nodded as he grabbed your waist gently, trying to avoid any wounds as he helped you on the horse. It made your heart beat quicken with how close you both were.
"Thank you, Sir."
"Geralt." You looked at him in confusion.
"My name is Geralt, just call me by my name."
You stared at him in shock before smiling wildly, "Okay, Geralt!"
And for some reason, Geralt loved the way you said his name.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹
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Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…
It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.
You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.
Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.
“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.
Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”
An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.
“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.
“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”
You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.
“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.
You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.
“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”
You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.
Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?
Typical!
The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.
Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.
Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.
Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”
You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”
The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”
Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”
“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.
Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.
Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”
“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”
“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”
You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”
“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.
“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.
You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.
“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.
You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”
“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.
You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.
When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.
“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.
Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”
~ More imagines here ~
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sillyrabbit81 · 1 year
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Love Sick
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Prompt: Slow & Romantic, Medical Play from @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden (x) Thank you!
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Female Reader
Word Count: Approx. 2.9k
Warnings: Smut, hand job, oral sex (m receiving), mentions of body fluids, made up medical treatments.
Authors Note: As always I need to thank my amazing mates and readers @nashibirne , @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed your thoughtful and honest comments (and special knowledge 🤣) are always appreciated.
I found this prompt particularly tricky as medical play isn't a kink I'm overly familiar with, but in the end I'm pretty happy with how it turned out and I hope you enjoy it.
I'm sorry, but I barely had time to read over it, it was edited by me, on the fly there will be errors
Dividers by me.
Masterlist
Celebration Masterlist
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There is a knock on the door to your small hut. Your hands are busy pouring a heavy pot of freshly prepared Eucalyptus oil through a cheesecloth strainer, so you call out to the visitor.
“Come in.”
You hope it's a customer, you could do with the money, but immediately curse yourself. You love being a healer, but you hate that you often have to rely on the misfortune of others. Maybe it will be a young woman, happy to be pregnant and they’ll ask you for assistance to deliver the baby when the time comes. 
You hear the door open and close. Still pouring the freshy made oil, you glance at the door and very nearly lose the preparation that took you over six hours to make.
“Geralt,” you whisper.
His brows raise slightly in surprise as he greets you by name in a low rumble that you hadn’t heard in nearly two years.
You’re frozen by the shock of seeing the Witcher again and by the uncertainty of how to react to his unexpected appearance at your door. You stare at each other, he seems as unable to decide what to do as you are.
Geralt's brows raise higher and he says your name again, this time with urgency and while taking long strides to your side.
You turn back to your work and curse. In your bewilderment, you haven’t stopped pouring and oil is leaking over the sides of the cheese cloth and onto your table and apron.
Geralt takes the pot out of your hands and you start to mop up the spill. It doesn’t look like you lost too much and you sigh with relief. When you’ve wiped up as much as you can, you  try to take your apron off, but your fingers are oily and make gripping the tie difficult.
“Let me,” Geralt says. You jump, you didn’t realise he was standing so close behind you.
His fingers brush across the bare skin of your neck as he pulls at the strings of your apron and his touch makes your spine tighten and lock. His body presses against your back as he reaches around your waist and unties the long doubled over strings tied your front. He doesn’t move when the apron loosens and you pull it off, instead he rests his hands on your hips while you wipe your oily fingers on the roughened cotton.
“I have to wash my hands,” you say, proud of the fact that your voice is calm and strong. “Take a seat.”
You slip out of Geralt’s reach and over to your fireplace. You take the kettle from its spot on your stove and pour some heated water into your wash bowl and quickly lather your hands in soap. You take the time to compose yourself. There are so many questions running through your mind you aren’t sure where to start.
“How did you find me?” you ask while you dry your hands.
“I didn’t,” Geralt says. “I’m as surprised to find you here as you are.”
You nod and keep rubbing your dry hands against the towel.
“It wasn’t for a lack of trying,” he mutters under his breath.
Your brows furrow. Geralt had tried to find you? You found that odd considering the events that led to your parting of ways.
“So I shouldn’t have to move again? Did I cover my tracks?” you ask, dreading the answer.
“If I couldn’t find you, it’s unlikely those fools could.”
You let out a breath you weren’t even aware you had been holding, then fold the towel and place it next to the basin. Although Geralt’s answers are a relief, they do raise more questions.
“So what brings you here then?”
Geralt shifts in the chair. “I was passing through.”
“No, I mean why are you seeking a healer? Are you hurt?”
“No,” he says.
“Then what do you need a healer for?”
“Nevermind. It can wait until I get back to Kaer Morhen.”
“But that's several weeks' journey from here.”
“Vesemir will know what to do.”
“Geralt, please? Just tell me.”
He hums, his lips thinning as he thinks. Then he takes a deep breath and says quickly, “I think I’m unwell, or maybe poisoned by something I am unfamiliar with.”
You frown. He sounds uneasy, that isn’t like him. Immediately your clinical detachment overrides any other emotions you have about Geralt’s unexpected appearance and you begin your examination.
“What are the symptoms?”
“I can’t sleep. There’s an ache in my chest; it’s as if I can’t breathe sometimes. I get headaches, and my heart races sometimes. I can’t concentrate and I’m slow to react.” He relays the information in a tone that tries to make him appear unbothered, as if any one of those symptoms aren’t serious enough on their own, let alone altogether.
“And how long has this been going on?”
“Months,” he says.
Mentally you start checking off symptoms and ask clarifying questions, but each answer he gives only adds to your confusion.
Eventually you shake your head and begin to gather supplies and motion towards the bed. “I’ll need to do a physical examination. Please remove your clothes and lay on the bed. You can cover yourself with the sheet.”
Geralt doesn’t move and for a moment you think he is going to refuse. Then he stands slowly, and begins to pull his loose black shirt from his leather pants.
Although you are a healer and are used to seeing men in all sorts of compromising positions, your face burns while you watch him undress out of the corner of your eye. The last time you saw him partially naked… You shake your head as if that will stop the memories of the night he helped you escape from your old village’s Alderman and his cronies.
When Geralt is settled on the bed, you begin by finding his pulse in his neck. His skin is so warm, almost hot, but not quite feverish. You don’t know a lot about Witchers and how their mutations affect their anatomy and function, but you know enough that Geralt’s heart is beating far faster than it should be. 
Your hands move over his chest and down to his belly. He jumps slightly as you dig your fingers into his skin. For a moment your detachment slips and you bite your lip as you look down at your hands resting on Geralt’s stomach. Your fingers brush over his smooth skin in a motion that's much too much like a caress to be professional.
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I should have warned you. I get in my head sometimes and forget that the patient doesn’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying to feel your organs to make sure none are painful or swollen.”
He nods and you inhale deeply, trying to regain your clinical attitude. 
You prod at his stomach, searching for his liver. You have to press hard, pushing against muscle much firmer than even that of the strong farmers you’ve treated over the years.
Quickly you become lost in the work and your hands move gently over his muscles, checking his stomach and guts, and his bladder. You’re so caught up in your examination that you don’t notice the growing hardness that lays over his abdomen until your palm accidentally brushes against it.
You pull your hands away as if they had been burnt. You look at Geralt and your lock onto his deep amber eyes. He’s blushing.
Geralt is blushing.
But he does not look away and neither do you.
“When was the last time you were with a woman?” you ask.
There is a subtle change in his face, a slight tightening of the jaw before he finally averts his eyes. 
“Months.”
So you can’t rule out some kind of sex disease. Your ears and cheeks feel aflame, but you have to ask. 
“When was the last time you touched your…”
Geralt's jaw still twitches beneath the rough growth on his cheek. “I can’t remember.”
“Days, weeks, months?”
“Months.”
“Why haven’t you?”
Geralt drags his gaze back to you and those amber eyes of his are bright, almost glowing in the firelight. It's the kind of look that would once have had your knees shaking, but you put your hands on your hips and look back just as steely eyed.
“I need to know if it still works, Geralt. Can you still maintain—”
“Yes.”
“Can you reach—”
“I don’t know,” he says harshly. Then his voice softens and he says quietly, “I haven’t tried.”
“Why not? Lack of motivation or interest?”
“No.”
“Then why? Lack of available women? I find that hard to believe.”
“It's not hard to believe when the one you want isn’t available,” Geralt mutters so quietly you almost don’t catch it.
“Oh,” you say softly.
You’re beginning to realise what might be wrong with him, but first you have to rule a couple of things out. Your mouth is dry as you clear your throat and lift the sheet and trail your fingers up his inner thigh.
“I have to check… here.”
Geralt closes his eyes, his jaw clenches, and his whole body goes tight as you enclose his sack with your hand. Gently, you roll them with your fingers, searching for lumps or signs of abnormalities. But you find nothing except a perfect example of male vitality, even if he was unable to father children.
Your fingers itch to move higher, to feel his throbbing cock in your hand. He looks so big and thick beneath the thin sheet. You bite your lip as you withdraw your hand, but your eyes never leave the growing wet patch that turns the cloth translucent enough to see the dark and angry reddish, purple skin of the tip of his cock.
Geralt's hand wraps around your wrist stopping you from making your retreat. He says your name in a voice thick with lust.
“Don’t stop,” he says, guiding your hand back beneath the sheet. “Please, I need…” his voice trails off as the tip of your fingers grazes the silky smooth skin of his cock.
“I can help,” you say. “I can give you relief, but it won’t be enough.”
Geralt looks stricken. “Why not?”
“I think you ache. Your body, your mind, your heart… But most of all here…”
You wrap your hand around him. God, he feels so hot and hard, you’re barely able to suppress a moan. Geralt doesn’t hold back, he groans as his hips give a huge jerk and raises himself up and leans on elbows. He throws off the sheet and groans again at the sight of how small your hand looks wrapped around him.
“She must be beautiful,” you say.
“Who?” he says, his eyes fixed on your hand.
“The one who you’re in love with. The one who is making you unwell.”
Geralt tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
You stroke him, moving your hand softly, while you try and fail to keep yourself detached from what you are doing. 
“You’re nothing more than lovesick,” you tell him, “I can give you some relief but if you want to be free of this pain, then you must have her.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his lips part and his chest works hard as he keeps staring at your hand. No, not your hand, now he’s staring at you.
“She is,” he says sincerely, “She’s very beautiful.”
“She’s very lucky,” you say.
Geralt shakes his head. “I would be the one that's lucky to have her.”
A spike of jealousy pierces your heart and completely shatters your carefully compartmentalised rational objectivity and releases a surge of erotic desire. You pause, staring into Geralt’s scorching eyes and wonder what on earth you are doing.
You take a deep breath and turn away from him, desperately grasping for a way to remain aloof.
“Lay back and close your eyes,” you tell him.
“It’s better for me if I watch,” he says in a voice that reverberates from deep within his chest.
“Oh,” you breathe.
“Keep going,” he says, “I need this.”
So you keep going. You start lazily, stroking, working him, trying not to notice the pulses of the thick veins, the silkiness of his skin as it slides over him, or the fluid that gathers at the tip that your thumb collects with each sweep over the head.
Harder to ignore are the sounds he makes; the moans that start as gentle rumbles, almost purr like in his throat and quickly become guttural groans.
His hand moves down his belly, slipping beneath your pumping arm and his fingers graze his balls before pulling gently on the skin. 
You can’t stop yourself and you glance at him, his eyes are waiting there for yours. He growls, sweat breaks over his brow and makes the hair on his chest glisten in the firelight. He’s beautiful; the quintessential picture of maleness, and full of animal sexual lust. 
And he can’t take his eyes off you.
The hand between his legs is suddenly wrapped around your waist as he sits up. His mouth is so close, all of him is so close, and somehow just being held by him is far more intimate than having your hand wrapped around his cock.
His hand is on your cheek, his nose rubs against yours and he whispers, “Why did you leave?”
Your brows furrow with confusion. “I… Because I got away. You said you’d help me get away and that was it, we’d go our separate ways.”
“I said I’d take you somewhere safe. That I’d keep you safe.”
“Same thing,” you say.
“No,” he says so softly, it's barely more than a rough breath. “No it’s not.”
His thumb runs over your lips, his fingers caress your neck. 
“I searched for you,” he says. “For so long. Then, I mourned you. I still mourn you.”
“I’m right here, Geralt,” you tell him. “I’m alright.”
“But I’m not. You made me love sick.”
You gasp. Your body starts to tremble, as you try to make sense of what he said. 
