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asweetprologue · 3 years

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feel the turn of rotation (and stop)

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Date Night Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt ask Jaskier to go to the Yule festival with him. Jaskier misunderstands his intentions. ao3

“There’s a festival happening tonight.”

Jaskier looked up from where he was working on his latest composition. Geralt was leaning against the doorway to his bedchambers, which Jaskier tended to use as a study as well so that he could reserve the main space for entertaining. He took a moment to set down his quill and wipe his sweaty palm on his trousers. It was almost overly warm in the room, the fire blazing at full height to fight back against the chill of his outward facing chambers. The single, tiny window above his desk ran with moisture, the frost melted away by the heat of the room.

“Yes,” he answered, turning in his plush chair to face Geralt fully, one ankle coming up to cross over his knee. “There’ll be a procession at sunset starting at the main gate, to light the lanterns. And then dancing and such in the main square. Typical Yuletide celebrations.” As he spoke, Jaskier allowed himself to observe Geralt in full, briefly sweeping a glance over his companion. It was exceptionally rare for them to spend winters together; Geralt almost always chose to spend the colder months in Kaer Morhen with his brothers, while Jaskier returned to civilization. This year they had been deep in southern Sodden when the first snows unexpectedly hit, and by the time they’d made it back to Redania they’d received word from Vesemir that the pass to Kaer Morhen was closed. Jaskier had been offered a position teaching for the winter semester, along with a fairly lucrative retainer with a local lordling, so he’d offered Geralt a place to crash while they waited for the witchering season to start up again.

The downtime suited Jaskier’s companion nicely. Geralt’s hair was pulled back into a customary knot behind his head, but it was clean and soft looking, free of dirt and monster guts. His skin shone in the firelight, and the dark circles that always seemed smudged beneath his eyes were faded after weeks of consistent rest and food. He’d taken to walking around without his armor on, content after a few days with the knowledge that Oxenfurt was populated by nothing more threatening than overenthusiastic academics. At the moment he was wearing a pair of old black trousers and a dark blue shirt that stood out against his white skin like a splash of wine on a silk tablecloth. It had cost Jaskier a small fortune, but it was worthwhile to see it clinging to Geralt’s shoulders.

He looked good. Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up as he realised he’d been staring. Snapping back to the conversation at hand, he realized that Geralt had been speaking.

“- if you wanted to.”

“Sorry, what?” Jaskier asked, blinking. Geralt rolled his eyes, used to Jaskier’s lapses in attention. The motion carried annoyance, but when his eyes fell on Jaskier again there was fondness in them.

“I asked if you’d planned on attending. Seems like the kind of thing you’d be working.” Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, stretching the dark fabric across thick biceps. Jaskier swallowed.

“Ah, well, typically I would indeed be regaling the crowds with my sonorous melodies. But considering I had company, I thought it might be better to leave myself, uh.” He cut himself off, feeling suddenly exposed in the admission. While he had taken the time off initially hoping he might be doing something with Geralt, he hadn’t truly expected the witcher to want to do more than maybe get drunk on overpriced Redanian wine. “Well. You’re here, after all,” he finished lamely.

Geralt blinked at that, something odd crossing his face before he looked away. Staring at the fire across from Jaskier, he said, “You could still go.”

Something was off about his tone - overly flat, which he only did when he was trying to muffle some kind of emotion. What it could be, Jaskier had no earthly idea. Confused, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you all by yourself on Yule, Geralt. That wouldn’t make me a very gracious host! I’m entirely content to spend the evening with you here, if that’s what you would prefer.” And he was, truly. While he typically spent Yuletide amongst the people, dancing and singing and visiting with friends, he imagined it would be just as rewarding to spend the evening with Geralt, in the cramped comfort of his quarters. The two of them tipsy on ale and spirits, sitting before the fire, trading stories back and forth like they usually did on the road. Cuddled beneath a blanket, pressed up against each other despite the warmth of the hearth, drink making Geralt’s face flush as it almost never did…

Yes, Jaskier imagined he would be perfectly content to spend the evening right here.

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, we could go. If you want. I - We should go. Together.”

It was choppy work, even for Geralt. He still refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze, staring with absolute focus at the fire. His shoulders were braced, tense as if waiting for a blow. It was baffling.

“Well, of course, if you’d like to go I’m amenable to that,” Jaskier agreed. “More than, actually. It’s great fun, you’ll see.”

Geralt finally turned to look Jaskier in the eye. A shiver traveled down his spine at the intensity there, but then again, that was how he often felt under that golden gaze. “Together,” Geralt said again.

“I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else,” Jaskier said with a dismissive wave, laughing a little. It was typical to attend the festivities with a spouse or sweetheart, but he’d not taken a paramour of any kind in several months, and nothing serious in years, if he was honest. His attention was unfortunately captured elsewhere. He spared a single moment to mourn the private evening he’d envisioned with Geralt, but he was already warming to the idea of attending the festivities. He’d already shown the witcher around Oxenfurt, but it was exciting to think of showing the city off again in a new light. Geralt had probably not attended many Yule festivals, he realized, having always spent the winters in the mountains. Something released in his chest even as his stomach dropped in disappointment as he realized Geralt probably didn’t even recognize the romantic implications of his offer.

Geralt, at least, looked relieved. The tension dropped from his shoulders, and he gave Jaskier a soft smile. Jaskier’s traitorous heart skipped in his chest, and Geralt’s grin suggested that it may have been audible. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with himself, hands fluttering across his desk to meaninglessly straighten papers and notes. “Good,” Geralt said, the grin softening back into that disorienting smile. “I’m assuming you’ll want to change.”

“Ah, yes, can’t very well go out in this,” Jaskier agreed, still feeling slightly unmoored.

“Of course,” Geralt said seriously, but his eyes danced with mirth. “I’ve got some things to do in the market before the stalls close. Meet you at the gate at sunset?”

“Perfection,” Jaskier said, and Geralt nodded before peeling himself off of the doorframe and disappearing into the other room. A moment later Jaskier heard the telltale sound of the exterior door opening and closing, the rusty hinges creaking. He sat for a moment in the empty room, going over the encounter in his mind and trying to determine what had made it feel so off.

“Strange,” he said to himself, and began packing up his things. He had a festival to prepare for.

***

Dressed appropriately in his finest woolen tunic and the thick fur lined cloak Geralt had gifted him the previous year, Jaskier set out from his abode to meet Geralt. An hour or so had passed since their conversation, and the sun was lying low and languorous on the edge of the horizon. Its dying light rippled across the Pontar where it split around the island, the light layer of snow that covered the landscape transformed into gold dust. Already he could see the crowd gathering on the far side of the bridge, led by the priestess of Melitele, returning from the temple outside of the city. Jaskier stood inside the city gates, scanning the faces around him for familiar features.

After a few moments he saw him - highlighted against the backdrop of the setting sun, his hair turned to fiery gold in the dying light. Geralt smiled when they made eye contact, and immediately began to push his way through the crowd towards Jaskier. He too had dressed for the weather, his own wool cloak muffling his form. As he stepped into Jaskier’s space, he said, “You ready?”

Jaskier had the feeling that he didn’t know exactly what he should be ready for, but he nodded anyway. “They’re just beginning,” he said, waving towards the group approaching on the bridge. It was slow going, the procession stopping every few meters to wait while the priestess lit the lanterns lined up along the walls. They would be at it for the next hour at least, making their way around the circumference of the city to light the protective lanterns and then returning to the bridge, where the large crowd would release their own floating lanterns to carry their prayers for the new year to Melitele.

