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flowercrown-bard · 2 years

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When Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount had cast off his name to become Jaskier, it had been the easiest thing in the world. That name had never truly been his and Jaskier didn’t feel the loss in the slightest. At least not for that part of his name. He had no problem leaving behind the name of his father and his father’s father. Neither had he ever felt any kinship to the family name. He shed no tear for the loss of his title.

But there was one thing that left him feeling hollow.

Julian had been of Lettenhove. Jaskier…Jaskier was of nowhere.

When the director of Oxenfurt Academy handed him his diploma, his heart fluttered like a hummingbird and his face split into a smile so bright it was rivalling the sun. Some people in the audience muttered to each other, some snorted at how ridiculously excited he was to be a graduate. But what did Jaskier care what they thought? They didn’t understand. They didn’t see the diploma that pronounced him a graduate of Oxenfurt.

Jaskier of Oxenfurt kept that name for a couple of months. He wore it with pride, announcing to the world where he had been made into who he was now.

Except, as time passed, it seemed that being of Oxenfurt wasn’t anything to be proud of anymore. What had earned him impressed looks and compliments at first quickly made people sneer at him.

“Look at that bard,” they fake-whispered as he announced his next set, “still hasn’t found a benefactor to keep him.” Jaskier tried not to let those whispers bother him. Until the day he heard the name Valdo Marx, Troubador of Cidaris.

That day, Jaskier lost the of Oxenfurt part of his name.

He kept searching for a new place that might want him enough to become part of his identity, but nothing seemed to fit. Until one day, in a run-down tavern he met Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaviken.

How unfair for him to have two places that he belonged to. Witchers were travellers, but apparently, this one was good at forming bonds with places. Maybe, if Jaskier stayed at his side for long enough, he could learn how to do that too.

He was right, in a way. After being almost killed by elves and having his entire perception of the world turned on its head, Jaskier certainly felt like he had been created anew. If he hadn’t gotten rid of the of Oxenfurt part of his name already out of shame, he would have done so now. That place had not prepared him for the real world, had fed him lies and propaganda.

Briefly, he toyed with the thought of becoming Jaskier of he Valley of Flowers, but as soon as the thought had formed, he tossed it aside. Dol Blathanna wasn’t his, didn’t belong to anyone. Dol Blathanna was home of the Elves and Jaskier didn’t belong.

Geralt, it turned out, didn’t know how to belong either. Jaskier sang a song and suddenly, he wasn’t Geralt of Rivia anymore, neither was he the Butcher of Blaviken. He was the White Wolf. The White Wold of nowhere, just as Jaskier was a bard of nowhere.

Secretly, Jaskier liked how they both were without one place that called them home.

And, in a hidden part of himself, he liked to think of Geralt as The White Wolf of his Songs.

Spring turned into summer. Green grass turned brown and leaves fell from the trees. And then, within the blink of an eye, winter was nearing and Geralt announced that their paths had to seperate now, if he wanted to make it home in time. Jaskier’s heart sank and his smile brightened into a lie.

Ah. So Geralt had a home after all.

He wasn’t the White Wolf of Nowhere. He was a Wolf of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier smiled and he clapped Geralt on the back and he lied through his teeth about having to go home for the winter as well.

With time, Jaskier forgot that he wasn’t of anywhere. It didn’t matter anymore. He had the whole continent, what did he need a single place to call home? He had Geralt and he had the Path and that was more than any surname could give him.

Until he didn't have Geralt anymore and the Path became simply a path for him and he had no idea where it lead, other than down a mountain.

A part of Jaskier died that day and he knew that somehow, impossibly he had to put the pieces back together. He had to create himself anew for the second time. Maybe he should become Jaskier of the Mountains. But the mountains already belonged to King Niedamir and to the bitter memory gnawing at Jaskier’s heart. He would rather be of nowhere than of this damned place, where his heart had been shattered by the one person he had thought be belonged to.