“Geralt—”
His fingers cover your lips to hush you and he whispers, “Don’t stop, let me have this just once and I’ll be gone if you want me to.”
You nod and he sighs with relief. You look down at your hand still firmly wrapped around his cock. Keeping your eyes on Geralt’s, you bend at the waist, licking your lips. His eyes grow dark as he watches your tongue peek sweep across the soft verges of your mouth.
“Fuck, what are you doing?” Geralt asks, in a voice that hints at panic but also deep longing.
You keep lowering your head until your lips brush over the silky skin of his cock and your lips part, taking him into your mouth. Geralt shudders and with a long moan, falls back onto the bed.
“Fuck.”
His hands cradle your head, stroking your hair, caressing your neck, touching you as much as he can while he arches up into your mouth. You fall into a rhythm, your hand moves over him while your mouth follows, sucking softly and massaging with your tongue. 
It’s not long until his breath starts to catch in his throat and starting at his thighs and belly, tremors seem to work through his muscles until his whole body is trembling.
He’s close, and part of you wants to draw back because you don’t want this to end so soon. But he lifts his head and you see the look on his face, see the need burning in his eyes and the unspoken desperate plea in his parted lips.
You move faster, sucking harder and taking him deeper into your mouth. He needs this and you want to ease him of the suffering he’s had all these months. He bends his leg, his heel digs deep into the hard mattress as he calls your name while his body surges. He holds your head in place while he begins to release thick and heavy jets into your mouth.
A little shaken, you release him from your mouth and raise your head. You let him go, allowing your fingers to trail over his thigh while his muscles twitch as he catches his breath. His eyes are closed and a smile breaks across his face.
While your heart soars to see him enjoying his post orgasm euphoria, there is a heaviness in your chest.
Geralt loves you.
And you don’t know what to do about it.
While he’s distracted and to hopefully give you time to think, you fall back onto what you know. You pour fresh water into your wash bowl and bring it over to the bed, carefully wring out the cloth and begin to wash him. Falling into an almost meditative state, you start to wash his hand, watching with satisfaction as the road dust and dirt wipes away.
You work your way up his arm, then his shoulders, then you lean over the broad expanse of his chest to clean his face. His eyes are open now, watching you expectantly.
He lets you wipe his brow, then down his nose and sweep across his cheeks. Before you get to his lips, you lower your head and press your lips against his.
As his arms encircle your waist and he kisses you back, you decide you will never let him become love sick again.
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eywascall · 8 months
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ONGOING BABY FEVER
pairing: ao’nung x (metkayina) female!reader
warning: all characters are aged up, slight suggestive theme, and not proofread
word count: 425
DNI/BYF
— taglist 💖: @kachowness, @mashiromochi, @yeosxxx, @thesheelfsworld, @fanboyluvr, @jakesully-sbabygirl, @ryosuku, @person-120, @flowery-letters, @aonungs-tsahik, @honeydanny, @aerangi, @lululemon1111, @minkyungseokie, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @goodiesinthecloset21, @philiasoul, @teyamsbitch, @talia-the-gemini, @neteyamforlife, @azaleaniath, @laylasbunbunny, @ilovejakesullysdick, @jjkclub, @avatar4life, @crazyforteyam, @ratchetprime211, @hc-geralt-23, @oceanstar19, @shima707, @starboyloak, @cheyehc, @aonungmyaddiction, @johfaam
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Short precious little snores lightly filled the relieving silence of your calming marui. Svix, your seventh baby, had just tired himself out after crying for a couple of minutes. Plus the lullaby you sang to all of your children works its magic as they slowly fall into slumber. “How’s our son, My Love?” Ao’nung asked curiously in a whisper. He watches as you gently lay Svix down your first woven baby basket. “Great now that he’s asleep.” You answered as you turned around to come face to face with a familiar look. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned though knowing the answer. “Nothing?” He replied mischievously while his arms wrapped around you.
“Really? Then why does all of this feel familiar?” You poked at him to which he smirks. “Can we, My Love?” You heard his plea as you turned around to see all your children soundly asleep. “Well since we have the time anyway, I guess we need to de-stress ourselves.” You remarked as his ears shot up excitedly, tail wagging side to side. “Really?!” He whispered-shouted as you hurriedly covered his mouth and nodded. You tilted your head to the door as he tried his best to stay quiet.
When the two of you successfully made it out the marui, far enough from everyone else, he wasted no time picking you up. “Ao’nung?!” You chuckled as you helplessly got carried over his shoulder. “Hey, can't waste the limited time I have with you! Lovers cave, here we come!!” He ran quickly. “Guess baby number eight won’t be far long?” You teased as he stopped at the entrance of the cave. “You sure you want another baby after having seven?” Ao’nung almost wanted to kiss you silly. “Nuh uh! I don’t want to hear any of that! I love you and I love our kids. Having more is merrier! So let’s get to work, My Love! Please?!” He begged with puppy eyes. “Those damn eyes are what got me into this situation in the first place— but I wouldn’t change it for a thing.” You dragged him further into the cave where the two of you won’t return till sunrise.
By then, no one would have noticed the hot wild night you had with one another. Maybe a few marks here and there but nothing else. Also the occasional knowing stare though nevertheless no one has anything to say. All you two can do is wait to see those familiar signs of welcoming another bundle of joy into your lives.
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negans-lucille-tblr · 7 months
Text
Until Sunrise | Geralt of Rivia Drabble
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Summary: Geralt doesn’t plan on leaving until sunrise. 
Rating: 18+ (Smut)
Pairing: Geralt x Reader (Y/N)
Tags: smut, prostitution, bathing, Geralt’s thick thighs, mentions of blood, thigh riding, p in v, sex, unprotected sex, orgasms
WC: ± 1K
A/Ns: Not new to smut, but new to Geralt so go easy 🥴🤣 Hope you enjoy my obligatory bathing Geralt turned smut offering to be accepted into The Witcher fanfic world ❤️
The Witcher Masterlist || Support my Writing Here
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“Please, sir, allow me.”
Geralt scoffs to himself under his breath, but loud enough that she can hear it. He’s clearly amused by the very title she’s thrown his way. She knows she’s probably a little more coy than the other whores he’s used to, but that’s exactly how she likes to play it. 
“Do you know what I am?” he asks her, obviously still bemused as a smirk plays on his tempting mouth. 
“Of course,” she agrees, unable to stop the playful smirk from curling across her own full lips as she replies. “But you’re still going to pay me handsomely, are you not?” she adds, a playful glint in her eye as she wades through the water towards the witcher. 
She’s unable to take her eyes off of his broad, thick body, the way the blood soaks into his skin, the way the water ripples and laps against the tight muscles underneath, the slight curl in his pale blond hair as the steam of the bath dampens it. Y/N isn’t sure she’s ever seen a more perfect specimen before. If she thought she was pleased to have been selected by The Witcher when he entered the brothel earlier this evening, she’s even more pleased now she’s alone with him, naked and soaking in a warm bath together. 
Geralt’s eyes seem more golden in this lighting as she gets closer, and he brings his longs arms out to stretch them along the back of the bath, the muscles in his shoulders only bulging thicker, water evaporating from his skin before it has the chance to drip across the broad span of his biceps. 
Y/N reaches for a rag, wetting it in the hot water before bringing it to the witcher’s skin, dabbing at the dried blood staining it, careful to get every drop. A low hum vibrates through his throat and straight through Y/N’s core as he closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, relaxing into her touch with ease. 
“Is it true what they say about you?” Y/N dares to ask, rewetting the cloth to bring it further across his shoulders, her fingers wrapping around his thick arm, digging into the impressive muscle as her thighs instinctively rub together under the guise created by the water. 
“What do they say?” he asks, his voice low and rumbling in his chest as he speaks, only serving to make Y/N even more desperate to feel him; taste him. 
“That your impressive stamina doesn’t end with fighting,” she smirks, watching as he slowly opens his eyes to look at her. 
He scoffs, staring directly into her eyes for a moment or two, and Y/N begins to wonder if she’s said the wrong thing and overstepped her line. But then a smirk grows wider on his lips. 
“Well I don’t plan on leaving here until sunrise,” he informs her matter-of-factly, before reaching for her wrist and pulling her closer, catching her before she can slip deeper into the water. 
He pulls her into his lap, her legs straddling his thick thighs, having to spread pretty far apart just to accommodate him, but she groans all the same, feeling his hands push into her hair, his large arms trapping her tight against his body. She can feel how hard he already is between her legs, trapped between her pelvic bone and his own. She reaches under the water, her hand seeking him out, her fingers wrapping around his length as she moans louder, realising they don’t even touch thanks to the girth. 
“You just keep on impressing me,” she quips, but Geralt only growls in response, tugging on her hair harder, pulling a whimper from her lips as she bucks her hips against him, her aching pussy dragging back and forth along his hard, muscular thigh. 
Another primal grunt escapes The Witcher as he lifts Y/N with ease, and when he drops her, it’s onto his cock as it sinks deep inside her, stretching her open with a burning pain she welcomes. Y/N moans, throwing her head back, her hair soaking in the hot water, her breasts pushing into his face as the stubble that adorns his chin scratches against her delicate skin. Geralt places chaste kisses to her chest, his teeth scraping over her hardened nipples, his fingertips digging into the flesh on her back as he instantly begins to fuck up into her. 
Y/N takes the brutality; welcomes it even. She’s never felt a pleasure like it, she’s never been fucked so thoroughly in such a short space of time before. Her orgasm is already building deep in her core, climbing higher and higher as her fingernails bite deeper and deeper into the witcher’s chest. 
“C’mon,” he encourages, pulling her down to send himself what feels like impossibly deeper, his cock throbbing inside her as she finally comes undone around him, her pussy clenching rhythmically as her orgasm ripples through every fibre of her body in a constant wave of ecstasy. “That’s it,” he hums, Y/N’s head flopping forward as she slowly begins her descent from the high of her climax back to the very bath they’re in. 
“Who needs stamina when you fuck like that?” she jokes, breathlessly. 
Geralt doesn’t reply, he just stands, lifting her in his arms with such ease that it only makes Y/N feel even more powerless. He’s still inside her, throbbing and filling her like she was made just for him. He carries her over to the bed, throwing her down onto it, and Y/N can’t help but stare up at him, even more in awe now she can see him in his impressive entirety. 
“I’ve already told you, I’m not leaving until sunrise,” he growls, grabbing her ankles to pull her closer to the end of the bed. “And I plan to get my money’s worth.” 
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Note
for the kiss prompts - a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling + geraskier, pretty please 🥺
Jaskier has never been one to suffer stage fright. Since the first time he gave an impromptu performance at one of his parents’ banquets at the age of seven, he’s soaked up the spotlight at any chance he can get. There’s nothing he delights in more than having a crowded tavern or ballroom watching him with starry eyes, hanging onto his every word. He knows he’s good at what he does, a far cry from the boy who used to get bread pelted at his head while he sang about hags and abortions.
Except that as he stands behind the stage at the Oxenfurt Music Festival, listening to a pair of Nazairi troubadours sing a lovely duet, his insides roil with the same queasy nervousness he’s carried with him all day. He glances over at Geralt to make sure the witcher doesn’t notice. Geralt is leaning against the wall, looking remarkably stoic for a man who has been dragged to a music festival entirely against his will. 
Jaskier can’t let him know how nervous he is, not when Geralt took on two wyverns singlehandedly only three days ago. The fact that Jaskier, who has been a traveling bard for years, who has faced far scarier things than a crowd of onlookers (usually while cowering behind Geralt, but his point stands) has stage fright is too mortifying to admit. Luckily, Jaskier is excellent at keeping his feelings under wraps after years of traveling with his witcher. He’s sure Geralt has no idea.
“You’re nervous,” Geralt says.
Fuckity fuck.
“Nervous?” Jaskier breaks off in a monologue about how he lost the Student Bardic Competition to Valdo Marx his final year due to trickery and biased judging. “I’m not nervous! Merely excited to claim yet another in my long list of accolades.”
“You stink of anxiety.”
Jaskier just manages to resist the urge to sniff himself. “Why, thank you, Geralt. How kind of you to say. And here I thought you liked this new perfume.”
Geralt just stares at him, unimpressed.
Jaskier sighs. “I seem to have come down with the tiniest case of stage fright.”
“Stage fright?” Geralt arches an eyebrow. “But you perform all the time.”
“Not at places like this.” Jaskier waves his hand in the direction of the stage.