“There’s music in the square,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could just barely hear it as well. Normally he would be amongst the performers, but tonight he was there as the audience.

“The flutist is off key, I can tell already,” he said with a grin, though he could hear no such thing from this distance. Geralt huffed out a laugh and took Jaskier’s arm, just above the end of his glove. Geralt’s fingers were bare, his witcher metabolism keeping him warm enough without them, and they were a cold shock against the skin of Jaskier’s wrist. He let himself be led into the square, which was packed with people. Tables had been set up with food and drink around the edges, while the far side was dominated by a low stage. In the center, couples and groups danced, circling each other in common folk movements. The tune was jaunty and fun, a lively song to help fight back against the dark that threatened the edges of the gathering. Defiant in the best of ways.

“I don’t suppose you know any of the local dances?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer. Geralt confirmed it with a shake of his head. “Well then be a dear and get us some ales, hmm? We can still watch.”

Geralt, for once, did as he was bid without comment, probably just as interested in the alcohol as Jaskier was. He found them a spot to stand near the mouth of an alley, where he hoped the noise of the crowd would be a bit reduced. Geralt was sometimes bothered by the bustle and murmur of a large group of people.

Geralt rejoined him shortly, offering him a mug of mulled wine. Jaskier took a grateful sip, feeling the hot liquid settle in his gut and warm him from the inside out. It was very good - spicy and strong, just how he liked it. Geralt hummed appreciatively when he took his own drink.

They stood watching for a while, Jaskier making the occasional snide comment about a bad dancer or an overplayed tune if he thought it would make Geralt laugh. And it did, more often than not; Geralt was open and affectionate this evening, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially in Jaskier’s ear as they watched a couple sneak away from the dancefloor. Jaskier laughed into his glove, quickly beginning to feel light and soupy from the drink.

“I know this one,” Geralt said suddenly, drawing his attention back to the band. It was a slightly slower song, a couple’s dance. Bright gold eyes turned in Jaskier’s direction. “Want to dance?”

Jaskier gaped. “With you?”

Geralt’s eyebrow quirked upwards, betraying only exasperation. “Don’t see anyone else here making an offer.”

“Well, you - I - Alright,” he said, finally, swallowing his confusion. Geralt offered a hand, and Jaskier accepted.

They moved out towards the dancers, Jaskier feeling his heart rise in his throat. When they reached the edge of the pack, Geralt turned and gave Jaskier a short bow, overly formal for the setting. With an incredulous laugh, Jaskier returned the motion, and when he raised his head again Geralt was in his space, hands coming up to rest lightly on his waist.

It shouldn’t have been able to take his breath away so easily, but it did.

The motions of the dance were simple, basic circular pathways as they stepped out and back in together. Their hands never parted, but every time the steps pulled them apart Jaskier found himself missing Geralt’s warmth beside him. Slowly, the tempo picked up speed, until they were twisting and whirling around without pause. When the song ended, Jaskier was panting for breath. Geralt looked winded himself, though his chest rose and fell at the same rate it always did.

They made their way off the dance floor once again, ceding their spot to another couple. Geralt’s arm curled around Jaskier’s waist and he leaned into the touch, feeling more drunk than he should be. “You’re good at that, witcher,” he said, accusatorily. “I could have been taking you dancing all this time! How many balls have we been to?”

Geralt flushed faintly, the color staining his ears a fetching red. “The Wolf witchers use techniques that are similar to some dances,” he said. “The pacing, some of the moves, are familiar.”

“I’m never going to let this go,” Jaskier warned as they shuffled back towards the mouth of their alleyway. “You’re going to have to dance with me at every festival, ball, and banquet we ever attend from now on.”

Geralt smirked at him. “I don’t know that I mind.”

And what was that supposed to mean? Jaskier felt a flush spread down his cheeks, his throat, even his chest felt warm. Geralt didn’t mind dancing? Or didn’t mind dancing with Jaskier? Panicked, he said, “I’m going to get us more drinks!”

By the time he returned with more warm wine, he had managed to wrestle his emotions back into place. He passed Geralt one of the mugs, giving him a wide grin that he hoped would cover for his accelerated heartbeat.

As they drank, Jaskier found himself at a loss for words. He was happy to be here, truly. It was always enjoyable to spend time with the object of his affections, but at the same time, he felt something cold settling in his stomach that the wine could not touch. He glanced at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man observe the dancers. His hair was in slight disarray from the dancing, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Jaskier wanted him so badly it felt like a wound. He wished he could lace their fingers together as other couples around the square were. Wished he could sit in Geralt’s lap and feed him sweetmeats and honey cakes as the festivities melted away around them. It was difficult to be so close, and yet so far from what he actually desired.

Geralt glanced over at him, and something in Jaskier’s face must have betrayed his sudden turn into maudlin, because he didn’t look away. “Should we go?” Geralt asked, concern drawing his brow together.

Jaskier cursed himself, plastering on another smile. “No, no, dear heart, I’m enjoying myself plenty. The lanterns will probably be lit soon, don’t you think? Maybe we should go find ourselves a spot before the crowd arrives.”

Geralt nodded, still looking a bit worried. It was flattering, that he was clearly concerned about whether Jaskier was having a good time, but it only made him feel more wistful. Not looking to see if his friend was following, Jaskier began to pick his way out of the square, doing his best not to jostle any of the other partygoers. Geralt dogged him like a shadow, and they both emerged some minutes later in the silvery moonlight of the river walk.

Already Jaskier could see the bridge, some ways away to their left, dotted with lantern lights. The procession had made its way back. He stepped up to the edge of the river, leaning against the low wall that held the city back from its edge. Geralt stayed a step or two behind him, arms crossed against the chill. “This will be a good spot,” Jaskier said, leaning over the railing to point. “They’ll release them there, so we should be able to see them as they go up.”

“They do this every year?” Geralt asked, voice a low rumble. Now away from the noise of the crowd, it shook Jaskier’s bones.

He nodded. “For the last, hmm, thirty years, I think? The lanterns carry wishes, you see, requests for Melitele. They go up into the heavens, and when they come down they carry her blessing. So they say.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. They stood together in silence as the little pinpricks on the bridge became a sea of candlelight, and slowly, one by one, began lifting up into the air. Soon the sky was awash with golden sparks, hovering above them.

Jaskier leaned against the wall, watching the lanterns make their way skyward. “Wish I’d thought to make one ahead of time,” he said wistfully, watching their lights twinkle in the darkness. “I didn’t know we’d be -” He turned to look at Geralt, who was rummaging around in his bag. “What are you doing?”

With a triumphant huff, Geralt found what he was looking for. He presented it to Jaskier with a sheepish looking grin, an unusually bashful look for the witcher. In his palm was a small square of paper and wood, maybe half the size of the other lanterns being set loose from the bridge. “I found someone selling them earlier,” he said, setting the little thing on the ledge of the wall in front of them. “Thought you might want to join in.”

Jaskier clapped his gloved hands together, delighted. “Oh, it’s just adorable,” he said, feeling his grin pull at his cold cheeks. He picked the thing up, cradling it delicately in his cupped hands. The paper sides were decorated with a floral pattern - tulips, or maybe buttercups. Jaskier reached forward towards Geralt. “Would you light it for me?”