#when he comes to Kaer Morhen he has little hope of becoming part of it #one time Eskel hands him a blanket saying that no bard of Kaer Morhen should go cold #Lambert hands him a mug of ale saying that no friend of Geralt's should have to endure his presence sober #Geralt doesn't call him his but Jaskier likes to think that it's there when he looks at him sometimes when he thinks Jaskier doesn't notice #But it doesn't feel right to Jaskier #he had spent so long searching for where he could belong that now that people tell him it feels too easy #it isn't until decades upon dacades later that Jaskier finally finds a place where he belongs #people tell stories of him #long after his own hands have started shaking too much to write songs anymore and his voice had thinned too much to sing #he's Jaskier #people say #the bard who travelled further than any other #the bard belonging to the Continent #the Bard of Legend #my writing #the witcher #witcher #jaskier #geralt #julian alfred pankratz #i just had a seminar about Walther von der Vogelweide and Hartmann von Aue and that one guy von Eschenbach #and it got me thinking about names #how Ciri is of Cintra #and Geralt of Rivia #and Yennefer of Vengerberg #and Jaskier is just Jaskier #anyway #nothing like a medieval literature seminar to get to to write one shots again

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hanzajesthanza · 7 months

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combining (one of my) favorite short story with (some of my) favorite characters ❤️

#i want sigrdrifa to show up and yennefer to be like ‘oh. hey i didn’t think we were friends’#and the priestess turns her face towards her with molten-gold eyes and goes ‘hello yennefer’ and yen gets full body chills lol #female friendship is when [checks notes] the patron goddess of motherhood grants you her boon and shows you your imminent immense suffering #too many marriage comedies where the groom has no friends. what about the friendless bride who never got along with the rest of the girls #to be fair geralt’s party isn’t really ‘the guys’ it’s like one guy one woman one [lazy hand gesture that says ‘behold!’]#i would say ‘and the kidnapper of his daughter’ but i think cahir is in the audience for this he has like son-in-law status not groomsman #angoulême is in the audience striking up a best friendship with torque who decided to show up too #txt #f: a hansa’s a hansa #headcanons #story: something ends something begins #the witcher books #geralt of rivia #yes this is (checks timestamps) two months old but its still good #s: you’ve condemned yourself to me #and yes the vampire that yarpen throws garlic at is regis why not. or vereena if she regenerated and just wanted to show up bc #she and nivellen got back together because that dumb son of a bitch forgave her for the horrors

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seidenbros · 2 years

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Imagine Jaskier and Geralt living next door to each other and getting on each other's nerves. Geralt is too grumpy and needs to lighten up a little and Jaskier's music is always too loud and does that guy even WORK? Geralt of course works a fulltime job, regular hours, while Jaskier comes home late at night or in the early morning, and Geralt thinks he's out partying while he's actually working. They both start talking on a blind dating app, where they onl use the first letter of their name, and they hit it off right away, confide in each other, are looking forward to the messages they receive from each other. And while J wishes G a good night, G texts back that he hopes that J will have fun at work.

#it's the thing I'm writing with a friend for our OCS but it fits these two perfectly #jaskier working for a radio station and has his own show where he gives relationship advice #but his own lovelife is rather... meh #he does some of the night shows #like once a qeek but his own show is in the evening #so geralt listens to it after work wihtout realising it's his annoying neighbour #they haven't talked that much in person but he's heard Jaskier sing albeit muffled ghrough the wall/door #lord take these ideas away from me #geraskier #fic ideas #the witcher

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witch-witcher-witchless · 2 years

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Modern Witcher band AU where Jaskier is a vocal coach who's newest client is a metal singer looking to alleviate their voice strain and improve their range.

Starts with lessons, ends with a small-time folk singer going viral singing with metal boys.

Imagine Jaskier perpetually dressed in thrift-chic and happy art-hoe aesthetics just bopping and weaving his tenor into this dark power-metal band of wolves.