“You just told me in detail about all seven times you performed here before. You said you won five times.”
“And it would have been all seven, if Valdo Marx weren’t a cad and a cheat.” Jaskier puffs up in remembered outrage. “But that was the Student Bardic Festival. Everyone expects the acts there to be a little bit shit. Melitele help them, but my classmates didn’t give me much of a run for their money, save for Valdo and Essi. This is the first time I’ve performed in a professional competition.”
“And that’s why you’re nervous.”
“Yes!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I know this isn’t a wyvern or an angry mob, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of thousands of people!”
Geralt gets an expression on his face like he’s valiantly refraining from pointing out that Jaskier doesn’t normally care about making a fool of himself. “You perform all the time.”
“For drunks in taverns who won’t notice if I make a bunk of the pronunciation of an elven ballad or courtiers who wouldn’t know a wrong note if it hit them in the face. Many of these people are trained musicians themselves who have come from all over the Continent to be here today. I have to be perfect.”
“Then be perfect.”
“Geralt.” Jaskier moans and slaps his hands over his eyes. “Have you ever heard of Elsa Svensen?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“Of course you haven’t! She was a cautionary tale when I was at Oxenfurt, a rising star in the bardic circuit until she tried to sing The Six Swans at the Lan Exeter Bardic Festival.” At the blank look on his witcher’s face, Jaskier elaborates. “It’s a famously difficult ballad in Elder. Very long, lots of tricky notes. She butchered it so badly that she was laughed off stage! Suffice to say, there was an unfortunate mispronunciation and she sang a line about the hero committing unspeakable acts with a donkey in front of the entirety of Lan Exeter, including the king and queen. It ended her career. Rumor has it that she changed her name and is now working as a traveling player.”
Geralt doesn’t look suitably horrified, in Jaskier’s opinion.
“A traveling player, Geralt!” Jaskier practically shrieks, which isn’t good for his voice, but he can’t stop himself. “I can’t act! There isn’t a single troupe of traveling players that would have me. I’ll starve. Gods, I should never have let Essi talk me into this. I’m too young to live in disgrace. Can you go out there and tell them that a horrible tragedy has befallen me and an evil witch has stolen my voice? Ooh, yes, say I’ve ruined her for all other men and this is my punishment. Do you think we can find an actual witch in—”
He doesn’t realize Geralt is approaching him until the witcher presses a brief kiss to his lips.
Jaskier blinks, surprised. Geralt isn’t one for displays of affection where anyone else might see. “What are you—”
Geralt kisses him again. Jaskier can feel the curl of his lips.
“Geralt, this is—”
Another kiss, this one accompanied by Geralt nipping at his lower lip.
“Geralt,” Jaskier says through another kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Trying to shut you up.”
“How dare—”
Geralt kisses him again. “You were working yourself up.”
Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, then realizes he was just plotting to find an actual witch to steal his voice in order to get out of a performance. Perhaps Geralt has a point. “Right.”
“You know Elder too well to accidentally sing about donkeys. And if you do manage to fuck up so badly that you ruin your career, I won’t let you starve.”
Jaskier melts into him. “Geralt, that’s the sweetest—”
“Because you’re right, you’d be a shit traveling player.” Geralt’s lips quirk.
“You—”
Geralt kisses him again, slow and sweet, and Jaskier feels the last bit of tension drain out of him.
“Jaskier the Bard!” a woman’s voice calls from the stage. “Also known as the Dandelion!”
“That’s you.” Geralt pushes him towards the stage. “You’ll do great, Jask.”
Jaskier can’t help but smile at him. “How can I not, after a sweet pep talk like that?”
“Hm. Probably not as great as Valdo Marx did earlier.” A full-on smile spreads over Geralt’s face at Jaskier’s outrage. “But we’ll see.”
And just for that, Jaskier gives the best damn performance of his life. Which is probably what Geralt intended, the terrible man.
***
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Kiss prompts
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shellyshellshell · 6 months
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The Road to Remembering: Part Three
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Attn: Part three!!!! I hope you all enjoy it!!!
Word Count: 2,686
Pairing: Geralt x Reader
Summary: You and Geralt head out to a nearby town for him to deal with a Bruxa when Geralt runs into a familiar face.
Warnings: angst, violence, injury
Previous Part:
Part Two
The next morning you woke up with a groan. Your mouth was so dry and your head hurt. “Oh what the fuck?,” you grumbled. “Sweet One,” Geralt chided. “What? You curse,” you said as you sat up. “Well yes, but I’m… me. You shouldn’t. It sounds terrible coming from you,” he said. “Well sorry but I mean,” you said with a shrug. “I know. I took the liberty of brining you breakfast up here, and copious amounts of water,” he told you.
You looked at the food and turned your lip up at it. “None of that. Behave and eat,” he told you. You pouted up at him, your big eyes meeting his yellow ones. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Why not?,” you continued to whine. “Because it makes me want to give you your way,” he chuckled. You smiled brightly, happy with his admission. “Alright, I’ll be good and eat,” you said as you began to nibble on a piece of bacon. “Here,” he said as he handed you some water. You drank it graciously before continuing your breakfast.
“Aren’t you going to eat?,” you asked him. “Already did Sweet One,” he told you. You nodded as you shoved more bacon into your mouth. “What are we going to do today?,” you asked. “I caught news of a Bruxa two towns over. They need someone to take care of it,” he said seriously. “When do we leave?,” you asked. “I figured when you finished eating. But listen to me Sweet One, this is dangerous. You can’t come with me when I go to kill it,” he said. You raised from your seat and walked towards him.
You stopped just in front of him, trying to figure out how to say what you wanted to tell him. “You’ll come back?,” you asked. He took your tiny hands in his, them totally engulfing yours. “Nothing could stop me from coming back to you,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. You felt emotion overwhelm you as a single tear run down your cheek. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Geralt reached up and softly brushed it away.
“No need to be sorry, Sweet One. It’s understandable you’re fearful,” he said. “I just want you to be okay,” you said softly. “I will be. Finish your breakfast,” he said before kissing your forehead. You finished up before the two of you headed out. “I can sit in the back now if that would be more comfortable for you,” you told him. “I’d feel better if you stayed in the front,” he said before helping you up. Just as when you came into town, everyone stared as you left.
The two of you rode until dusk before making camp, the trip would only take half a day’s time more now. “You still feel like learning how to fight?,” Geralt asked after you two had dinner. “Yes, please,” you told him. “Alright, come here,” he motioned. You stood across from him and waited. “I want to see what your natural instincts are. When I move you react, and treat me as you would anyone else in a scenario where they’d be trying to do you harm,” he said. “Geralt what-,” you began before he quickly grabbed you.
He had his arm locked at your collar bones, the other around your waist, his large body pressed flush to you. “React,” he said softly by your ear. You realized you’d been frozen in place the moment he grabbed you. Your first instinct was to bite his arm but you didn’t want to hurt him. “Geralt I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you,” you told him. “You won’t Sweet One. Come on,” he assured you. So you bit him then stomped his foot. He released you but as soon as he did he grabbed you again, pulling your front against him.
“Ooof,” he huffed when you kneed him in balls. “Crap. I’m sorry. I told you,” you said as you took his face in his hands. “I’m alright,” he said as he straightened up. Before it was over he’d made sure you knew how to get out of any kind of hold, how to throw a proper punch, and how to swipe someone’s feet from under them. “Not bad Sweet One. You’re a quick learner,” he said proudly. “I have a good teacher,” you replied with a smile, that he returned. “We should get some rest now,” he said as he brushed a hair back from your face with his fingers. “Okay,” you said as you did the same for him.
You two settled in for the night and with all that wrestling you were quite sweaty. After laying there a few minutes a cold chill came over you. You began to shiver although you were close to the fire. Geralt had laid down across from you and you thought he was still asleep until he lifted his cover. “Well, are you going to lay there and freeze or come take some of my big body’s heat and keep warm,” he chuckled, mimicking your words from before.
You scooted in close to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and pull you even closer into his warmth. You hooked your fingers into the front of his shirt and finally stopped shaking. “Thank you,” you said softly. “Most welcome, Sweet One,” he replied. “Hmmm,” you hummed sleepily before dozing off in his embrace.
“Wake up, Sweet One. We have to go,” Geralt murmured while shaking you softly. “Mmm. Wanna stay here,” you grumbled against his chest as you nuzzled in closer, making him laugh. “I know, but we have to get going. Come on now,” he said as he sat you up. You rubbed your eyes and looked up at him. His expression was so soft it made you smile. “What?,” he laughed. “Everyone is so scared of you but you’re just a big softie,” you giggled. “Only for you Sweet One. Don’t give me away to anyone else,” he chuckled.
You two loaded up and headed into town. Geralt was expected this time. He was quickly shown where to go to talk about the town’s problem. They told him what he needed to know and he made sure to give them his price. “Alright Witcher. So shall it be,” the town elder told him. You followed him amongst the townspeople, having a hard time pushing through there were so many. Before you realized Geralt had reached out and taken you by the hand, pulling you close beside him. “Thought I’d lost you a moment there,” he told you as you two entered the inn.
“Ah Geralt. Finally!,” a man said as he rose from a chair in the inn’s lobby. “Jaskier. What are you doing here?,” Geralt asked. “Well I finally dealt with that little problem I was having back when we parted ways then heard about the Bruxa here. Figured you wouldn’t be far,” he said, glancing down at your hands. Geralt was still holding yours tightly within his. “And who might this precious thing be?,” he asked, turning his attention to you.
“Sweet One, this is a friend of mine, Jaskier,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you m’lady,” he said as he took your free hand and kissed the back of it. “And does this, Sweet One, have a name to go with such a pretty face?,” he asked. “I don’t know. I’ve had my memory taken from me,” you told him. “A shame. I think I’ll call you Poppy then because you are truly the prettiest little flower I’ve ever seen,” he said with a smile. You smiled softly. If he was Geralt’s friend you could trust him.
“I’m actually glad you’re here. Could you look after her while I go to deal with the Bruxa? I don’t want to leave her alone but obviously she can’t go with me,” Geralt asked Jaskier. “I’d be happy to,” he said. Then Geralt got the three of you a room, which surprisingly had three single beds. Most places only had two.
“Now any time you leave here for any reason either she goes with you or she locks herself in here and you take the key. If she’s out with you Jaskier, you protect her with your life, you understand?,” Geralt said. “Of course,” he nodded. “Alright, it’s time,” Geralt said, turning his attention to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him as tightly as you could. He rested his head atop yours and rubbed your back soothingly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he assured you. “Be careful,” you said as you leaned back to look him in the eyes. “I will be,” he said softly before letting you go and leaving.
When he left it was a quiet as a tomb and you felt yourself crying profusely before you even realized it. “Poppy,” Jaskier said softly, but still you jumped. “Sorry, I forgot you were here,” you laughed through your tears. He looked at you tenderly. “Come here,” he said as he opened his arms. You let him embrace you for a moment before pulling your back and cleaning your face. “You probably think me silly,” you said to him. “Not at all. What he does is dangerous. Even I worry about it from time to time,” he admitted.
You nodded lightly. “How did the two of you come to meet?,” he then asked as you sat down. “Well I woke up in the woods, dizzy. I had a head injury but I saw a fire and managed to stumble my way over to it and there was Geralt. He helped me and has been taking care of me since. I feel like a great burden to him most of the time but he keeps telling me I’m not. I’ve been with him maybe a week now,” you told him. “You can trust his word. Geralt’s never says things he doesn’t mean,” he assured you.
“That’s good to know,” you smiled softly. “You said you had your memory taken away?,” he questioned. “Yeah. The only memory I have from my previous life is of this man, Marius. Why he left me with the memory of him groping me when I didn’t want him to I’ll never know. He said I could get my memory back if I came to him and gave him my virginity,” you told him. “A virgin?,” he asked surprisedly. “Yes, and what’s wrong with that?,” you asked, becoming a little defensive. “Nothing at all, Poppy. Just surprised. As I said you’re so beautiful…,” he trailed off.
“Sorry. I just suppose maybe no one had tried? Or perhaps no one I loved anyway. I didn’t want Marius to have his hands on me, nor did I want to marry him,” you said. “So it has to be him?,” he asked. “No, it could be anyone, but I’m not having sex for the first time with just anyone. I’m not being used up or mistreated for some memories,” you told him. He smiled softly. “Well you may not know your past but you definitely know who you are so at least you didn’t lose that,” he told you. “That’s… true. I hadn’t thought about that,” you told him with a smile.