Geralt reached out and snapped, the clean sound cutting through the still air. Immediately the paper in Jaskier’s hands began to warm, the little lantern glowing merrily. Carefully, Jaskier made his way to the edge of the river wall and leaned over the side, letting the lantern rest on his flat hands as it grew lighter. After a moment, it lifted gently off of his palms and started to drift skywards.

Geralt stepped up to join him, their shoulders pressing together as they leaned against the railing, watching their little lantern float up to join the sea of others. A wave of golden light blanketed the city, giving the river an otherworldly glow as it reflected the sky. Jaskier sighed happily, allowing Geralt’s constant warmth to wash over him. He turned to comment on the spectacle, but his words died on his lips as he found Geralt already looking at him. The warmth of the lanterns reflected in his eyes as well, making them glow with their own light in the darkness. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, his cheeks warming.

“This was nice,” Geralt said, his voice pitched low. The rumble of it sent a shiver up Jaskier’s spine. They were so close together, and Jaskier found himself turning into Geralt’s heat like a flower to the sun.

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, a beat too late. “It’s always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, my friend.”

Geralt hummed, a distracted noise, and lifted his bare hand up to Jaskier’s jaw. “Oh,” Jaskier said, surprise and confusion and clamouring hope blossoming in his chest, and then Geralt was kissing him.

It was a chaste little thing, but Jaskier felt himself light up at the touch. His own hands came up to grasp Geralt’s hips, the gloves or the shock making him clumsy. Geralt hummed again, a wickedly satisfied sound that made Jaskier shudder embarrassingly. He tasted like mulled wine and cinnamon, the taste lingering on Jaskier’s lips as they pulled away.

He stared at Geralt for a moment before clearing his throat. “What, erm. What was that for?”

Geralt gazed at him fondly, a thumb skating over Jaskier’s cheekbone. He knew it must be warm to the touch. “I wanted to,” he said, shrugging. “And it’s the customary way to end a romantic outing, I’m told.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Romantic outing?”

Geralt’s head tilted to the side, giving Jaskier a confused look. “What did you think this was?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said again. “Oh!” He pulled a hand away from Geralt’s side to slap over his own forehead, feeling both extraordinarily foolish and giddy. “God’s above, this was a date?”

Geralt’s expression shuttered slightly, and his fingers slipped from Jaskier’s cheek to his shoulder. “You didn’t realize.”

Jaskier leaned forward, desperate to wipe the nervous look from Geralt’s face. He wrapped his own hands around Geralt’s neck, squeezing the base of his skull slightly. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t, but I am delighted. Ecstatic, overjoyed, elated, euphoric, exultant -”

Geralt laughed, cutting him off. “Alright, I get it. You’re happy.”

“More assuredly so,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. He felt lighter than he had in years, floating on a bubble of joy. “Though I will say, we will probably need to go on another ‘romantic outing’ to be sure we do it right. I won’t have our first real date be one I wasn’t even aware of.”

Geralt leaned back in, his lips ghosting over Jaskier’s. The bard shivered, anticipation making his breath come faster. “I don’t know that I would mind that either,” he said, and then his lips found Jaskier’s once again. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, and knew that there would be many more chances for the perfect date to come.

#geraskier #the witcher #witcher #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt #fan fiction #fanfiction #fic #my work #witcher fic #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #sugar and spice #s&s

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rhabakoli · 4 years

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Virgin No More

unbetaed, bc late. smut, beware.

this is the missing smut from Beautiful & Damned’s latest chapter.

@dreamwritesimagines @riviawitch3r

He was determined, focused, but so, so gentle. His hands were wandering over your body, his lips never left yours. He was completely covering you, your legs wrapped around his waist, your night shift bunched at your hips, and it was everything you ever wanted, It was safe; HE was safe. He shielded you from the outside world, from anyone seeing you like this. He kept you to himself, was the only one to see you this open, this beautiful; the only one to make you feel safe while being at the most vulnerable you ever were.