#I'm picturing Jaskel #because Eskel has that really deep voice who wants his throat to hurt less #and Eskel just googles vocal coach and books online with the first listing #he was certainly not expecting a Jaskier #dreading and low-key expecting an old lady all about that classical training #but no #tis this sunshine man #who somehow looks cute af demonstrating weird af looking exercises and techniques #and who just low-key transitions into theoat singing during an example like nbd #and eskel is just #yet another introvert at heart getting adopted by an extrovert #they kiss #eskel goes back to his shared apartment with the other 2 wolves #gets teased over the lipgloss kiss print on his cheek #jaskier would 100% wear lipgloss #eskel convinces Geralt and Lambert to give lessons a go #they become good friends #lambert eventually gets enough confidence to sing Aiden cute and sweet love songs #jaskier goes with them to one of their local shows and helps set up #he and eskel jokingly do a duet #early arrival catches it on video and it goes viral #suddenly Jaskier sometimes moonlights as a folk-metal singer #and he and Eskel live happily ever after in a healthy superficial example of opposites attract #big scary looking dude with comparatively little and glowy art-hoe #the wolves' band gets their big break #jaskier gets to apall his parents with how much more he can embarrass their snooty old-money circle #jaskier gets to appall his parents and their old money circle #best revenge is living well #the witcher

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creepyscritches · 2 years

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One of the funniest things the witcher netflix crumpled into was forgetting to age Joey Batey Jaskier during the time jumps and accidentally creating a netflix equivalent narrative constant like Sapkowski's original Jaskier but it just pissed the netflix fans off instead of acting as the narrative tool his original role was meant to be: a mirror to Geralt's humanity throughout various trials and tragedies. like he was for a seven novel saga

#Creepy chatter #Something about intent with character direction is here #Dandelion is not accidentally the most annoying friend Geralt has #He's PURPOSEFUL....have you considered he's annoying bc hes mirroring Geralt the whiniest bitch in the hansa #Sorry I don't know where this came from I just randomly remembered a twn blog that HATES Jaskier and its so funny sorry #Big Geralts Boobie Bungalow 3

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minne-cerbinna · 9 months

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I'm playing TW1 again and I have thoughts about this tiny little sequence in the Chapter 2 quest "Memories of a Blade", which amounts to the only mention of Coën in the game.

When undertaking this quest, Geralt is investigating the origin of the silver sword he was given to slay a cockatrice; he mistakenly believes that it might be Berengar's sword since he knows the other witcher to have been in the area. A conversation with Thaler, from whom the sword was confiscated by the guard, will lead him eventually to speak to the Gardener outside St. Lebioda's hospital in Vizima. This man used to be a mercenary under Pretty Kitty, but has since retired and works as a gardener, and had lost the silver sword at dice poker. When interacted with, he will begin any conversation with "Look how they grow!", referring to the plants in his garden. The player can then initiate the quest dialogue with option one, "I'm more interested in silver swords".

GERALT: I'm more interested in silver swords.

GARDENER: I knew one of you would come by eventually.

GERALT: You lost it playing dice?

GARDENER: I was sure I'd win. Beware, the sharp one plays well.

GERALT: Where did you get this sword?

GARDENER: Five years ago, there was a battle near Brenna. When the dust had settled, our men had beaten the Nilfgaardians. We ceased to call ourselves an imperial province that day.

GERALT: You captured the sword during the battle?

GARDENER: Yes, it was witcher Cöen's [sic]. A strapping fellow and a rare breed. Not very talkative, mind you.

GERALT: Like most of us.

GARDENER: I gave my word the sword would find another witcher. As he lay dying, he mumbled about teeth and destiny. Then he laughed -- at his own death.

GERALT: Yet you lost it gambling?

GARDENER: I kept it hidden for five years. I lost hope I'd ever run into another witcher. Miss Shani knew Cöen [sic]. She works at the hospital.

GERALT: Thanks.

GARDENER: Good luck on the path!

The quest will lead you to speak with Shani, then Zoltan, but neither will provide further information on Coën, aside from Shani mentioning that he died on her operating table -- Shani's dialogue is to provide her backstory as a medic at Brenna and to mention Rusty, and Zoltan simply assesses the quality of the blade to ensure that it is a witcher blade of good workmanship. It has no further significance to Geralt, who, without his memory, has no idea who Coën is and has more pressing matters to deal with than to look into the past of a man who died five years ago (according to the somewhat off-kilter game timeline, anyway). But it's the only mention of Coën in the games, and I find that it's a very interesting way to manifest his presence.