“Geralt seems to be very fond of you. He doesn’t really have friends,” he said. “He’s your friend,” you replied. “Yes but that’s only because I badgered him into it. He came into town one day and I followed him when he left, much to his displeasure,” he laughed as he shook his head. “Bullied Geralt into friendship? I don’t see that,” you giggled. “He’s more feeling than people realize,” Jaskier replied. “I know,” you told him. “He’s soft for you,” Jaskier said sheepishly. “I’m not supposed to let anyone else know that,” you said coyly. “So he’s admitted it then?,” he smiled. You nodded lightly.
The time passed and you and Jaskier got to know each other better, him doing most of the talking since you didn’t have a lot to offer. “It’s getting late Poppy. Would you like to go have dinner? The inn has a little dining area,” he said. “Sure. Not certain how much I can eat though as anxious as I am,” you told him. “Well I shall enjoy your company nonetheless,” he smiled.
He offered you his arm, you taking it as the two of you headed down to the dining room to eat. He sat beside you at the little table as the two of you ordered some food. “Drinks?,” the lady asked you. “Please tell me you have water,” you said. “Of course,” she said. Jaskier looked at you strangely. “Last place Geralt and I ate they didn’t have water so he got me a glass of wine. I was so drunk it was ridiculous. I don’t think I had ever drank before,” you told him.
He laughed uproariously. “Just an innocent little babe all around, hmm?,” he teased. “I suppose so,” you replied. “I hope you don’t mind my sitting closely. I’m a bit nervous to let you out of arm’s reach. If anything were to happen to you I do believe Geralt would kill me,” he said. “I imagine he would,” you agreed amusedly. After you two finished eating you headed back to the room, no signs of Geralt.
“Do you think he’ll be back soon?,” you asked as you looked out the window. “Hopefully,” Jaskier said, which wasn’t a comfort. Neither of you could sleep really and when first light began peaking in through the curtains your eyes started to become heavy, but that was the very moment there was a knock at the door.
Jaskier sprung up, opening it carefully. “Shit, Geralt,” he gasped as the large man all but fell into the room. He struggled to support him as you crossed the room to help, or at least try to. Before it was over the three of you had fell to the floor. You could feel blood coming through the front of his shirt where you had your arms wrapped around him. “What do we do?,” you asked frantically. “I’ll get the supplies to mend him up. You get his shirt off,” Jaskier told you.
You shakily undid his buttons and gasped when you saw all the cuts on his stomach. You gingerly pulled his shirt out from his pants. “Get behind him and push while I pull him up so we can get this off,” Jaskier said. You did as he asked and the two of you managed to get his shirt off. “Geralt,” he said, trying to keep him awake. “Sweet One. Where’s my Sweet One?,” he mumbled. “I’m right here Geralt,” you said as you laid him back in your lap and cradled his face. “Hmm. There you are,” he said as he reached up and grabbed your arm.
You had tears falling freely as you caressed his face. “What can I do?,” you asked Jaskier. “Just what you’re doing Poppy. Keep him comfortable,” he said as he rubbed some kind of salve over Geralt’s wounds. “I told you I’d come back,” Geralt murmured. “You also told me you’d be careful,” you sobbed. “I know. She was so fast though. It happened before I even realized,” he groaned. You held him tighter, still rubbing him here or there soothingly as Jaskier wrapped up his battered abdomen. “All done,” Jaskier then said.
Geralt clung to you feebly there on the floor. “Would you like us to help you into bed?,” you asked him. “Will you lay with me?,” he asked softly. “Of course,” you told him. The two of you helped get him into bed and he patted the spot to his left and held out his hand to you. You gingerly got into the bed with him, and let him wrap his arms around you and pull you close as he laid his head against your soft bosom. You kissed the top of his head before the two of you fell into a deep sleep.
Part Four
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fandom-junk-drawer · 11 months
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The Witcher Headcanon - High
The more time Jaskier spends around Witchers, the more he notices how much they are like cats in some ways. Of course, they had those signature cat eyes that allowed them to see in the dark. And he started noticing how their eyes would dilate when something caught their attention.
A stalk of field grass with a bit of seed fluff on the end would cause Geralt's eyes to immeidately dialte if twitched. He had done it one winter in the Great Hall, with a willowy twig, and five heads had snapped toward the motion, and five pairs of eyes had dilated.
Jaskier had been reminded just how fast Witchers could move. He survived only because he managed to yeet the twig before he got dog piled.
Then he discovered that they purred, and liked cheek and chin scratches. He would start scratching cheeks or chins, and their eyes would dilate, and they would turn into Witcher-shaped puddles.
There were a lot of things that made their eyes dilate: cheek and chin scratches, being warm and comfortable, hugs, seeing something interesting, being excited, White Gull, and now, whatever the h*ll that plant was that Geralt was laying next to.
Jaskier had been waiting for over an hour for Geralt to return to camp. He had said he was going to set some snares, but he'd been gone too long, and Jaskier had gone looking for him. The bard had found him laying on his back next to a large shrub that was all shredded and mashed down, and he'd panicked, thinking he'd been attacked by something and left to die.
After getting a closer look though, he discovered that Geralt was unhurt. He was idly rolling a twist of pungent smelling leaves between his fingers and staring up at the sky, looking like he was having some kind of religious experience. There was only a thin ring of gold around his dialted pupils.
Jaskier *gently shaking his shoulder*: Er...Geralt? Geralt, can you hear me? Are you okay?
Geralt *dreamy voice*: Wouldn't being a-a bird be, like, the best? You could just fly around all day, sh*ttin' on people... I'd sh*t on Whatshisname...Valdo. Yeah, man, I'd totally sh*t on him. I'd just follow him around all day, every day, just sh*ttin' on him for you.
Jaskier: That's very touching, Geralt, and I appreciate the sentiment, but--! Melitele's tits, is that catnip?!
Geralt: Yeah, *rubs leaves on his face and starts purring*
Jaskier: Er, okay, big guy, let's get you back to camp. *slips arm under his shoulders and levers him into a sitting position*
Geralt *dramatic voice* : I ASCEND!
Jaskier: *gently takes the handful of leaves away and puts them in his pocket* Let me just hold on to these for you.
Jaskier heaved Geralt to his feet. The Witcher wobbled but stayed upright. He raised his hand, fingers positioned as if he were holding something, took a bite out of the invisible thing in his hand, squinted up at the sun, then demanded that Jaskier blow out the giant candle in the sky because he couldn't taste his cheese.
Jaskier regarded him silently for the space of a few heartbeats, then took a breath and blew it out at the sun.
"You blew out the sky candle! F***ing h*ll, I can't see anything now!"
"Your eyes are closed, Geralt."
Geralt opened his eyes, frowning irately, and grumbled "Blowing out the f***ing sky candle and plunging us all into eternal darkness-!" he stopped mid-rant as he remembered his invisible cheese, and took a bite. "Tastes like purple!"
Their trip back to camp had been punctuated by more stange ramblings as Geralt talked about all the mysteries of the universe, and randomly stopped to yell at a tree that was giving him a dirty look. He had passed out as soon as Jaskier had dropped him on his bedroll.
Geralt woke later, and in answer to his confused look, Jaskier had gleefully blurted, "You got high off catnip!", and then laughed himself breathless while Geralt growled and grumbled and denied it.
Jaskier pulled a few of the leaves out of his pocket and held them out to him. He'd been rather disappointed when Geralt had taken the leaves, examined them, and had absolutely no reaction to them. Geralt had given him a smug look that screamed "I told you so!".
Days later they stayed at an inn while Geralt worked a contract, and Jaskier entertained himself by tring to make friends with the cat that lived there.
She had stopped to sniff under the door, so he had opened it and tried to lure her in with some food scraps. The cat had been reluctant, having smelled Geralt's scent in the room. Jaskier remembered that cats did not like Witchers, but his inner Disney Princess was going to make friends with this cat through h*ll or high water!
He had taken some of the catnip, rubbed it between his palms, then put it in a little pile on the floor and crouched near it, hoping to entice the cat to come closer. He wiped his hands on his shirt and pants for good measure, in the hopes that he could get his new friend to sit in his lap.
Geralt returned a while later and found Jaskier sitting on the floor with a spaced out cat in his lap. He was curious as to why this cat was not immediately hissing and spitting at him like cats usually did when he encountered one. He slowly moved a little closer and caught a whiff of something herby...
The cat barely even flinched when Geralt dropped his bags and practically knocked Jaskier over trying to rub his face into his shirt. Jaskier ended up pinned to the floor by a hulking Witcher and a cat. He was grinning like an idiot while both the cat and Geralt rubbed their faces on him, and Happy Purred.
Jaskier made a few mental notes: 1. This is gold, tell Yen! 2. Don't mention this to Geralt. 3. Start collecting catnip. Ask Yen to help.
By the time Jaskier went to winter in Kaer Morhen that year, he had, with Yennefer's help, stockpiled a sizeable amount of catnip. He kept it hidden in his pack, wrapped with all his other herbs and dried florals, tucking it down in with his soaps and lotions and scents.
He had originally brought it as a joke, something to use to tease his adoptive family with, but he found that it really came in handy. Fights were a regular thing at Kaer Moren, especially when you were stuck indoors for weeks on end.
Jaskier started secretly burning a pinch or two of catnip in the Great Hall's fire pit when the usual minor scuffles looked like they were going to turn into fistfights.
Sometimes, when they were drunk and starting to try to fight each other, Jaskier would lobb a little catnip stuffed beanbag into the middle of them and let it work its magic.
Catnip tea became a thing.
Along with catnip cookies.
Sometimes, if he was bored, cold, or feeling a little down, Jaskier would rub a little catnip on his clothes and walk into the Great Hall, and then just enjoy the massive cuddle pile that resulted.
Yennefer knew exactly what was going on and was lowkey impressed her bardling had been able to smuggle the stuff into Kaer Morhen without Geralt knowing. It was an amusing distraction. She and Jaskier would sit and listen to their random thoughts.
"Forks are just a hand for your hand."
"Bread has a wetness scale, and here's why..."
" What if dragons had their wings on their back legs?"
" When two people kiss, they make a really long tube with an a**hole at each end."
"Your belly button used to be your mouth."
"If potatoes have eyes, then that means they watch you as you murder them."
And of course there was the humorous behavior, like:
Lambert balancing on the top of a door, claiming that he was a hawk.
Witchers crowding around a window to 'ekekekekek!' at a bird outside.
Geralt standing in the stables, bare a** naked, telling Roach she was pretty.
Eskel swearing that the rats in his room were talking sh*t behind his back, and it was really hurtful so, could Jaskier please go tell them to stop being mean?
Coen standing infront of a mirror, combing hair he didn't have, and swearing that Yennefer was lying to him when she told him he was bald.
Vesemir trying to fight everyone because he was feeling like he was 150 again because his joints didn't hurt anymore.
Then came the event that Yennefer personally could not stop laughing about. Lambert had started a massive drunken brawl one evening. Jaskier had been in his room, trying to make friends with some of the rats, when he'd heard the enraged screaming. He'd run to the Great Hall and seen an obviously inebriated Geralt and Lambert rolling and snarling on the floor.
Coen and Eskel tried to break it up, but were dragged into the free for all. Jaskier started yelling for them to stop, but he was ignored. He ran back to his room and did the only thing he could think of.
Yennefer had heard all the rukus and stormed into the Great Hall just as Jaskier came running back in, carrying the biggest joint the Continent had ever seen. The size of it was just absurd. Yennefer had started laughing as he'd dropped it unceremoniously into the firepit. Smoke billowed up, filling the room, and seconds later, the fight was over. Witchers were laying in a pile on the floor, stoned off their a**es, and contemplating the complex mysteries of the universe. Jaskier was pretty sure some of them were seeing gods.
It had taken weeks for the room to air out enough to were the Wolves weren't getting high just walking in to it, but there were still a few spots on the wall, and one of the furs where the smell continued to cling. It became a big joke after Jaskier guiltily explained what happened. Now when one of them, especially Lambert, started getting extra prickly, someone would say "Go sniff the fur/wall and calm the h*ll down!"
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mlm-writer · 4 months
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Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)
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Pairing:  Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic
Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl. 
You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy. 
Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound. 
“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire. 
Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave. 
Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked. 
When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”
Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night. 
Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you. 
When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.” 
Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you. 
The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin. 
Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency. 
Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one. 
Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself. 