His teeth caught your lips, one of his hands reached back and smoothed down your thigh to grab your ass and squeeze. You couldn’t hold back a silent gasp, but Geralt just smiled and a growl rumbling through his chest. He felt your body under his, curves and scars and blemishes and he wanted to explore all of you. He needed to. He needed to make you feel like you lost your mind; needed to make you writhe underneath him, this vulnerable, to see your skin tinted with a gorgeous rosy dust, to hear your heart beat faster and harder, hear it beckon him to match his hips to the rhythm of it. He needed to be the only one. Your only one. You could tell he was lost in his emotions, lost in his head. His hips were circling against yours, core against core; it was like he wasn’t aware, too animalistic, too wild, too driven by his desire. His whole body was thrumming with it, growls and grunts from deep inside him, making you shiver all over, press closer to him, feel him, let yourself be taken. He was licking along your jaw, painted your skin wet with just the tip of his tongue, before he latched onto your neck. You screwed your eyes shut, tried to keep your wits about – but holy ass, was it hard. “Geralt, please.” He was clothed still, separated from you by straining leather and linen, but you needed him naked, bare, inside you. “Geralt, take it off, take it all off.” Your voice was low, gentle, a little shaky. But he still heard, of course. He stilled above you, a couple deep, hot breaths against your throat, then he was gone. The sudden loss of body heat had you shivering, had your nipples harden even more. His golden eyes were sharp, intense, and didn’t leave your figure, not one second. He knelt between your legs, his hands on your knees at his sides, his eyes going from your face to your chest, to your stomach and lower. His view was obscured by your nightshift, and he snarled at it. He went to rip it off you, probably destroying it in the process, but you reacted in time and pulled it up, up, up, over your head and let it drop to the floor next to the bed. You were rewarded with a shaky intake of breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at your knees. “Come on, Geralt.”, you lured him, breathless yourself. “Please, don’t make me wait.” Finally, he reacted. You watched as his fingers opened the laces of his breeches, quick and deftly, and your brain immediately thought of other used for those skilled appendages. Piece after piece fell to the floor, bared him to you more and more. Your mouth watered, and you had to get your mouth on his body. Where your confidence came from? You didn’t know, maybe some weird sex demon possessed you. But maybe it was all in the way Geralt, this beast of a man, so kind, so gentle, looked at you. How he reacted to you, how he wanted you, and didn’t even think to hide it. Therefore, you didn’t either. You just did what you thought felt good. You sat up, curled your hand around his hip and pressed a kiss to his chest, right above his heart. His fingers curled in your hair, cupped the back of your head. He huffed, your name on his lips like a prayer, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you, like he couldn’t believe you were here with him. You let your hands explore, feel his skin under your hands, the warmth radiating off him, the tenseness of his muscles, the coarse hair sprinkled all over his chest and trailing down. It was like a path to paradise, like a promise of what’s to come. “Oh, fuck.” You grinned, your lips still pressing kisses to his skin, little scrapes of your teeth for variety. You let your fingertips drift along the waistline of his breeches, ever so softly, touch barely there. He was still kneeling, your legs now around his thighs. It brought his crotch to a comfortable height. In a sudden onset of boldness, you curled your fingers into the waistband and tugged. His cock, hard, heavy, hot, was definitely happier once you’d gotten rid of its prison. Your nails scraped along Geralt’s thighs, lured a deep, rough groan from him. He was focused on your face, the fire in his eyes spurring you on. The gold of his irises was nothing more than a thin line, the rest was swallowed by the deep black of his pupils. It sent shivers down your back. You pressed a kiss just underneath his bellybutton, then one to the jut of his hipbone. “Shit.” He was… proportional. His dick twitched every time you moved; Geralt barely holding back now. It made you feel invincible. To have him wrapped around your finger, to be able to do this to him? It was a rush of power and trust you didn’t expect. And it made you want to protect him, so that no one else ever would get the chance to abuse that sense of intimacy. His hands wrapped around your wrists, brought them together to hold them with one of his, while the other came to tilt up your chin. “Princess, that’s enough.” He’d explode if your mouth got any closer to his dick than it already was. And you looked so curious and bold tonight, he wouldn’t be surprised if you actually tried. Instead, he raised your crossed wrists over your head and back, effectively bringing you down on you back once more. He wasn’t far behind, needed to feel your chest pressed against his. “You’re beautiful. Precious.” You were slick already, but with his voice on your ear, his breath against your skin, his cock rubbing against you – you could scarcely breathe. The leather of his pants dug into his thighs, restricted his movement, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to eat you up, eat you out, breathe you in until your scent and taste were burned into his brain, soaked into his skin. He wanted to bathe in your very essence until he would be able to remember all of you to his dying day. “Hold onto something.”, he commanded. You couldn’t not, your hips raised into his on their own accord, made you gasp. He smirked at that. “You will have to be very good for me. Very quiet.” Geralt kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. His hands next to you caused the mattress to dip, made you feel caged in, but content. In any way, he was teasing, and you hated him a little bit. One hand stroked down your side, your stomach, before coming to rest with its thumb on your clit. The touch was soft and short, but you were so worked up, it sent shocks through you anyway. You jolted, gasped, and then his hand was on your mouth, silencing you. “Princess, as much as I want to make everyone listen to you scream my name, it wouldn’t do you any good. Your mother will be in here before I can even get my mouth on you, and neither of us wants that.” His thumb has taken to circling your clit, flicking left to right from time to time. It had you keening, but you tried to keep quiet. He released you and crawled lower instead, his mouth now latching onto your right nipple. “Ah, don’t-“ His tongue came out, a broad lick across the sensitive bud, and the ending of what you were going to say came out in a breathless sigh. “-stop.” He chuckled, shifted his hand and dipped low, his index finger now teasing your entrance. He pushed inside, just his fingertip, then he stopped. His while body tensed up, his cock jumped, grew ever harder. You were so wet, so ready for him, he was close to completely loosing it. Your fingers were clutching at his shoulders, then slid up to his neck and head. The way you said his name, not yet a moan but close enough, had him thrust shallowly into the air. “Fuck, what did I ever do to deserve this.” You laughed at that, unbelieving as well. “You love me.” He hummed, pulled his hands from you and pushed himself even lower. He was hungry, and diner was served. His mouth on your cunt made you sit up, a loud curse on your lips. What in the world? “Lay back princess.” He wasn’t going to stop. He’d not stop until you’ve come on his tongue, until you were dripping. Your heart was beating so hard, it was deafening; you were sure it was going to explode any second. And then Geralt did something with his tongue that had you seeing stars; suddenly you had to concentrate really hard on being quiet. The room was filled with the sounds of your wetness, of Geralt’s growls and happy hums, your moans, your stifled curses when you were aware enough to clap a hand over your mouth. It was dirty, heady, delightfully so. Your hips jolted when he pushed a finger in, carefully, and you gasped so loudly, he was concerned for a moment. “Are you okay?” Your right hand came up to pinch your nipple, your left buried itself in Geralts hair and held on. “YES.” He didn’t hesitate long and dove right back in with new energy, more tongue and with more pressure. He licked you, he ate you like a man starving. His finger dragged out, then pushed back in, producing such a delicious teasing friction, you had to wriggle your hips. He didn’t like that. His free arm came to wrap around you, hold your hip down and still. You didn’t realize your small movements weren’t the actual reason, not before pulled out, spread your cunt with middle and index finger and licked up your slit in one broad swipe. “Oh fuck, Geralt, ple-“ He hummed, the vibrations shooting through you like little shooting stars. You started to lose feeling in your toes, and still they were tingly; it spread up your legs, warmth pooled in your belly. You knew you’d not be able to hold on much longer, but Geralt didn’t want you to. “You taste amazing, my princess. I want to never taste anything else again. Never. “ He started fucking you with his tongue, swirled it around, pushed in, pulled out, licked up and down and made you writhe and see stars. You grew hotter and hotter, muscles coiled tight and ready to let go, when Geralt hummed once again, then let off just enough to talk. “I will make this my dinner every night from now on. You’ll learn what it means to be satisfied, my beloved.” He leaned up onto his elbow, looked down at your drenched, wrecked cunt. “You’ll crave me.” One finger slipped into you. “You will beg for me to come visit you at night.” Back out. “I won’t be able to sleep before I had a taste of you, Princess.” Back in. His leisurely pace had you keening and fisting the fabric under you. “Never will I be satisfied with anything less than the taste of your arousal on my lips.” He smiled at you, softly, adoring. “Never again do I want to miss your presence, my Princess.” Geralt gathered up your juices, pushed them back in and then he was right back where he loved to be. Head buried between your legs, lapping up your wetness and not wasting a single drop. Barely half a minute later, you were going tense, your legs closing around Geralt’s head, trapping him there, and then you came. You bit the palm of your hand as not to scream his name, but you surely did thrash in place, your body shaking from head to toe. Never had you had such an intense orgasm, and you’d never thought it would even be possible to feel like this. Your blood was rushing in your ears, your lungs refused to work, and you were sure Geralt was talking to you. Were you passing out? No, you didn’t think you were. A giggle spilled over your lips then, and suddenly you couldn’t stop it anymore. Geralt had finally gotten rid of his pants and now he was crawling back over you and brushed your hair from your face. “You alright?” You nodded, still giggling. “Good.” He cupped your face with one hand, kissed you and then nuzzled underneath your jaw, like a small puppy. Which, he wasn’t. Not at all. You still felt very sensitive and twitchy, so you were grateful that he wasn’t touching you anywhere below your hip. In a sexual way, at least. Instead he was stretched out at your side, his leg thrown over yours, and his arms pulling you close. You calmed down after a while, Geralts steady breath at your side reassuring. The two of you laid like that for a while, just breathing, Geralt’s hands wandering in soothing patterns, his nose pressed into your skin. You took way long to realize he was still hard, poking into your hip. Before, you would have been mightily embarrassed, maybe would even cover your eyes and roll away. But, he’d just had his head between your legs, had eaten you out like it was his first meal in a while. He had shown you more than once actually, how much he loved and desired you, and how nothing whatsoever could change it. Instead, you rolled over, wrapped your arms around him. “Do you need help with that?” Geralt laughed, pressed a kiss to your temple. “Do you offer?” With the cheekiest smile you could procure, you pinched his ass. “I might.” Sadly, he didn’t really react, but you guessed his Witcher abilities might have influenced his pain perception. You stretched, your bones groaning and aching, before snapping back to where they belonged. He straddled your thighs, his hands spread and covering most of your ribcage; he was ginormous. A mountain. Nonetheless, you’ve never felt safer and more content than right now. You smiled up at him, wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss his lips, then nip at his jaw. “How do you want me then?” Geralt licked his lips, made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “I want you naked, wet, and all the time.” You let your arms fall back into the cushions, knew the stretch would make your breasts rise and taunt him. “What are you waiting for?” He loved how relaxed and open you were, how you teased him, how you didn’t shy away from him or his nakedness. He loved you, body and soul. “I love you too, Geralt.” You’d seen it in his face, Over time, you’d become quite adept in reading the witcher and his moods, and this face was definitely not one he should show in public. He nuzzled your cheek, bit teasingly at your nose and kissed your lips, just to mumble: “So much, my beloved.” And then he got off you, made you spread your legs once more and sank down between them. You wrapped them around his waist, dug your heels into his butt when he teased you with the head of his cock and accidentally scratched his bicep when he positioned himself. “Shh, it’s okay, we don’t have to.” “No, I want to.” You looked up at him, how his hair fell down around his face, like a curtain shielding you from reality; he was divine. He was an actual angel and you should thank your parents for calling him. He followed the lines of your face with his fingertips, tapped the tip of your nose. “You should try to relax then, Princess.” You tried, you really did. But he was huge. How was he supposed to fit in you without accidentally hurting you? He’d never forgive himself if he did. He knew, of course he did. Stupid enhanced senses. Geralt cupped your jaw, lips pressed against yours and then the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your chin. You had to giggle at his antics, not used to such playfulness; it was nice. He breached you, and you gasped, sucked in as much air as possible and tensed up. “No, no, breathe. You have to breathe.” You willed your muscles to unclench, your lungs to expand and closed your eyes. “That’s it, yes.” You continued to just breathe, your nails digging into his skin where you were clutching his arms, but he didn’t even acknowledge it. He was busy scanning your face for major discomfort and any sign to stop, while he slowly pushed it. But there wasn’t. You soldiered on, and once he was buried inside, you took a deep breath, released it and opened your eyes. Geralt started to pepper your face with kisses once more, praising you, showering you in compliments. Your heart swelled, then burst and you melted into a puddle of goo. Which, ultimately, was Geralt’s goal. “This okay?”, he asked, as he started moving. It was agonizingly slow, but he couldn’t risk hurting you. A nod, then you pressed your head back into the pillows and focused on the sensations. The ladies in court had one way of talking about this kind of experience, and it was usually a very negative one. You should have known that it wouldn’t be like that at all, not with your witcher. He’d rather cut off his own arm, than hurt you. “You’re doing so good, so good, princess. “ You hummed, smiled. The stretch started to dissipate, made place for pleasure and heat. It wasn’t long, and you had to urge him on, roll your hips, meet his thrusts. It wasn’t perfect, your inexperience made it sloppy and he just tried to roll with it, but – fuck. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The familiar heat built in your belly, your toes tingled, and you keened when Geralt suddenly hit a spot that made your whole body jolt. He just chuckled darkly, wrapped his hands around your hips to keep you in place and started assaulting that same spot. Only seconds, and then you saw stars, felt sensations you were a stranger to, and then you exploded. A hand came to keep your mouth shut, Geralt still thrusting inside you, faster and faster, his forehead pressed against your temple. His left hand kept your knee up and in place, so he could thrive in at a better angle. You couldn’t anymore, you couldn’t. You were shaking, your whole body out of control. There were tears racing each other into your hairline, and then warmth. Warmth pooling inside you, where you weren’t sure it was supposed to be. And then you realized. Geralt just came. Inside you. You were a bit sad you had missed it, but you concluded there’d be more occasions where you’d be less distracted by your own orgasm. When you came down, your felt light, boneless; deeply satisfied. Geralt had sat back onto his haunches and gathered your legs, your feet planted onto his thighs. His hands were wrapped around your ankles and his chin was placed on your knees. “You’re well?” You glanced down at him, sleepy and exhausted and nodded. “Just a lot to process.” Then you raised your arms, gestured him to come hug you. He seemed relieved, kissed the inside of your right knee and let your legs drop to the side, then came to gather you into his arms. You let yourself be manhandled and positioned, you didn’t have the mind to protest. You came to rest with your head on his chest, his arm around you and his nose pressed into your hair. He wiped away the tears and hugged you even closer. “You came in me.”, you mumbled, barely awake anymore. Geralt hummed, played with your hair. “Witchers can’t procreate.” “Oh, okay.” The low tone of his voice was the last thing you were consciously aware of, before you drifted off into sleep.