I think it is reasonable to tie Coën quite closely to his sword on a symbolic level, if one considers his appearance in the novels where he not only trains with Ciri, but his prowess with a sword is unrivaled even by the other witchers to the point where she believes that he may be the best swordsman in the world. Additionally, the fact that he fought at Brenna at all means that he offered his sword in the service of the Northern Kingdoms, and when he dies, he is identified by his peers as a "master swordsman" rather than as a witcher, despite the fact that they know of his nature. As such, Coën's sword is a very important possession for him to leave behind.

And from there, there is a connection to Lambert, left unsaid. To go beyond the simple fact that Coën was Lambert's friend, someone dearly loved who was close enough with Lambert and his family to get on with the other wolves and stay a winter at Kaer Morhen, the importance lies with the sword. As with any witcher, Coën wouldn't have much in the way of worldly possessions to bequeath onto someone else in the event of his prophecied death. But he does have his swords, which are established as symbolically important to him. A steel sword could be taken up by any warrior capable enough to use it, but a silver sword belongs in the hands of a witcher, and that is what Coën asked for on his deathbed, for his silver sword to be given to another witcher. While it's very possible that this is meant in a general way, that he just wanted any other witcher to take it up, to avoid the sword being wasted, broken, or dismantled for its composite parts, it also strikes me as possible that he could have intended it for a specific witcher.

Lambert is one of the instructors for Ciri when she's first learning the swordplay and acrobatics associated with being a witcher. Lambert is the one in the first game to provide the instructional descriptions of the Fighting Styles for Geralt to regain his swordplay competencies after losing his memories. And there is another bit of dialogue in TW3 that really emphasises both Lambert's connection to Vesemir, the swordmaster of Kaer Morhen, and the idea of swords as inheritance, as a manifestation of closeness:

LAMBERT: Knew the old man couldn't live forever. Huh, even told Eskel that when it came time, I'd get his sword. Fits my hand perfectly, you know.

Which is a heartbreaking notion in and of itself upon which I could expostulate, the symbolism there in the fraught relationship between Lambert and his father figure reduced to something as simple as a hilt that fits two hands perfectly. But if this is the inheritance that Lambert wants, it makes it all the more pertinent that Coën desperately wanted his silver sword to make it into the hands of another witcher. Lambert, the son of a swordmaster, wants to take on a sword as a memento of someone he has lost, and Coën, the master swordsman, left his sword behind. Even if Lambert were not the specific intended target of the sword, he would have possibly or even likely known Coën well enough to fulfill his wishes, whatever they might be.

And yet Coën's sword never makes it home or into the hands of someone who would value it, like Lambert would, this last memory of his dear friend. Geralt makes use of the sword during his time in Vizima, and then it is lost, replaced by the gifted Aerondight. And so Coën is lost with it, never mentioned again.

#rambles #the witcher #the witcher games #lambert #coën of poviss #shoutout to the dog that wandered through some of these screenshots what a good boy #anyway i am back on my tw1 bullshit #coën my beloved #it makes me so sad that he's never mentioned again #especially with the creation of aiden in tw3 #like #lambert has already done this #he has already found a good man that he considers a dear friend #and then lost him brutally #and yet they don't mention coën at all in 'following the thread'???#wack #like geralt knows this about lambert #he knew coën too #and yet there is not even the slightest reference #i mean in tw1 it makes sense for geralt to not lend much significance to the name of a dead witcher #he has no memory of coën #but by tw3???#he has his memory back he must remember #and to join lambert on his revenge quest for aiden #where lambert has again lost someone very dear to him and does not have anything by which to remember him #there is no reference at all to the fact that two years ago geralt literally owned coën's sword #i mean i get that they might not want to be so specific because like seven people total have played tw1 #but at least mention my boy coën #come on #as an aside i do think it is nice that even though coën is barely mentioned he is remembered fondly

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suresha · 2 years

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❝ well if i’m all yours then kiss me like it. ❞ - geralt

JEALOUS, FIERCLY PROTECTIVE & TERRITORIAL PROMPTS

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ || @worthystill ( Thor & Geralt )

GERALT WAS A MESS. His whole life was just one, big, fucked up mess too and he couldn’t be assed to do anything about it. He’d resigned himself to his fate as a witcher ages ago and if not for that damn bard he met months back, most would still hate his guts. And why shouldn’t they? He wasn’t the friendliest. All he cared about was getting his coin, some ale and the ocassional romp to remind him he wasn’t the monster people thought he was. Otherwise, nothing mattered until he met the warrior.