“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!” 
He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que. 
Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared. 
His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.” 
“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer. 
“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny. 
—————
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writeshite · 11 months
Note
....okay hear me out, Geralt helping Reader escape being a virgin sacrifice by ah....helping him get rid of the virgin part 👀
Previous
Geralt doesn’t like the sorcerer who greets the two of you. Yvad Vassird, he’d introduced himself. Yvad is a relatively young sorcerer, conniving, condescending, and an ass to boot - his dark hair is neatly combed back and cropped to the sides, and his robes are a rich blue with silver detailing. The so-called temple is no better - more so a fortress, with sigils carved into every brick of the building, with a rotating guard of sorcerers watching over anything and anyone that walks in and out. He doesn’t like how they stare at you with something sinister, shrugging off the looks of disgust they throw at him.
“...your bravery is admirable, dear boy, to surrender yourself to the forces of Order for the betterment of the Continent, truly a feat.” Geralt catches the tail end of Yvad’s speech and rolls his eyes. Thankfully, the man leaves once you’re escorted to your temporary resting chambers; the room has a bed and enough magic to keep it comfortable enough. Geralt paces and checks every corner for any sort of traps, and you have to call him away from the windows when he growls at something and draws the curtains closed.
“Darling, you can glare violently at the people outside,” you quip, patting the place on the bed beside you. He reluctantly comes to sit, leaning his head against yours, thumbs rubbing circles on your hands. He helps you change into the required clothing, kissing your skin whenever he can - it’s not even clothing really, but instead a loose tunic that lays over your body. When Yvad returns, he’s accompanied by masked sorcerers, and no amount of convincing can deter Geralt from seeing you to your final moments. 
You’re led to the central altar high in the building - a massive mirror hangs above the room, and multiple other mirrors are positioned around the ceiling - when Geralt crosses the threshold, he feels his bones twist, the magic in the air is conflicting, and he wonders how you, Yvad and the other sorcerers stand without trouble. The room appears clean, but Geralt can smell the old blood as strong as it would have been the day it was spilled. Yvad has Geralt remain on the outskirts of the altar as he leads you by the hand to the altar itself, stood under the large mirror. The masked sorcerers begin to chant, raising their hands; Chaos bleeds from their fingertips, striking the smaller mirrors, darting around before coming together to the large mirror and being reflected down to you. 
The floor closest to you lights up with sigils; you glance at Geralt before runes dot your skin, and you fall to your knees. Yvad claps his hands, and the smaller mirrors tilt, focusing more Chaos onto you; your own begins to bleed from you, growing more violent as it’s pulled and pushed. Geralt is acutely aware of your screaming but is stopped by Yvad’s pinning gaze, “Interfere, and you might kill him, witcher.”
“You’re already doing that,” he hisses, proven right when you cough up blood. 
“It’s necessary,” Yvad responds. The chanting becomes quieter as Yvad takes over, hands drawing in the air; the Chaos turns into what Geralt must assume is Order. The sigils glow brighter, and your body contorts, floating in the air before a violent burst of energy is released. “FUCK! Keep it controlled!” Yvad yells.
One masked sorcerer is knocked through the window by the next wave; his screams go uncared for by Yvad. The man rolls his eyes when the others flinch, “Stay focused!” When the next wave hits more of them, you crumple to the ground, struggling to lift your head as your screams become sobs. 
Burnt flesh wafts through the air, and Geralt’s resolve breaks - the spell is already unstable with one masked sorcerer gone, so Geralt gets rid of another - the sigils flicker, and the ground shakes. Yvad turns to him, fury in his face; Geralt dodges an attack and rushes to you - surmising the focus of the spell must be well protected; he’s proven right yet again when Yvad’s magic bounces back. He alternates between shaking you lightly and patting your cheek, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
Your skin is warm, and when your eyes flutter open, Geralt feels as though he’s staring into a flame. Geralt…?” It takes you a moment before your mind catches on, and you spring to grab his shoulders, “....you stupid, stupid man!”
“You can insult me later; now, we need to get out of here.”
Yvad laughs, “You’re going nowhere, witcher.” Yvad’s voice is close to his ear; Geralt turns and is thrown far from you and through a window, hanging off the edge. Two things happen. One - Yvad takes two steps toward him, ready to have him fall to his death - two - the sorcerer flies past him as a loud ‘NO’ echoes, and the other windows shatter. Geralt crawls back in to find whoever’s left a pile of blood and bones.
You stand at the center, hand held out, and Geralt catches you before you can topple over again, “We need to get you out of here before the others find their way up here.” You nod, steeling yourself; a portal crackles to life, leading you to Roach as the other sorcerers' steps grow closer, you open another, and Geralt has Roach gallop through with you first before following. The portal led to a safehouse you’d cobbled from a dead peer - having invested what little free time you had to ensure it remained far from the Brotherhood - Geralt catches you before you slump off Roach, and you wake hours later to him sat by your bedside.
“Geralt? I’m…I’m alive?”
“Yeah, I promised, didn’t I? We’re far from everyone else,” he replies, hand coming to caress your face, “and, considering the whole sacrifice thing fell through—”
You drag him forward before he can finish, lips slotting against his to ensure this is real and that you hadn’t died and gone to some dream amid your death. Geralt holds you, pulling you closer; you laugh with relief when you part, leaning your head against his. “I’m alive,” you sigh. “Please, never ever, do what you did back there again.”
“Hmm, no promises.” He kisses you again, leaning further into your space and laying you back on the bed. Sliding between your legs as he pushes the tunic up, his fingers stretch your ass - the Brotherhood had believed, gods know why, that virgins made for better sacrifices - you’d resolved to kiss Geralt when you could, but now? Now, you strived to be fucked.
Geralt must deem you prepared as his cock replaces his fingers - it’s an adjustment, to say the least - you wince, and he halts his movements, “Is it too much?”
“Give me…just a minute,” you groan, clenching around him, “ok…you….move again,” you mumble. He wants to move slowly for your sake, but you protest, encouraging him to move faster; you sob enthusiastically when Geralt thrusts faster, the bed creaks, and you're certain it comes close to snapping. His teeth drag across your skin, and your own senses feel elevated, ears buzzing as Geralt slams into you with more and more force. When he cums, your eyes screw shut as something, or rather a lot of somethings, crash.
Geralt chuckles, "We can replace that later." You don't ask what it is, instead chuckling alongside him.
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cherryjuicegf · 1 year
Text
"You've been crying."
Jaskier laughs as Geralt sits beside him on the pebbles and raises his eyebrows, not looking at him still. "Now you can tell the salt of tears from that of the sea too?"
A light hum. "Always could."
A red ray escapes the setting sun and hits the waves, making the tears in his eyes melt as they mirror it. He sniffles and wipes at the trails his previous crying had pathed on his cheeks, and puts on a brave smile. Not really a smile. A curve of lips, at least, because Geralt is here now, the warmth of his body resembling a lit hearth, and it's a kind of comfort. Always has been.
Except. Geralt is staring at him.
Geralt is waiting.
And it's nothing, it really is. Jaskier likes to convince himself it is trivial, because how else could he mend a broken heart, if not with lies. The truth just seems too far out of reach.
But maybe now he is tired. And maybe in another time he wouldn't talk about it, he would only smile wider but now Geralt's stare is so gentle, and his eyes so safe like the sun on a spring's day.
"I feel like I've been missing, you know," he says at last and looks at him straight, soft, because Geralt really does know. "On love. And it's been too long."
What Geralt doesn't know, perhaps, is the way his heart clenches inside his chest and curls on itself like a child punished in the corner. So he frowns. "You? Jaskier, you can have anyone you want. I've seen you." Then, a smile, almost fond. "You fall in love with everyone."
Everyone, everyone. Anyone. Anyone there is. Anyone who looks like maybe, maybe, they will stay, or he is just too careless at this point that he tries anyway. A heart that never has too much. He knows they won't stay. And he knows the one who will stays for a different reason. So, so close.
He smiles, bittersweet, and lowers his look. "Yes, indeed. Everyone." Everyone, she sent a letter today. Never to meet again, never to be seen. Jaskier shakes his head. "And me? Who of all them has fallen in love with me, Geralt?" As if to answer his question, a seabird cries along. The sea, too, a cruel mistress. His voice quivers. "I feel like a desperate dog chasing love, while running from it all the same."
With the corner of his eye he sees Geralt parting his lips and a fake hope blooms in his chest, fading at once when he holds back, and stays silent. And he can only bask in the imagined possibility of what he intended to say.
The tears are done with him now. Only numbness remains.
Eventually, Geralt speaks. "If it is any helpful, no one has ever been in love with me either." The lightness in his voice sounds exactly like the pained strings mending Jaskier’s heart.
But oh, what a foolish man. Jaskier can't help but smile and turn at him, and for a bit he remembers that lonely as it is, he can't stop loving. "Well, that's just not true. I'm in love with you."
As though he doesn't know, as though it's not as simple as it was uttered, Geralt flinches. Jaskier chuckles and averts his gaze again, a little happier than before. Love, it is simple. It's what he does.
Just not something that happens to him.
"Well, then," he hears after some moments, "that makes us even."
He laughs before he thinks. "It does?" And then.
His head spins at once, eyes wide as they meet Geralt's, almost afraid. No, not afraid. Unbelieving. It's been so long, you see. But Geralt only rolls his eyes, oh so fondly, and before Jaskier manages to splutter any words sweet lips are on his, and a hand holding his nape. And it's not like other times. Not like everyone else. It's certain and terrifying and deep like a promise, like two stray roots finding each other through the earth and keeping their living hearts bound forever. Like what he has been craving for so long he forgot he may one day have it. Like Geralt.
And then, as though to seal it, this promise, Geralt pulls back and looks at him like he always does and Jaskier wonders, wonders how this that he never caught stands right here, catching itself. Geralt smiles, voice soft as a feather. "I'm in love with you, Jaskier." And that's it. Simple as that.
His eyes are burning again and Jaskier can only nod, and smile back. And it's almost funny, almost tender how love happens to be so close, so close he can taste its kiss without even trying, just for once.
Just for once, how love happens to him.
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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 months
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Puppy love
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Masterlist
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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.
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@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @littlefreya @mayloma @summersong69 @livisss @winter2112rose @changenameno @wa-ni (still not allowed to tag you, sorry :( )
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“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.”
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“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.
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“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.”
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“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.
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“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.”
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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.”
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“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.
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“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.”
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“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.
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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.
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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.”
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“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.”
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“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.
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“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?”
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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.”
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samstree · 10 months
Text
words can wait (until some other day)
Jaskier does not panic when he falls in love. It happens a bit further down the road. (geraskier, 3k, cw: panic attack ☆ AO3)
Jaskier does not panic when he falls in love.
The summer sun blurs his vision when he finds Geralt in a patch of meadow, familiar swords on his back, metal armors reflecting the bright light. He’s whispering to an anxious Roach in that particularly gentle tone, petting her mane patiently. He doesn’t even register Jaskier’s presence for a moment.
And then, there’s the smile. A soft smile tugs at Geralt’s lips when the mare finally calms. It’s reserved and quiet, but Jaskier knows all the world’s joy is contained in that small, warm smile. Roach nuzzles Geralt’s chest, and it grows. Crow’s feet form around soft golden eyes, and Jaskier falls in love right there.
Perhaps he should panic, he thinks, just a little. This is Geralt, his best friend, his companion, the reason for all his songs and the beat of his heart. But only sureness pools in Jaskier’s stomach like warm tea on a rainy day. There is no tightness in his chest, no constricting of breaths.
His love for Geralt brings no harm, only safety.
He is decidedly and unsurprisingly not panicking. It’s Geralt, after all.
So Jaskier calls out for his name and runs right into his arms. Geralt is perplexed by the sudden hug, but he catches Jaskier steadily as always. The smile doesn’t fade when Jaskier pulls away, half amused, half exasperated.
“Jaskier?” The sun is blinding, but all Jaskier can see is the gold in Geralt’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Jaskier can only shake his head, his own smile mirrored back, spreading so wide on his cheeks it nearly hurts.
“Nothing,” he answers. “Just… let me hug you. Just a moment longer.”
Geralt allows Jaskier to burrow deep into his embrace again, indulging what looks like a nameless bout of clinginess. They stay there for a while, swaying back and forth, despite the summer heat, despite Jaskier’s foolish heart.
Jaskier does not panic when he realizes his love cannot be returned.