#the witcher #smut #geralt x reader #b&d #Beautiul & damned #a dreamwritesimagines production #first times #loss of virginity #soft geralt

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

Snowed In p 4

AN: What are study breaks for, if not to post fic you forgot to post last week? I promise there’s more plot to this coming up. I just couldn’t resist this idea? Also I kinda needed this to bridge into what I wanna do with it so don’t come for me plz. I’m milking this for all the serotonin it’s worth.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: fuckin yearning. whats new?

Summary: Geralt cannot handle sharing clothes or casual intimacy.

Part 3 here!

__________

Geralt was cold, sure, but you looked like you were absolutely frozen. He wanted to pick you up and carry you up the stairs, but he waited patiently while the two of you walked side by side, with your arms tightly wrapped around him, up to the door to your room. He'd grown bolder over the last week, just not that bold.

He mumbled something about drawing a bath to thaw you out when you’d made it in the room but you waved him off, "Bartender said the pipes are frozen. Don't bother."

Something in him was disappointed, something he'd have to think about later, for right now, you were quite unceremoniously stripping down to almost nothing.

He swallowed hard, turning to draw the curtains in the window, "Pity."

Pity? The fuck are you saying?

When he turned back you'd pulled on a dry pair of breeches and as of yet, no shirt.

You folded your arms over your chest and huffed in annoyance, “Fuck.”

“Lose something?”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, “Uhm… no. I just gave all my shirts to the launder yesterday. Would you mind?”

Would he mind? Well yes. He would mind very much. He kept quiet though, just shrugging and waving a hand toward his bags next to yours. You mumbled a quick thanks and immediately snagged the shirt he’d slept in.

He’d never realized just how much smaller you were than him. Sure you were roughly the same height, but you were nearly swimming in the extra fabric, fumbling with the sleeves as you tried to roll them up. That same something from earlier started whispering thoughts in his ear that he’d done his best to ignore. Thoughts about breathless kisses and how your hands might feel tangled in his hair. Beyond that, he wondered if you’d be the kind of lover that mapped out his scars, or if you’d trace the high points of his cheeks with the softest touch.

It’s just a fucking shirt.

“Geralt? Aren’t you cold?” You asked, snapping him out of whatever this was.

“Hmm?”

You cracked a smile as you moved a chair closer to the fireplace, “You’ve got bits of snow still stuck in your hair. Aren’t you cold?”

He frowned, running his hands through his hair to find that you were correct, "Right. Snow."

You snickered and turned your focus to stoking the fire as he changed. The dry clothes seemed to remind his body what warmth really was as he settled on the floor in front of you, his back to the fire. He closed his eyes and did his best to think of anything other than you in his clothing. Your hands raking through his hair were making that increasingly difficult.

As if you heard his thoughts you offered an explanation, "If you let this mess dry you'll never get the knots out. Here," you patted your knee, "back to me."

He obeyed without hesitation, wondering if he'd jump off a cliff if you asked. When he was properly situated with his shoulders resting against your shins you untied his hair and handed him the strip of fabric.