Geralt was still tripping over the fact that somehow he managed to attach himself to some god-like warrior who, in the beginning, looked to be nothing more than healthy competition. Well, Geralt SAID healthy but it was more or less rooted in bitterness. If a capable warrior was roaming these parts, that meant less coin for a witcher if he took a few jobs too. It was frustrating to think about, but most of his own ire melted once he realized the warrior was likely just like him… well, minus the monster part. No one could ever look at Thor and deem him a monster.

Geralt probably shouldn’t have fucked another broad alongside him. Probably shouldn’t have shared his favorite tavern wench alongside him. It was after that very poor decision ( or the greatest depending on which way his thoughts lingered ) that he began to notice some things Jaskier would likely sing a song about for shits and giggles if he knew. Even now Geralt was trying not to think about what he noticed and how — for a split moment — he wondered what it would be like to touch another man. To touch him. Be touched by him. For a warrior ( a god in his mind ), he didn’t move like clumsy killer. Each touch to Thor’s lover was gentle, using fingers, teeth and tongue to coax the most out of her. Geralt usually didn’t care. That is to say, if he was having a shit night, he didn’t spend all that much time caring about someone he paid good to fuck. He just got off. Hoped they did too and then slept. Wash. Rinse. Repeat in the next town over.

Thor had him shifting uncomfortably in his tight leather britches and at the time, Geralt couldn’t be sure if it was because of the scene playing out before him or the man creating the scene. He was a confused mess then and a confused mess now except Thor wasn't stupid. Not that anything had happened between them... nothing significant anyway. As far as Geralt was concerned, he'd been reasonably detached like always. That is, if you don't count the way he once snuggled closer to the god in the night after witnessing one of his night terrors. Geralt didn't know much about comforting others. He was fucking dreadful at it, but despite that, he felt the need to throw an arm around the god-like warrior's mid holding him close. Warm bodies always made Geralt feel a little better. Maybe the same was true for Thor.

That was only one time. But then Geralt had a nightmare of his own and woke to find Thor curled around him too. The sensation left an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. It begged questions as to what the FUCK Geralt was doing and if he was going mad. Probably his own fear of CATCHING FEELS talking but he'd gone down a rabbit hole not so easily buried now.

Maybe signs had been there for a while. Truth be told, Geralt had always been shit at reading signs. How was he supposed to know a bit of bro snuggling could mean potential interest in other things? Wasn't like he caught Thor gawking at him the way he himself always fought to keep his eyes glued to his own weapons whenever Thor took a bath. He'd fight it, but Thor didn't make it easy with how comfortable he was in his own skin. And so now he found himself at a crossroad, watching the other male chat it up with a few boys in the tavern. They were handsy. Probably innocent in nature but Geralt wasn't thinking clearly. Too much ale. That was his excuse anyway.

❝Calling it a early night,❞ he muttered brushing past them. He hit the stairs and closed himself in their shared room, peeling clothes from his form for a more comfortable sleep.

❝Never thought I'd see the day when jealously lurked within a witcher's gaze.❞

Thor's voice had his attention, but Geralt played it off, shrugging as he moved to seat himself on the bed. ❝I don't get jealous. You're mistaken.❞

❝And you're a horrible liar.❞

❝How could you know?❞

❝Oh, I don't know,❞ Thor began. ❝Could be because we've only been traveling together for a few months. Think I haven't noticed the way you look at me?❞

Geralt chuckled softly, keeping his gaze towards the floor. ❝You're mad if you think I---❞