The fall rolls around with a crisp blue sky and a forest of golden leaves. The ground becomes colder, digging into Jaskier’s back when he struggles to fall asleep. Between his dreams, Jaskier counts the crackling of the campfire and the quiet shuffles of Geralt’s movements. A chill creeps into the bedroll, and Jaskier holds his lute closer, shivering and drifting in and out of consciousness.
Somewhere during the night, when the moon is high and the forest is quiet, warmth envelopes Jaskier from behind. He lets out a long sigh, and the shivering stops. He gravitates towards the warmth, angling his body to fit into the source.
He wakes up in Geralt’s arms, head pillowed on his shoulder and their faces a hand’s breadth apart. Both of their cloaks are wrapped around him, tucked under his body carefully. They are not nearly big enough to cover the two of them, so half of Geralt’s body is painfully exposed in the autumn chill, but Jaskier is warm and toasty even to the toes.
He’s breathless from all the love in his chest.
“Hmm?” Geralt mumbles, blinking open his eyes. In the dim morning light, his features are soft and open, all the hardened exterior disappearing when it’s just the two of them, holding each other close on a chilly morning. When he finds Jaskier staring at him, an eyebrow raises in question. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” Jaskier whispers, not wanting to break the moment. “I’m just… very warm.”
Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand under the cloaks in his, only to touch Jaskier’s warm fingers with his cold ones.
“Good,” Geralt says, voice rumbling from sleep. “Humans don’t deal with cold that well.”
Jaskier pauses, looking up at Geralt’s slack face and slow-blinking eyes. It’s rare for a witcher to drift off casually once he’s woken in the morning, but Geralt does nonetheless, in a rare state of lazy contentment. Jaskier stays wide awake.
He loves Geralt, and he knows Geralt cares for him. In his way, Geralt cares so deeply, often to his own detriment. Despite what they say, despite all appearances, Geralt has a deeper capacity for love than anyone Jaskier has known.
Geralt can love deeply, that much he is sure.
It’s just that Jaskier isn’t special. He resides in a small corner of Geralt’s heart, cared for amongst countless humans weaving through a witcher’s long life.
Jaskier settles against Geralt’s shoulder, content. At peace, somehow.
Loving Geralt is enough, even if it’s unrequited, even if he’s alone in his love.
Jaskier also does not panic when he decides to tell Geralt about his love.
It is the winter’s first snow, a soft, fluttering thing that drifts across the grey sky, falling and melting on Roach’s mane silently. The year on the path has officially ended, but Jaskier lingers.
Urged forward by his treacherous heart, Jaskier follows Geralt all the way into Kaedwen. The final fork road stands before them, the last moment before their separation.
Jaskier rambles on, complaining about his frozen fingers in the lecture halls of the university he can only half-heartedly call home—the real one is this. The road, monsters and ballads. Home is Geralt, since he was eighteen.
“I don’t care if Kaer Morhen is an ice castle up in the mountains, Oxenfurt has to be colder! I am not leaving my winter doublets with you again. Help me, Geralt! Check again!”
He wrinkles his nose, digging through Geralt’s pack to find another one of his fur-lined doublets. Their things get mixed up during the year. Jaskier may have sneakily slipped most of them in so he can linger a bit longer without thinking about the giant hole that is going to take up his chest in Geralt’s absence.
“You know you can just not mix them with my things.”
“Hush, dear. Be smart later. We must find the gloves! My fingers cannot be exposed to the cruel winds of winter! It’s the dampness, I tell you—Oh.”
Jaskier touches something soft and squishy at the bottom of Geralt’s pack. He pulls out not gloves, but a small, hand-sewn horse plush.
It’s not the most delicately made, most of the seams lopsided and the dark brown fabric of the horse’s body fixed up with patches old and new. The two buttons are different sizes, but they look rustically charming with a big smile on its face.
“Jask, it’s—um. It’s a…” Geralt, amazingly, is starting to fluster. “It’s nothing. It’s a… horse.”
Jaskier feels like he’s stumbled onto something very intimate.
“So it is.” He looks up, not sure what to do with his hands, so he keeps holding the soft toy carefully. “She looks like Roach.”
“It’s from that girl. Around ten years ago.” Geralt looks away, as if embarrassed by having a cuddly toy in his possession. “Got her out of the manticore nest.”
“I remember. It was a close call. Her parents were worried sick.”
Geralt reaches out as if to touch the little horse, only to pull away last minute. “I checked on her a year later, passed by the village. She had made this.”
“She did?” Jaskier smiles fondly. “I remember she wouldn’t stop crying, so you introduced her to Roach.”
“And you did the voices.”
“It worked wonderfully. She made a friend that day, and went home to make you a friend.” Jaskier waves the horse’s front leg cheekily.
A soft smile tugs at the corners of Geralt’s lips. “Roach is easy to love.”
Jaskier looks down at the small horse plush, the most precious lopsided toy in the world. It’s like he’s holding Geralt’s heart between his hands. Handle with care, he reminds himself. A witcher’s heart breaks easily.
So he puts the horse gently in Geralt’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. Geralt rubs its ears on instinct, a subtle motion that seems to soothe himself.
“She really is,” Jaskier whispers reverently, not sure who he’s talking about.
There Geralt is, holding a small gift from a decade ago, a tangible proof that he was once appreciated, remembered, loved. It’s a good sight. Geralt deserves to know when he is loved.
Jaskier’s breath catches when he meets Geralt’s gaze for a moment too long, nearly struck dumb by the split-second decision he just made.
Geralt deserves to know.
Too few love him. If one does, one should declare it loudly.
His chest is warm with calmness, a quiet acceptance of his unrequited love. It will be okay. Even though Jaskier will not be loved in the same way, it will be worth it.
They finish finding Jaskier’s things and bid goodbye, the plush toy sitting in Geralt’s pack safely. When Jaskier walks away, he looks back with every other step, heart full of tenderness. He cannot say it yet. It will be the most important thing he does in this life. A poet should be granted enough time before proclaiming his love. He should be allowed the dramatics, at least.
“Wait,” Geralt calls out.
“Hmm?”
Jaskier turns around, thoughts lost in planning the day already. Flowers. He should pick flowers—Geralt loves them, even though he never shows it. Also those candied fruits he likes. Good food is always a nice opening for serious words—
“Jaskier, just… wait for a moment.” The flustering is back when Geralt catches up with a few long strides. “You don’t need to go.”
Jaskier frowns. “But I do? It’s well into winter already. I can’t make it to Oxenfurt once the snow sets in—”
“Don’t go to Oxenfurt,” Geralt interrupts. “Come to Kaer Morhen. With me.”
Snow melts on Jaskier’s lashes, blurring his vision.
“Really?” His heart hammers, the thrumming beats revealing too much. “You’d want me there?”
Geralt only takes his hand, thumb rubbing gentle circles on Jaskier’s wrist, an anchor to calm all the butterflies in his stomach.
“Must you ask?” he says softly. “You know the answer.”
When Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand in return, the familiar warmth enveloping him, he realizes that he does. He learned the answers to all things Geralt a long time ago.
The mountains are slow to accept spring’s arrival, sitting far above the rest of the world, but it waltzes in gracefully anyway. Snow seeps into the ground, bringing back the first sprouts of life. Kaer Morhen stands too close to the sky. Colors return to the crumbling keep, stirring their quiet life with restlessness.
It’s the last day before they set out for another year’s journey. Jaskier relishes his last moments in the keep, sitting cross-legged on Geralt’s bed with the lute in his lap, strumming an absent tune. It’s also become his bed since the dark days near solstice. My room is warmer, Geralt insisted at the time, with more sunlight. It’s only practical.
Jaskier isn’t sure how he’ll cope once they leave the keep, without Geralt’s presence grounding him at night. It’s trouble for the future him, he reckons. For now, Geralt is padding across the room quietly to join him, lying down on the pillow next to Jaskier’s thigh.
His fingers stop for a moment to brush the loose strands away from Geralt’s face. His witcher grumbles sleepily, eyes closed, snuggling against Jaskier while slowly drifting off into a nap.
The lute is soon left on the ground. Jaskier curls up under the cover and falls asleep too.
When they wake up, it is to the setting sun hanging above the horizon, casting long shadows through the window. Geralt stirs, only to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck, the tangles of his hair tickling Jaskier’s skin. They fall into a mess of giggles, and Jaskier pretends to push him away.
The orange-gold sunlight lines Geralt’s silver locks beautifully, golden eyes meeting blue in quiet contentment. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jaskier answers.
This is the moment.
All dramatics are forgotten, all poetry set aside. It’s just him, giving away his heart at the right time, asking nothing for himself.
“Geralt, dear, I—” Jaskier breathes steadily. “I love you.”
It’ll be alright. It’s only Geralt, who deserves the world and more. Jaskier is only a simple bard with his lute and silly songs, hoping all of himself is enough. Geralt knowing he is loved is worth ten times the heartache of Jaskier not being loved in return.
“Oh.”
“Don’t say anything.” Jaskier’s voice is still relaxed with sleep, so he leans in close, the exchange barely above an intimate whisper. “I know you don’t feel the same, but I do. Love you, that is. I love you, and you deserve to know. You are loved, without condition or a price, for as long as I live.”
“Jaskier…” Geralt nearly sounds pained. He shouldn’t be, not when he’s loved.
“It’s alright,” Jaskier says. “You don’t owe me anything. I understand. All I ask is a place by your side so I may walk with you, as we have done before. I never want you to feel guilty for not returning my feelings.”
“But I do.”
Jaskier blinks, only now realizing his vision is getting blurry. Geralt watches him, eyes full of joy and sincerity.
“You—what?”
Suddenly, Jaskier’s throat is very tight, his breath shuddering. The panic that has been kept at bay makes a strange appearance from deep inside his lungs.
“I love you too,” Geralt says, holding Jaskier’s shoulder, keeping him close. “I thought you knew. I thought you could tell. Jaskier, I—”
The thundering of his heart is all Jaskier can hear. The room is too small and the air too thin. With all the time he’s spent preparing himself for the eventual rejection, he’s never dared to imagine the other possibility.
Geralt loves him.
Oh.
Jaskier’s chest seizes as anxiety takes hold, his words stumbling over each other and his vision tunneling.
“Forgive me—” Head spinning, Jaskier just wants to get out of this room, away from Geralt’s worried expression and the warmth of his hands. “I wasn’t expecting… I just need a moment. It’s all very sudden, I…”
“Hey, Jask, slow down. You are hyperventilating.” Geralt, as if he needs to get more lovely just to torment Jaskier’s delicate heart, notices his panic and reacts immediately. “Just try to breathe. It’s alright. Just breathe. I’m right here…”
Geralt tries to pull Jaskier into an embrace, an old trick to calm him, but it’s all too much. Jaskier needs to get out of the room.
He mumbles another apology, limbs tangling with the sheets as he scrambles out of bed. Geralt calls for him through a fog of confusion and worry, but Jaskier is gone from the room, half stumbling and half running.
Jaskier is most assuredly panicking right now.
He wanders aimlessly in the keep, trying and failing to catch his breath, only instincts guiding him to a place of comfort. He pushes open the door into the small but well-kept winter garden in the corner of the backyard, the pressure on his breastbone finally letting up in the crisp mountain air. He breathes in the mixture of plants and dirt and leans against the cold wall, sliding down with all his energy sapped.
Geralt loves him back.
Jaskier turns over those words in his head slowly, easing into the idea.
It’s a good thing. As the panic eases from his mind, his senses return slowly. It hits him just how ridiculous he looks, running away from the man he loves, simply because he was loved in return.
There’s dirt on his bare feet, and Jaskier hugs his knees close. He takes in a deep breath, and then another. Slowly, painstakingly, the panic subsides. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but clarity returns eventually, and he rests his head against the wall with relief.
“Jaskier.”
The door creaks open, and there Geralt is, holding a large blanket and looking awkwardly unsure.
“I’m fine,” Jaskier answers, voice still tight.
Geralt all but softens. He sits down next to Jaskier but doesn’t touch, only holding out the blanket. “May I?”
Receiving a nod, Geralt wraps the blanket around Jaskier’s thin shirt, careful not to invade his space. Jaskier almost feels like a dam breaking when he throws himself into Geralt’s arms, burrowing under his chin. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“Shh. Don’t be.” Geralt rocks him back and forth, a hand running down Jaskier’s arm. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“I panicked,” Jaskier sniffs.