You tapped his shoulder and pointed past him, "Hand me that comb, yeah?"

When you had all your equipment you began picking through his hair in sections, holding bits of ice between your palms until it melted.

Geralt wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself. Should he lean back like you had? Should he grab that book just within reach and pretend your soft touches weren't driving him near tears? Should he just sit as he was and enjoy it?

Once again you answered for him, a little of your own uneasiness floating on your voice, "Relax Geralt. I won't pull your hair out I promise."

He smiled, huffing in amusement, letting his muscles slowly unclench. You shifted your feet just a bit so your shins supported his whole back and he sighed in content. If you heard him, you didn't let on, working away at the tangled mess of his hair and occasionally running your nails from his hairline all the way back. He bit his cheek, not wanting to growl and scare you.

That's really what brought him to reality. As you began braiding his hair into a loose plait all he could think about was how much you trusted him, how you never flinched at his touch and insisted he take better care of himself. Biting down a little harder, he remembered why he couldn't jeopardize this friendship. You were too vital to his well-being. If by some miracle you wanted him too, he knew himself well enough to know he'd drive you away. You'd say something kind, he'd balk, you'd be confused, and he'd let his anger with himself boil over on you. Then you'd be gone. He couldn't let that happen.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, taking out the braid and starting over for whatever reason.

"How we've had a few quiet nights from the neighbors." He lied so easily he almost felt dirty.

You hummed, "I heard them bickering in the lobby yesterday. Nasty stuff too."

"Good. They're annoying."

You laughed as you patted his shoulder again, this time holding out your hand for the tie you'd given him earlier.

This was easy. This was comfortable. It didn't need to be more.

You stood, shoving the chair back to make room on the floor near the now rather lively fire, "Move over, I'm chilly."

He tried scooting closer to the wall but it was hopeless, the room was just too small. Instead he backed up against the bed and pulled his knees up so he was resting his elbows on them. You scooped up the book on the floor and settled in between his thighs, facing the flames.

Friends can hold each other for warmth... Right? Yes. No... Fuck it.

He shifted just a bit, wrapping an arm around your waist and ever so gently and cautiously pulling you to lean against his chest. Your pulse picked up and he immediately dropped his hand to the floor. There was a brief moment where he thought he might have crossed a line, but you leaned all the way back against him, resting your elbows on his thighs to hold the book open. He snaked his arms under yours and clasped his hands together over your navel, placing his chin on the crown of your head as he stared into the flames.

Maybe it could be different. Maybe I could be different… Don't be selfish.

Geralt could have stayed there for an eternity, breathing in your scent and holding you close, committing the moments to memory as best he could. The two of you stayed like this most of the day, only the flipping of pages and the dying fire to show that time was passing.

__________

Part 5 here!

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andisinger · 3 years

Text

Black Crow Ch.5

Hello everyone! I just wanted to do a quick poll and see if you would prefer to read my stories here or on AO3. Please let me know, but anyways, onto the story! Word Count: 3957