❝Stop. You've been wrestling with this for weeks,❞ Thor accused. ❝For a witcher, you truly are dense. How many warriors do you know would let you snuggle with them if they were bothered with the idea of further intimacy? How many do you know actually share a bed every night?❞ Thor scoffed, dropping his hammer by the door. He crossed the room standing over Geralt as if to challenge him. ❝You want me to be yours and that's fine, but if I am all yours then kiss me like it. Kiss me, or humiliate me. On my honor, if I've misread the signs, I will go back downstairs and---❞

❝---that won't be necessary.❞

Geralt stood, his height nearly mirroring Thor's own. Thor was a bit taller and normally that would have made Geralt feel some type of way ( pride and all ), but to keep Thor from sharing a room elsewhere, he did the un-fucking-thinkable. He grabbed his face, drawing him close in a manner that screamed 'mine'. Lips brushed, adrenaline pumping furiously through the witcher. Those yellow eyes of his turned dark, a sure fire way to know you're either moments away from being dead or awakening another kind of hunger.

The initial brush of lips is hesitant, as if the witcher is cautiously figuring things out but it doesn't take long for him to remind himself that the other warrior might leave. He doesn't want that so he forgets. He forgets all his own internal struggles and fears about evil feelings and just goes for it, kissing Thor in a manner that is FAR TOO SOFT for his own liking. But he can't help it. Weeks of lying next to a man with his own fears have programmed Geralt to treat him softly --- like he MEANS something. And maybe he does. Geralt doesn't know. He just knows his lips are moving... his hands falling to rest at Thor's waist and he's enjoying it. He's enjoying every fucking second of it and would rather die than break the light that is this moment.

#worthystill #friends romans countrymen lend me your ears ( answered )#ic ┆ ive overcome the vanity & pride of being different ( geralt of rivia)#long reads tw #// listen here #geralt has shit luck with witches #and people in general #he doesn't know what to do with feelings when he catches them #and they always hit at shit times in his mind #so forgive him #he's trying #he'll probably wear the same puppy face he gives yennifer if thor leaves rofl #queued post

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mvncesa · 6 months

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I think julian, in whatever critical r/ole slash dnd verse I develop, should have a lil animal buddy <3 he deserves it

#( tell me to stop posting ; ooc. )#for sillies & goods I keep thinking about him having a wolf friend (who’s named something like ✨ geralt ✨ )#but the obvious choice is him having a lil snake buddy because . he literally had a pet snake normally .#there’s a 50% chance he’ll bre friend wild animals . the other 50% is when sb has to keep him from getting attacked by some wild animal .

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vulpinesaint · 2 years

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yeah sorry not sorry witcherposting again. it is inevitable. anyway netflix was so fucking sdfghdsk??? like it doesn't even make sense. to have geralt Constantly and Consistently acting like he fucking HATES jaskier while also very clearly in the text of the show telling the audience that they traveled together for Decades. like yeah i'm sure that the big strong warrior man with a tendency toward violence would let someone he disliked travel with him and also go to the effort of saving that person's life when it was threatened. like make it make sense it's okay to show that geralt is a human person sometimes and not just tall dark and broody personified

#not even ship stuff like. Logically. geralt did not hate jaskier. not if they were spending all that time together lmao #netflix so insistent on the aesthetics of the show and characters that they don't actually get the right aesthetics #geralt and dandelion are funny bitches netflix fr missed on that one #if you're gonna mischaracterize geralt and then change his relationships with other characters because of it at least have it be logical 🙄#anyway. we deserved to see jaskier getting kicked out of the countess' house and geralt rolling up like 'lmao anyway wanna get a drink'#i'll say it again #we also deserved essi daven content. but not if they're gonna do her wrong #i feel like they'd be weird about her :\#cause yeah in her original short story she's sort of a dysfunctional love interest for geralt #and i feel like netflix would go 'oh but geralt already HAS a love interest he can't be kissing other people!!' and then like.#not actually use her as a cool character. give jaskier a Single friend man #where are his college buddies!!!!!#anyway netflix get it together man ur grimdark fantasy thing is ripping up ur show's continuity dskfgjh #the witcher

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nickfowlerrr · 4 months

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sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

#geralt x curvy!reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x curvy!reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt smut #geralt fanfic #henry cavill characters

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