Geralt chuckles quietly. “I could tell. But why? I thought the conversation was going somewhere… well, somewhere good?”
Jaskier lifts his head but lets Geralt hold him close, soothing his nerves patiently.
“It was going somewhere incredibly good,” he admits. “Too good, perhaps. I wasn’t ready for it.”
“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, observing him.
Jaskier hides away from Geralt’s knowing gaze. “You must think it was stupid. To be fair, I was. Who would have a full-on panic attack because the love of their life actually loves them back?” He lets out a self-deprecating huff. “I had accepted it, that I was alone in my longing, and that nothing would change after my confession. But now… things will change, and it was suddenly too real.”
“It wasn’t the confession that gave you panic. It was knowing that I loved you.” Something in Geralt’s expression crumbles, guilt and shame creeping up on his brow. “All these years, I thought you knew. I’m not good with words, so I tried to show you, instead.”
“Oh.”
Jaskier blinks, thinking back on every detail of their companionship in a new light—the quiet protectiveness, the trust, the care. The answer pieces together like puzzles falling into place, a clear picture forming in his mind.
Geralt, always putting Jaskier before himself.
Geralt, smiling and laughing because of Jaskier, and making Jaskier smile and laugh in return.
Geralt, inviting Jaskier to his home.
The only conclusion—
“You love me. You have loved me all this time.”
Geralt smiles. “And you love me.”
Jaskier’s heart picks up its pace for an entirely different reason this time. “That’s… wonderful.” He’s smiling so hard it makes him giddy. “Whatever shall we do now?”
“Now? Anything, I suppose. Everything, or nothing at all.” Geralt turns to kiss Jaskier on the temple, making his cheeks heat up rather embarrassingly. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Jaskier echoes. “For now, we don’t need words yet.”
Another year begins tomorrow, the seasons passing by as they walk the path.
But for now, they stay in the little corner of a keep that stands too close to the sky. For now, they don’t need words yet.
203 notes · View notes
Text
Chapter Eight
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Paring: Geralt x Reader
Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witcher’s world. Will she survive? 
A/N: sorry that I haven’t posted anything in a while. I got a promotion at work and things have been crazy. Please enjoy this next chapter. I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work without permission. Please leave comments! ❤️
The journey to The Temple of Melitele is a tense one. All of us are on edge for different reasons. Ciri because we wouldn’t let her kill herself. Geralt because he thinks Ciri is always hurling herself to deaths door and myself for well all of that and what’s coming next in this fucked story. The panic of what’s going to happen to Ciri comes crashing against me in waves. I know they are both picking up on my strange behavior.
Our first night away from the Witchers keep is oddly quiet. Once we have finished eating Ciri immediately settles into sleep. Something that I find out of character for her. Normally she is a chatter box full of questions, asking Geralt and I for stories. I walk over to the other side of the fire where Ciri has tucked herself into her palette.
“Are you alright? You’ve been rather quiet today.” I ask her softly as sit looking down at her young face.
“I’m fine.” She says not meeting my eyes. I narrowed my eyes at her before replying.
“Is this still about us not letting you become a Witcher?”
“No, This is about me not being able to make my own choices.” She explains finally looking at me.
“Ciri, I know why you want to sacrifice yourself so badly, but even after you will still have the guilt you feel at surviving what others did not. We want you to make your own choices. We also want you to make those choices for the right reasons.” I gently stoke back a loose piece of her hair before pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep.” I tell her before leaving her.
I walk back over to my spot on the other side of the fire. I stare at the flames so deeply I don’t notice geralt's return until he places a few larger sized logs he found on the fire. He comes and sits next to me while we both watch the warmth dancing in front of us.
“Is something going to happen?” Geralt ask breaking the silence. I look at him with shock and a questioning look. “I can tell now. You start behaving differently before.” He admits.
I feel that light ache as if warning me from saying too much. “Things have changed in ways that I didn’t expect and knowing but not knowing always sets me on edge.” I sigh, placing my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes with my palms. Geralt pulls my hand away from my face and I find myself staring into golden eyes that reminds me of the sun itself. He looks at me gently stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.
“ Most would have ran off by now but you are still here. Stop overthinking and underestimating your ability to handle whatever may come. You can’t let fear consume you. Ciri needs you….I need you.” He admits. His words bring heat to my cheeks.
The softness of how he looks at me makes my heart begin to pound in a new way. I swallow as my throat feels dry in the intimacy of this moment. My tongue darts out to wet my lips and his eyes dart down to catch the movement.
I take his advice and bring my lips to his before I can overthink it. My eyes close as I move my lips against his, it takes a second to realize he’s not kissing me back. As I start to pull away he places a on the back of my neck as his thumb strokes my lower jaw and he kisses me back. The kiss is full of emotion that I can’t place. His tongue darts out and licks the seam of my lips. I squeak in surprise. I feel him as he pulls away. His thumb lightly strokes over my swollen bottom lip. I open my eyes to see a strange expression on his face.
“What is it?” I ask, pulling his hand from my face.
“I may not be able to give you what you want.” He says looking down at our entwined hands. He stands and starts to pull away from me. The reasonable part knows I should let this go and never speak of this again especially because of what’s yet to come. I start to let him go but a voice whispers “He might not choose her.”
I grab him tighter, stopping him from pulling away from me. “I want you to give me what you can and I will do the same for you. Only what we can.” I emphasized,looking up at him. He pauses for what feels like a dozen beats of my heart. Then he turns back to me and looks back down at my hands before meeting my eyes.
“Only what we can.” He agrees before sitting back down next to me. Geralt grabs my hand again and we simply sit there staring into the fire.
The next day I’m consumed with the thoughts of Geralt's lips on mine and the ‘only what we can’ agreement will mean when we get to the temple. Even after Geralt's encouragement not to worry I can’t help but have some anxiety of what’s coming. The day has passed by with my being stuck in my own head. I have to force myself to tune in to the beginnings of an argument between the two of them.
“…..We were safe.” Ciri says. This is the first time I have head her speak since we left Kaer Morhen.
“The trial of grasses isn’t safe.” Geralt replies. I sigh already knowing where this conversation is going. It’s enough to make me want to throw myself off Roach just to not have to hear this argument again.
“Not Listening again.”
“You want to kill yourself trying to become a mutant so if you survive you can killl yourself trying to get revenge. Which part did I miss?” Geralt dully remarks. Ciri opens her mouth to reply, I cut her off.
“We are not starting this all over again. I feel like I can literally say what is coming next from each of you. You both make good points. I mean for goodness sakes both of you…”
Geralt pauses Roach and looks up at the trees. A small tingle runs down my spine. As the air becomes still. We continue forward reaching the lake.
“This is the shallowest part of the river. I’ll check that it’s safe to cross.”
“What do you mean safe?” Ciri ask
“I’ll try and draw it out first.” He says look out to the water.
“Draw what out?” Ciri frowns. If he could just give a little more detail on the front end I swear we could save hours worth of this.
“It’s some type of chernobog.” Geralt answers.
“I don’t know what that is.”Ciri Replies.
“I’m sure whatever the hell it is, it's not good.” I mutter under my breath. Geralt tells us to say where we are and he walks into the water. He’s only thigh deep when a monster with wings appears out of the sky. Ciri calls Geralt back as the beast nears. My heart starts pumping harder.
Geralt pushes the monster back with an invisible blow. It recovers before flying back, geralt tries to hit the beast again but only catches the foot. The thing screeches and makes a dive toward us. Geralt shouts for us to get down. I push ciri from the horse. She tumbles to the ground. I push off just as something catches the back of my right shoulder. I cry out as I finally hit the ground. Geralt shouts for us to run.
Ciri and I get up and run for cover as Geralt looks around for the monster. After a few moments Geralt motions us out from where we’re hiding. Ciri runs to roach , seeing her on the ground. The deep cuts on the end of her body from the monster. Ciri and Geralt both lean down to comfort her. I look away, tears forming in my eyes.
“Is there anything we can do?” Ciri ask. Geralt pulls a small knife. Ciri walks to me and places her head on my shoulder. I hear the sound of roach’s last breaths. I hum to ciri to cover over the sound of the knife cutting into Roach. Geralt stands, I pull gently away turning from Ciri and place a hand on Geralt's arm. He brings his large hand to cover mine.
“I think we might have a problem.” Ciri calls out a bit frantically.
“What is it?” I ask turning back to her. I grab her face turning it from side to side. Pull away and look over her. “Are you hurt?” I ask still inspecting her. She steps back from my hands and look behind me with wide eyes. I turn to Geralt. “What on earth is wrong?” I almost shout panic is rising in my throat.
“You’re injured.” He says walking up and turning me around.
“I don’t feel anything” I tell him to try to pull away.
“That’s either shock or adrenaline.” He places his hand on my right shoulder and I jolt away from him. The pain slams into me at his touch. “I think you got caught by the claws jumping from Roach.” He explains. I twitch in pain.
“Stand still.” He almost growls.
“Well now I can feel it and it hurts.” I say still squirming. He holds a firm hand on my neck and shoulder to stop me from moving as he places a bandage on it. “That will have to do for right now to slow down the bleeding.” He says tying the last knot I wince a bit. The monster screeches coming back for a second go around.
“It’s time.” Geralt says walking over to ciri. “Are you ready for this?” He asks, looking at her. Ciri nods her head saying yes and Geralt gives her instruction to go up on top of the rock. She looks at me and I nod encouragingly. She heads that way and Geralt turns back to me, pulling a small bottle from his pouch drinking the contents. The black webs form around his face and when his eyes open blackness. Has covered the golden hue I have found myself so fond of. “Stay here.” He says before stalking forward into the forest.
The beast spots Ciri from the rock and aims right for her diving down. I feel the warmth come and my skin begins to glow as the beast gets closer. I have a ball of light aimed and ready when Geralt appears from nowhere and slices through the best causing it to fall crashing to the ground. The forest shakes as the huge body lands.
We continue on our journey and my back stings in pain from the rake of the bog monster's claws. I’ve definitely slowed down the pace of the entire group. The Temple of Melitele finally comes into sight after hours of walking. I stumble as we pause to look. Geralt shoots me a look before walking over to me and placing a hand on my head then grunting. He turns me around my back facing him and I stand there looking at Ciri.
“You’re losing too much blood.” He says pulling the quickly made bandage away.
“Will she be alright?” Ciri calls out looking past me to Geralt as I hear something tear behind me and something presses against my wound. I grit my teeth at the feeling.
“I'll be fine. I’m sure the temple has talented healers that will fix me right up.” I reassure her. She comes and holds my hand in comfort. Geralt puts more pressure on my wounds I grunt. He holds it there for a minute until he begins tying things back in place. Once he finishes he moves in front of me and just stares.
“Can you make it the rest of the way?” He finally asked me. I nod my head, I start walking to prove how fine I am. Something happens behind me and I hear their footsteps join mine. A short time later Geralt scoops me into his arms.
“You can put me down. I’m fine.” I tell him quietly glancing over a Ciri who is strangely interested in the sky without clouds. I look back up at Geralt who just grunts and rolls his eyes.
“You’re slowing us down and I would like to reach the temple before night falls.” He says looking dead ahead. I start to open my mouth but he cuts me off. “This is me giving you what I can.” He leans down and whispers. My mouth closes and I settle back in his arms with pink cheeks.
@freegardenbanananeck @kas0417 @lillianacristina @mxtokko @wonderlandfandomkingdom @lovemesomuchhh @novaacanee
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roguerambles · 11 months
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By the Fire
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The Witcher Fic - Geralt of Rivia x Male Reader
Warnings - 18+ Only. Some mild NSFW. Brief description of monster violence.
So, fun fact about me, the Witcher 3 is one of my favourite games ever and Geralt of Rivia is kinda sorta my ultimate weakness. Look at him. JUST LOOK AT HIM--
Toussaint is one of my favourite areas in the game, and I figured Anarietta could use a court mage to fall in love with the local witcher, oops--
-
Perhaps hiring the Witcher had been unnecessary.
The Duchess had been quite insistent, however, that her newly appointed Court Mage not go wandering the Marcescent Forest unaccompanied. Several of the Ducal Guard had volunteered to accompany you, but oddly enough it was Captain de la Tour who recommended hiring Geralt of Rivia.
“All manner of beasts stalk the region.” He had gruffly told you, ignoring the surprised expression Her Grace had given him. “A witcher would be a prudent choice for a travelling companion.”