When I was younger, I ran through woods not too far South of here; it was my first run alone with Hod before his naming ceremony. His face was a more consistent color and his teeth were whiter with a pup like attitude. My swords were my only weapons; in my childish wisdom, Hod and I galloped through the woods carelessly. Hod’s young, untrained, mind brought his focus to prey, discarding me in the process. I was rolled into a sacred tree circle where nothing would grow, where no leaves fell, where no animals dared go. Father had warned me of this place, of its viscous protector; a large guardian with a tail that would wrap around you to squeeze the life from your lungs. A hideous beast with four arms, a jaw that dangled as he shook his head; his weapon of choice was a scythe he used to cleanly cut the trees from their stalks as he chased you. His six black eyes could find you better than any hawk from the same height. He was told to tower over the circle, waiting for unbelievers to attempt to enter this circle. There I sat, panting as I looked around for Hod; my throat clenched, keeping me from calling his name as I spun to search the crowded woods for him; once more, I was a lost child. Tears blurred my vision as I reached for the cloth covered handles of my swords. The metal rang out as they left their bone sheathes from beside my hips. I circled, turning endlessly, waiting for the guardian to slither his tail. Leaves would rustle catching my attention to my left, then to my right, only to repeat. The guardian was toying with me; he could smell the fear drowning my lungs. I ran towards one side of the circle, my moccasins scattering the sacred dirt from its holy place. A tree dropped from the heavens above. The branches shattered, splinters of every size piercing nearby wood. I leapt over the tree, fleeing for my life while whistling rapidly for my young warg. A rattle sounded, similar to a child’s plaything. Trees bellowed as they fell, their winds knocking me to the ground. My swords still in my shaking palms, I searched for the guardian. I listened closely for the sound of his tail slithering amongst the leaves like wind. The weight of his body damaged the earth, tearing into it as he combed through the trees for me. His rattling tail wrapped itself around my ankles, his sharp scales cutting through the leather around them to burrow into my skin as he lifted me. We stared at each other, his jaw bounced while his tongue wagged; a punishment from the spirit of the woods for his greed. I crunched towards his tail and stabbed between the scales. The roar bellowed through his gaping mouth, the bleeding tail uncoiling then falling to the forest floor below taking me with it. I screamed as I fell, my limbs flailing to latch onto anything. Hitting the ground, my vision dulled as I was left bleeding from my remaining sword that stabbed through my left shoulder. I could only watch as the guardian took up his scythe and slithered back to the sacred circle. Hod found me, his whimpers and stomping feet thickening the thread that clung me to life. My young beast had dragged me to Myomel, the safety beneath the yellowing trees an immediate forcefield to the world around us. Hod stayed by my side as I healed over the years; we both grew larger and wiser in gathering years. I was young, inexperienced then; inattentive to the stories my people shared. I went in search of the guardian many years later, only to find my sword, still coated in thick blood beside the decaying, fallen tree just outside the circle. The memory clung to my brain while we looked on through the woods close to Myomel. Hod’s hair stood on edge as the two young wargs lept around the woods gleefully playing with each other. Kav walked behind me escorting Jaskier who held a cautious hand to her shoulder. A loud call echoed around the woods; the call lifting at the end questioning my heading. I responded, two lingering whoops at the end to inform them of my destination. The silver warg paused before the crouching black female, his ears forwards with his paw lifted. He looked towards me, his head lifted in a howl that erupted into smoke. “What is he doing?” Jaskier asked, still walking with an obedient hand on my beast. I smiled as we closed in on the gates; two soldiers readying their swords and bow. “Ya auta eller? (Who goes there)” A familiar voice asked, staring beneath his helmet at the overeager bard and the unexcited Witcher. “Mankoi uma question, calanon?(Why do you question, Calanon)” I dismounted to welcome my childhood friend once more. “Ya uma lle brien?(Who do you bring?)” Calanon demanded, his swords aimed behind me at the foreigners with uncovered faces. “Y' Lindar ar' i' witcher. (A bard and the Witcher)” I watched his face tense, his lips turned to white steel as his guard firmed. Placing a hand on his elbow, I moved closer to him. “Ron naa n'uma threat.(They are no threat)” I whispered. “Witcher's Ndengina lye gwaith. (Witcher’s kill our kind.)” He exclaimed, stepping closer. “Il- sina er.(Not this one)” I murmured. Calanon shook his elbow to rid my hand. “Amin owe ho y' winya roch. (I owe him a new horse)” “Sana ta ar' auta. (Take it and go)” Calanon snapped. His black eyes glanced at me now. Furrowing my brows, I nodded and made my way inside. Stopping before being seen, I turned to the men and my wargs. “Hod, E' ale'quel. (In front); Kav, behind.” The experienced beasts stood behind me and behind the Witcher and the Bard while the two nameless animals stayed on the sides to shield my people of their presences. “Do not speak, Bard.” I demanded. Jaskier looked around, the smile never leaving his mouth. “Manka ro quena, sakkata ho apart. (If he speaks, tear him apart)” I informed my wargs. Jaskier looked at me and I covered his mouth. “If you speak, my wargs will shred you. Limb from limb.” I glanced to the Witcher who stood with his arms by his sides and his disdain plastered permanently to his face. “And they might take you with them.” We walked slowly through the town, many of the children excitedly jumping onto the fence to watch as we returned. I smiled as two hooded children took my hands to walk with me, offering some wolfbane to Hod who sneezed from the smell. “Er re, amin nauva y' warg rider. (One day, I will be a warg rider)” The child tugged on my elbow as he spoke, his hood nearly falling from his jumping. I chuckled and picked him up. “Sut uma a're tyava?(How does today feel)” I asked, placing him gently on Hod’s back. The boy's smile brightened as he bounced around the mature beast. His small hands curling in his mane while his small feet hardly stretched over the sides of his ribs. The other child was content speaking nearly as much as Jaskier was used to. Jaskier would open his mouth to speak, Kav would lift her lip, her eyes darkening. More familiar cloaks stepped by the road, their animals rejoicing with wagging tails, howls, or roars. We walked along the dirt road, yellow leaves falling to rest on the ground around us; the city of Myomel was quiet as usual, whispers from townsfolk and sounds of our beasts, laughing of the children as they ran beside me. Geralt hummed between my beasts and Jaskier, the man longing to speak and shout and sing of his new adventures in the undiscovered city. The child had long since abandoned the ride of my Wargs, their backs an uncomfortable ride in the beginning; a thing you must learn to tolerate then perhaps, if you’re lucky, enjoy. I approached my father’s house, the dark beams of the wood striking against the bright white light of the sun. The dyed red door opening with a creak, my father stepped out; his hair now bound in plaits that fell onto his chest from beneath his hood. A bright smile lit up my eyes as I ran into his welcoming arms. “Atar!” I exclaimed happily. He chuckled as he held me close to him, the smell of cedar from the trees and honeysuckle from his potions cleared my mind for the moment. “Atar, Amin caela somethien Amin caela nyar- lle.(Father, I have something I have to tell you.)” My smile faded, and fear filled my breast. “Naa ta i' witcher? Amin caela been watchien lle e' amin kaimela. (Is it the Witcher? I’ve been watching you in my dreams.)” He said, his hand grasping onto mine and tugging me down towards my wargs. I nodded in silence. “Atar, sina naa jaskier. Ro naa y' Lindar. (Father, this is Jaskier. He is a bard.)” Father pushed the young black warg aside, to get a closer look at the bright clothes of the bard. His hands tugging at the hem of his jacket and vest, his fingers strummed the strings of his lute as he circled him in silence. “Sina naa il- i' witcher. (This is not the Witcher)” Father said. I chuckled and shook my head; the Witcher standing next to him watched my fathers movements carefully, his golden eyes lingering on his hood. “N'uma. I' edan yassen i' nim loske naa i' witcher.(No. The man with the white hair is the Witcher)” I corrected; father sighed with a small smile and turned to look at the Witcher, searching him up and down. “Do not touch me.” The Witcher demanded. His harsh tone lifted the anger of my wargs. I whistled, calling them to my side. “You waste your breath, Witcher. My father does not know the common tongue.” I informed him. Jaskier sighed a heavy breath of relief being allowed the freedom to speak. “It’s beautiful. Everyone wears their hoods, as you said. I have yet to see any elders, though, I would very much like to meet them.” I shook my head with a small smile. “You will see some elders at the naming.” Both men looked at me, watched me, waiting for something to happen. “I am very hungry, so might we skip the pleasantries and get some food?” Jaskier asked, moving towards the door. Father’s large beast stood on its hind legs before the door, its front paws dangling as it roared deeply. Father lifted his hand, waving it lazily as he walked in the direction of the barn. His large beast followed him as he went past us. Jaskier stood with wide eyes as he looked at me once more; I couldn’t help but chuckle as Jaskier practically ran towards me for help. “We have a routine in Myomel. Putting away the animals, then foraging and farming for our food.” My wargs ran excitedly towards their stalls. “Do you eat meat?” The Witcher asked in his gruff voice as we followed behind my father. I shook my head at his gruff intrusion of our lives. “No. Only our beasts eat meat.” I answered, closing the stall doors behind my beasts who had their noses deep in their feed. “Why is that?” Jaskier questioned, looking around the barn at the farming tools that clinked against the wall. “Some animals can not live without meat, we can. The spirits have told us to spare innocent lives if we can help it.” I responded, my hands steadying the tools. The Witcher sighed heavily, his fists bawled as he brooded near the door of the barn. “When will I get my horse you owe me?” The Witcher asked. I lifted my brows as I turned to him slowly. “The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow is for a naming celebration.” I told him. We sat around the table in silence while the fire crackled nearby. Our spoons clattered gently around the bowls of vegetable stew and broth. “Atar, lle said lle nae watchien amin imya lle kaimela?(Father, you said you were watching me through your dreams)” I questioned. Father nodded, swallowing his mouthful of steaming stew. “I' spirits sent amin sights en' lle. Ar' i' witcher. Never i' Lindar. (The spirits sent me visions of you. And the Witcher. Never the Bard)” He said. I could tell he wanted me to look into his light brown eyes, see what he was seeing. “Amin omente i' yeste' fea.(I met the first spirit)” I informed my father. He dropped his spoon, staring up at me with the fire’s glow licking at his cheeks and chin. Father swallowed deeply, his tongue poking out to lap at his bottom lip. “Mani ume ro quena en'?(What did he speak of)” The Witcher sitting next to me stirred his stew in silence, golden eyes flickering like stray flames; Jaskier sat on my right, devouring his stew with fervour while watching my father and I speak in our foreign tongue beneath our hoods. “Ro nyare amin en' y' ohta tanya will destroy i' palurin vee' lye sinta ta. Niflgaard will sakkata lye ndor apart.(He told me of a war that will destroy the world as we know it. Niflgaard will tear our land apart.)” Father placed his elbows on the table, nimble hands intertwining together as he bowed his head and mumbled prayers under his breath. “Atar, i' fea nyare amin a' stay yassen i' witcher. (Father, the spirit told me to stay with the Witcher)” Father continued praying, his words growing louder. I sighed and licked my lips, leaning back in my chair while rolling my head slightly. “What’s he doing?” Jaskier asked, his face leaning closer to my hood. I put my hand out in a gesture to silence him until father finished his prayer. Father continued his prayer of thanks and begged for mercy against the coming war then finished a while later as the three of us looked on in a ringing silence. “Uma vee' i' fea says. Mani ume ro maa ve'?(Do as the spirit says. What did he look like?)” He asked, resuming his eating. I licked my lips after finishing my bowl while he prayed, dropping my spoon in the bowl with a wooden clatter then told him of the whole experience. “Ale' ro hyarya, amin cam nae kalye.(After he left, my hands were illuminated)” I said, my palms facing the ceiling then turning as I told him. “Ro one lle ho templa.(He gave you his magic)” Father was breathless for a moment, I feared the worst; perhaps the spirits would flood him in this second, his face would be revealed, and I would be helpless to stop the possession. Father was my greatest concern; as his jaw began to tremble, it was happening. “Get out! Both of you!” I demanded, rushing to my father’s side as his head dropped and his hood fell to rest on the back of his shoulders. Jaskier and the Witcher sat watching as spirits nestled themselves inside my fathers soul. “Then look away, damn you!” I shouted. My fathers hand in mine, shaking and shivering as if he had been sitting in the winter snow. “Ro one lle ho templa. Magha ta.(He gave you his magic. Use it.)” My fathers voice crumbled as he struggled to speak. Father dropped my hand to pull my cheek to look at him. His brown eyes blown into a light green that covered the entire eye. “Amin hin.(My child)” The spirit murmured. Jaskier had respectfully cast his eyes aside while the Witcher stared at us. His face was straight as he watched, as if we were actors in a play. My fathers hand pushed back my hood, my face was revealed to the spirit before me. “Lle naa il- en' sina palurin.(You are not of this world)” I nodded at the spirit, the fact far too familiar to myself and my father. “Am', i' yeste' fea brought lle sinome knowien lle (use -aya at the end of the verb) gurtha protectien sina ndor. Knowien lle fight alongside i' witcher.(Yet, the first spirit brought you here knowing you would die protecting this land. Knowing you would fight alongside the Witcher)” My father looked at the white haired, silent Witcher. “Geralt of Rivia,” He began, “You do not believe in the spirit's existence. Know this; we watched you in the woods as a child as your mother left you to fetch a pail of water.” I rushed to my feet to cover his face, conceal his identity; the Witcher’s lips pursed, his shoulders tensed and Jaskier turned his head slightly. “How do you know of this?” The Witcher growled, beginning to shake with rage. The spirit chuckled, his green eyes blinking, his feet shuffling as he leaned back in his chair. My fathers voice began to distort, change, altered by the powerful spirit he channeled. “I was there.” The voice echoed as it spat the information at the Witcher. The bold man shot to his feet, his fist clenched at his sides. The Witcher growled, staring at my father. Waving his hand as he chuckled, the Witcher was sent flying back into the wall where he was stuck by magic. “You can not hurt the spirit’s people.” I stepped back towards the heat of the fire, Jaskier watched the Witcher as he attempted to fight against the magical hold. “Sii' hin, utua i' edainme meant aut- a' nilfgaard.(Now child, find the woman meant to go to Nilfgaard)” My fathers body said, looking at me with green eyes. “Manke uma amin yesta?(Where do I begin?)” I asked. I was afraid of the power shown by the spirit, my back pressed into the stone of the hearth, my heart surging beneath my breast, my lungs burning as I forgot to breathe. The spirit used my fathers face to smile as he told us of an underground teaching place for the gifted women. “Aretuza.” The word escaped his lips like a whisper as the spirit left him. My fathers head dropped behind him and the Witcher fell from the wall. I ran to my father’s side with wide eyes, grabbing his hands and holding his cheek as he slowly regained consciousness. The Witcher rushed over, his hands grabbing at my father’s cloak. “How did you know that?” The Witcher shouted. I pushed the white haired man away from my frightened father who fell back into his chair with his hands reaching for his weapons. “He doesn’t know anything, Witcher! He does not understand what you’re saying.” The Witcher and I yelled over each other while Jaskier watched the entire scene. “Mani ume i' fea say?(What did the spirit say)” Father asked behind my shoulder, his longbow ready to fire a quick arrow at the loud man before me. “Ro quene en' i' witcher's past.” I said, my shoulders tensed as I stood between the two men, prepared to fight either of them or perhaps both. Blood rushed loudly through everyone’s ears, the three of us yelling at each other, demanding different things. I stood facing the window, the darkness of night taking over the world outside. I closed my eyes, clamping them shut tightly in an attempt to block out the men surrounding me. My hands stretched out, light scattering the room in a flash then dispersing. The room fell deathly quiet save for the crackling and snapping of the fire. I looked towards my father, his bow now resting by his side while his opposite hand held the arrow by the thin wooden shaft. Father was quiet beneath his hood, his breathing was steady; I looked towards my traveling party, Jaskier had been watching, observing my face with wide blue eyes and a slack jaw. I looked towards the Witcher, his white hair blown behind his broad shoulders, his golden eyes softer now as the three men waited for something. “Enough yelling.” I said, I panted questioning what I had done with a wave of my hand. “Atar, lye caela y' namien e' i' amrun.(Father, we have a naming in the morning)” I stated, looking at him and slowly lifting my wool hood. “Atta.(Two)” Father corrected, his hands replacing his bow in its proper place. I nodded slowly, exhaustion taking hold. “Uma, Atta.(Yes, two)” Father rushed about the small home, searching for his book of names. I wanted to sit at the table, to rest my eyes until the morning woke the earth but I could not; instead, I washed the bowls and spoon and waited for father to find his books. “What happened?” Jaskier asked as Geralt sat next to him and relaxed in the chair; the wood squealed as it adjusted under his weight. Inhaling sharply, I shook my head. “I don’t know, Jaskier.” Father rushed around the corner, his arms full with thick books in every color, bound in dyed leathers with golden or silver writings. “Amin dethole lle essa tuulo' sina sai- parma.(I chose your name from this very book)” Before me was a blue book with golden letters worn from use; Father and I smiled. The memory of father flipping through the pages as I sat next to him while he called out different names then looked at me before shaking his head. I would play with his beasts as he would call out different words that I never responded to. I was picking bright, colorful flowers the day I responded to a name. Gleefully turning around to search for my father with armfuls of blooms from the garden outside; father was watching through the window with a smile that beamed with kindness. Now, I sat retracing the lines of where his fingers once stroked for hours. The writing was black against the worn pages, stains of tea or stew littered and bled through some of them. The names and their meanings did not stick out to me, only the fond memories behind them. Flipping through the pages, I searched and found few that clung to my brain but one that rang out like a bell of clarity. Putting the blue book to the side, I spent the remainder of the night searching through the other books while my father helped Jaskier and the Witcher to their rooms. I searched book after book, the only name I found standing out to me the most in the dark of night. Exhaustion clung to my shoulders and eventually began to tug on my eyelids. I closed them for a moment, resting my head against the crook of my elbow. My fingers slipping through the pages absentmindedly. At sometime in the night, the fire dies out to rest as well, it’s embers dying in the cool morning that absorbed the darkness throughout the world. Outside the window, the beasts were released from their stalls; their cries pulled me from my sleep. I sat up slowly, observing the mess I had made during the night after whatever happened. Only two books were open; the purple book with the thick, black spine crossed with light brown laces and golden ink and the blue book. The purple book was closer towards the end pages, the last names; the blue blue was open directly in the middle, equal amounts of names going in both directions. I smiled at the names that gleamed backed in white light.

#Geralt #geralt of rivera #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #geralt x y/n #Jaskier #jaskier imagine #jaskier x oc #the witcher #Witcher #witcher imagine #the black crow

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