You could not critique his reasoning, although you liked to think your magic could handle a few beasts. But your research could take hours, and a man familiar with killing monsters watching over you was reassurance enough to Her Grace.
You had heard of Geralt of Rivia, of course – you doubted there were many in Toussaint who hadn’t  – but you had not met the man in person since his arrival to the region. When you had arrived at Corvo Bianco, dressed in your finest travelling cloak and a large pouch of coin attached to your hip, you had been somewhat embarrassed at the almost boyish excitement you felt as the majordomo – Barnabas – welcomed you to the estate and led you into the vineyard.
“Master Geralt, the Court Mage has come to see you.”
“Barnabas, you need to stop calling me that.”
Geralt of Rivia – the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken – stood amongst the rows of vines, heavy with grapes, white hair tied back loosely, his chest bare, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin from the blazing warmth of the summer sun. Your gaze was drawn to the patchwork of heavy scars decorating his skin, the toned musculature of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the handsome jawline dusted with silver. He moved with the easy grace of a warrior and it took you a moment to realise you had not spoken at all, even as he rose from where he had been kneeling and approached you.
“Damien de la Tour sent word. Apparently you need a Witcher.”
His voice was deep and pleasant to your ears, and found your tongue was refusing to form words in your mouth. You were staring like you had never seen a man with his tunic off before, and you saw the corners of Geralt’s lips twitch, his brows arching slightly upwards. You felt heat rush to your cheeks and you cleared your throat loudly, hastily reaching for your coin pouch and fumblingly explaining the terms of your contract.
“It’s only a few hours…and I can pay your handsomely. I mean, you are handsome. I mean, pay handsomely!”
You contemplated fleeing back to Beauclair on the spot. Geralt simply looked bemused, while Barnabas remained cooly neutral as you made a fool of yourself.
But the Witcher accepted your coin, and within the hour you were both riding towards the forest, the sun grazing the tops of the trees. You focused on examining the local flora, and tried to ignore how striking the Witcher looked in armour. You eventually settled into a companionable quiet, with Geralt occasionally asking about what exactly you were doing. You initially thought he was just being polite, but he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. He even answered a few of your own questions about the various potions you’d spotted attached to his belt.
Even if he was only humouring you, it did little to quell the pleased flutter of butterflies in your stomach every time you coaxed a small smile or a thoughtful “hmmmm” from the man.
“It’ll be dark soon.” Geralt spoke up the nearby tree he leaned against, watching you work. “We shouldn’t be out much longer.”
You had been searching for a few hours, and while you had collected a few interesting specimens, none of them had been what you had been looking for. And aside from the occasional curious deer, no creatures had made their presence known. You sighed and brushed your hands against your cloak, smiling apologetically. “I am sorry. This must be rather dull for you.”
Geralt barked out a short laugh, shaking his head with faint amusement. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes flickered over your shoulder. “I’m sorry you haven’t found what you were looking for.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Either that or your excited reaction is very understated.”
You laughed, prompting a subtle smile from Geralt that made your pulse quicken. You dipped your head slightly, turning back to gather your materials, when Geralt suddenly went still. Then he darted towards you, his hand reaching for his silver sword. “Move—!”
You startled in alarm, the earth shifting under your feet. Something screeched underneath you, high and shrill, and you stumbled backwards, claws long and sharp slicing at the air where you had been standing. Dirt and stone flew in every direction as something tore through the ground, and all you could see clearly rows of needle-like teeth snapping inches from your face.
You threw out your arms, panic burning fierce and bright in your chest as Geralt shouldered past you, a ripple of magic spilling from his open balm. The monster screamed as your magic clashed with his, sending it hurtling through the air and into the trees with a loud crack. Wood splintered as the creature writhed and wailed, blood spewing from a wound in its underbelly. Geralt swore loudly, before swinging his blade and thrusting it into the creature’s exposed stomach.
The ground continued to crack under your feet, soil and earth spilling into a deepening crevice. “Geralt—!” You willed your feet to move, but the crumbling earth was faster, and you found yourself being rapidly yanked downwards into cold, open air. “Geralt….!”
The Witcher dove after you, his large hands grasping your arms as you both tumbled over the edge. His arms circled around you, pulling you sharply against the metal of his armour so hard your teeth rattled, but you barely had time to register the dull burst of pain before plunging in the overwhelming chill of the river below.
-
You were curled under a blanket near the campfire, and you were hoping that if you prayed very, very hard, the gods would show mercy and simply kill you now.
After Geralt had dragged you out of the river like a bag of soaked vegetables, he had dove back in to fish out you and he’s scattered belongings before they were washed away. Your ankle throbbed painfully, somehow injured in the fall, and you had been forced to watch from the side-lines as Geralt set up your little makeshift camp, set up traps to ward off potential beasts, and cooked the fish he’d caught for you both over the fire.
You could not recall a time you had felt so thoroughly useless. You were a sorcerer, a bloody good one, but portals had never been your strong suit, and with how wrong everything had gone today you didn’t want to risk sending you and the Witcher halfway across the Continent into some carnivorous creature’s jaws. He probably already thought you were hopeless enough.
The sun was dipping lower and lower, but the Witcher insisted travelling through the forest at night was asking for trouble, particularly since you were struggling to walk. He had said this while stripping out of his dripping wet clothes, tossing them aside to dry, and encouraged you to do the same, and you had been far too flustered to muster much protest.
So there you sat, shivering under your blanket, guiltily watching as Geralt did everything, his leggings hanging distractingly low on his hips, the fading sun casting a warm, appealing glow against the glistening musculature of his scarred back and shoulders.
It was impolite to stare, but you could not help it.
You settled eventually, your clothes still to soaked to wear, and Geralt sat on the other side of the fire, seemingly quite at ease as you tried and failed to not follow a particular scar that trailed from his side and disappeared into his waistline—
“Bruxa.”
You startled, your eyes snapping upwards to meet his knowing expression. You flushed and stammered – gods you dealt with nobles and your fellow sorcerers with skilled eloquence, yet the Witcher reduced you to a clumsy wreck without even trying – as Geralt chuckled slightly, lifting his arm and gesturing at his side.
“This scar is from a Bruxa. In case you were wondering.”
He had clearly noticed your staring and you were seriously considering getting up and tossing yourself back into the river. You averted your eyes, your tongue useless in your mouth. “I did not mean to stare.”
Geralt peered at you thoughtfully. “They bother you? A witcher’s path is a dangerous one. War wounds are inevitable.”
“Bother me?” You nearly laughed. You had been counting every scar, wondering how they’d feel under your tongue; when you weren’t distracted with the strong, firm muscle of the Witcher’s body on such tantalising display. “No…not at all.”
“…hmm.” You could have sworn you saw Geralt’s lips twitch into a smirk for a moment, and began to fear that there was something to the rumours of Witcher’s reading minds. “You’re still shivering?”
Grateful for the shift in topic away from dangerous territory, you tugged your blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling a little weakly. “I’m sure it will pass. I just need to stay near the fire.”
Geralt stared at you thoughtfully a moment, before shaking his head. “You’ve been sitting there a while. We need to warm you up.” He stood and began making his way towards you, and your heartbeat quickened.
“Oh! I…that isn’t necessary—”
Geralt shook his head again. “I doubt the Lady Duchess will be pleased if her Court Mage gets sick under my watch.” He sat down beside you, and patted his lap. “Come here. We’ll share body heat a while.”
For a few seconds, you completely forgot how to breathe. You stared at Geralt mutely, and his expression remained perfectly serious. You opened and closed your mouth several times, before finally finding the power of speech once more. “I…can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. I’m offering.”
You swallowed thickly, offering a quick prayer to whatever god was listening that you weren’t about to make a complete fool out of yourself. You shuffled into Geralt’s lap, his thighs sturdy and strong underneath you, and he pulled your blanket around him, your back pressed flush against his chest. He felt hot and solid and strong, his toned, powerful arms sliding around you and sweet merciful gods you were growing hard—
“Better?” Geralt asked, his voice low and warm as honey and you squirmed, hoping he didn’t notice your reaction.
“Y-yes.” You choked out, your face burning. “T-thank you. Sir Geralt.”
“Hmm.” You could not look up at his face, but you swore you could hear a smile. “Don’t mention it.”
You sat in silence a while, Geralt’s warmth bleeding into you, the sounds of the forest humming all around. It was almost a pleasant atmosphere, but you found it hard to truly relax, considering how you had ended up in this situation in the first place.
“I am sorry.” You murmured.
Geralt’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting. “For what?”
“For…well this.” You gestured vaguely around you. “It’s not what you signed up for.”
“You didn’t plan for this to happen, as far as I’m aware. You have nothing to apologise for.”
“Still, I am sorry.” You mumbled softly. “This can’t be how you envisioned your day ending.”
Geralt was quiet for a moment, before responding in a soft murmur in your ear that made you shiver for reasons other than the cold. “Hmmm….A warm fire, and a pretty, almost naked man in my lap.” Geralt hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and against your back. “That’s better than I hoped.”
Heat flooded your cheeks, your pulse quickening as though it had been jolted with lightning. You went rigid in Geralt’s arms, and he chuckled lowly, his tone turning apologetic.
“…I’m sorry. Too forward?”
“What?” You twisted around to face him, which was a mistake, because suddenly his face was directly in front of yours, and you fumbled as his strong jaw and striking eyes were right there. “No, I…I mean…” You stumbled over your words as Geralt laughed softly, looking terribly pleased with himself. “I-I just…pretty--?”
You wanted to combust.
Geralt chuckled, his voice a maddeningly delicious mix of rough and smooth as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes seeming to glow molten gold in the firelight. “Yes.” He murmured, lips quirking into a small smirk that somehow made him even more unreasonably attractive. “Pretty.”
He had lovely lips, you noticed, before you leaned forward and pressed your own against them. Geralt made a low, pleased sound in his throat, his large, rough palm sliding over your hip and pressing against your lower back, leaving a trail of tingling warm in its wake.
This was hardly behaviour appropriate of a member of the Duchess’s Court, you realised distantly as you twisted in Geralt’s lap, slinging you thigh over his waist as you pressed your hips together, enticing a groan from the Witcher that set your blood aflame. His tongue slid into your eager mouth, his free hand slowly roaming over your bare thigh appreciatively as he tugged you closer, your chest flush with his. Your hand stroked over the thick swell of his bicep, fingers fascinated by the feeling of smooth skin and scar tissue, his beard rubbing against your skin in way that made you wonder how it would feel rubbing elsewhere.
The blanket fell from your shoulders, but the chill of the night air was chased away by Geralt’s hands, stroking and roaming and grasping, and you heard yourself moan needily as you ground your hips against his, your flesh rubbing against his through the thin material of your undergarments. You wanted to feel the rest of him, and you stroked down his sides, reaching for his waistband.
Geralt grabbed your wrists, tearing his lips from yours with a reluctant hiss. “Wait.” He leaned back, his expression mournful as his gaze trailed over you, lust bright and gold in his eyes.
You felt dizzy and flushed and breathless and you wanted Geralt to keep kissing you. You rubbed your hips against his and the Witcher groaned, eyes fluttering closed as he grasped your waist to still you. “Not here.” He forced out, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “We shouldn’t make too much noise.”
Your face felt hot at the implication of his words, and as you took a moment to catch your breath you remembered you were in the middle of the forest. “Of…of course.” You inhaled deeply, struggling to keep eye contact as Geralt leaned back slightly, the muscles of his abdomen contracting distractingly under your palms. “We…I should…”
You tried to move, but Geralt’s hands cupped your waist, holding you in position. “Hold on.” He smirked up at you, eyes trailing slowly over your body. “I want to look at you a little longer.”
You flushed and cleared your throat loudly, ignoring his mouth and his eyes and his hands and everything else about him that made your stomach feel tight and hot. “You can look at me all you want back at Corvo Bianco.”
Geralt’s eyebrow arched. “Oh?” He leaned towards you again, lips tugging into a small grin. “Is that a promise?”
You shoved him and he laughed, deep and throaty, and you realised his laugh was yet another thing you could add to the list of things you liked about Geralt of Rivia.
Morning came eventually, and you both made your way to Corvo Bianco without further incident. You ankle still ached, but Geralt very gallantly carried you the last stretch of the journey, smirking as you flushed in his arms.
You sent word to the Duchess that you would be taking a few days to recuperate, and if anyone noticed that you spent the entirety of your recovery in the Witcher’s bedroom, they were polite enough not to say anything about it.
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