#i am trying to get used to this eskel

[starfirewildheart]

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to 

Words: 3,936

Chapter 1

Ciri was trying to hide her chuckle at Geralt’s low growl but couldn’t keep quiet. The red spot on his forehead was already fading to soft pink due to his witcher healing powers. She’d been frightened at the goat-like creature that had jumped from the bushes at first because it looked like the demons she’d read about in books. Geralt had told it to go away but it shot a metal ball at him from a slingshot, catching the witcher in the forehead with a loud thunk. After a low growled “fuck” Geralt was off of Roach and had the little menace pinned to the ground. The entire scene was more than funny to Ciri and even though Geralt cast her a very frustrated glare she couldn’t help but laugh. 

This lifestyle was a far cry from what she was accustomed to as the princess of Centra and coupled with the loss and trauma she’d suffered she was glad for the levity. It had only been four days since she’d managed to find her protector and while she felt safe with him she was still uncomfortable with what being someone’s ‘child surprise’ meant. What were the implications of being a child surprise? Was she to be the Witcher’s mate when she got older? Was he just to be her guardian? What was expected of her? Was he now her owner? Could he sell her if he wanted to? Did she have any say in what was going to become of her? There had been no time to ask any of these things because it seemed something was always trying to kidnap or kill her. She’d seen Geralt fight several times in just the short time they’d been together and as reluctant as she was to admit it, even to herself, the witcher intimidated her greatly.  

Geralt had led them to a small town to get a room for the night. Ciri had never been more grateful for a hot bath and a bed. At dinner, she was introduced to the bard, Jaskier, who had been performing at the inn. She was surprised Geralt and Jaskier were friends as they were so different. They were like night and day. She wasn’t happy when her protector left her with the bard with a simple rumbled, “Stay.” She protested but he told her he had to take a contract and earn some coin if they were going to continue to eat. She sat at the inn for nearly a full day before he returned. He was covered in blood and muck and what looked to be entrails as he swept into the bar. The silence was deafening as he approached the mayor of the town and dropped a cloth bag containing a severed Endrega head on the table in front of him. The next morning he used some of the coin to get a horse for Ciri and they headed off, that was two days ago. 

Ciri finally worked up the courage to speak. “Where are we going?”

“Dorian.”

The witcher was a man of very few words and sometimes having a conversation was like pulling teeth. “Why?”

“Information.” Geralt wasn’t trying to be difficult but something was off. He felt a hum throughout his body. It was similar to when a monster was near yet not quite the same and he didn’t know what it was. It had him on high alert and he was trying to focus on their surroundings. 

“Can you speak in full sentences?” she huffed softly thinking he wouldn’t hear her.

“Yes, I can,” he arched a brow in her direction. “I may be a mutant but I am an educated one.” Geralt hissed and cringed; his shoulder and back felt as if they had been licked by fire. He could feel blood trickling down his skin and pulled Roach to a stop

“I didn’t mean to…” she blushed. “Geralt?” she asked worriedly.

He was off his horse and removing his shirt with a hiss. “Fuck!” The air felt electric and the pull he felt was even stronger. He wanted to run into the woods and find whatever was doing this. He looked up when Ciri came to him. “Hand me the kit in my pack.”

“What happened?” she gasped as she saw the large slash that went from his right shoulder down to his waist in a slight inward arc.

“I don’t know.” He laid out the kit and found the healing potion he needed. He poured half of it down his back on the wound itself, the sting making him growl then he drank the rest. “What the fuck is happening?” he wondered aloud. 

Ciri took one of the bandages, wet it from one of the water skins and started gently dabbing at the bloodll. Geralt tensed, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t but you can’t get to all of this to clean it on your own. What happens if it gets infected?” She took her hand and turned the witcher back around. She knew it was only because he allowed it but still she wanted to be of use. His muscles were rigid and tense the entire time she was touching him. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” He tried to hide the unease in his voice. He wasn’t used to someone caring for his wounds unless he was at Kaer Morhen. It made him uncomfortable. 

“There, finished,” Ciri said as she got the last of the blood off his skin. The wound was no longer open and bleeding but it still looked very red and angry. 

Geralt pulled his other shirt from his bag and quickly put it on. “We need to keep moving.”

They rode in silence for a bit before Ciri spoke again. “Has anything like that ever happened to you before?”  

“Quiet” he whispered as he pulled Roach to a stop again. The feeling was much stronger now. It was pulling him toward the forest. Whatever it was that was guiding him didn’t seem dangerous but he couldn’t be sure. His first instinct was to ask Vesimer but of course, that would have to wait until he saw him at Kaer Morhen. For now, he had to trust his instincts. 

A loud wolf’s howl ripped through the air and made Ciri jump. “Geralt!” 

“Stay on your horse. You aren’t in any danger,” the witcher assured her. He slid off of Roach and handed her reins to Ciri. “Stay close.” He walked farther down the trail, sword at the ready. The scent of blood and sulfur hit him before he saw the remains of the first body. “Wait here.” 

Ciri was frightened but did as he told her. Somehow the witcher seemed to have a calming effect on her even though she was scared. 

Geralt walked farther away from the road into the woods and he saw a small camp. As he looked around the area he counted the bodies of about twenty Nilfgaard warriors littered on the ground. It looked as though they had been torn apart by animals and fed upon. They were in various stages of decomposition and dismemberment. Suddenly he saw movement. Someone was alive. He rushed over to the prone body and knelt down. 

Naurel saw someone approaching but did not have anything left in her to fight with. This was the end for her and she was grateful for it. The pain was finally over she thought to herself as she saw a giant cloaked figure approach. Just as hands reached for her the world faded to black.

Ciri gasped when she saw Geralt running back toward her with a woman in his arms. An unconscious, bloody woman. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. There seemed to be a fight of some sort. Maybe with a beast or animal, I’m not sure. She is the only survivor.” He knelt on the ground lowering her gently so he could examine her. “Get my bag and bring me the bandages and my kit,” he ordered as he moved to unbutton the top of the woman's dress. 

 Ciri knelt down beside him to help and she had to look away from all the gore. “What would do something like that?”

“No beast that I know of,” Geralt growled. “This was done by humans.” He wiped away all the dirt and blood he could in an attempt to help her. “This is beyond my skill,” he sighed. “We need to get her to Lakeside. They will have a healer and with any luck, Triss will be there.” He knew the sorceress frequented Lakeside and stayed there with the healer a lot. She enjoyed the quiet and the herbs that grew by the lake. Geralt lifted the woman onto Roach and climbed up behind her. “We must ride quickly. Keep up,” he ordered as he urged Roach on. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Triss smiled as she heard people start whispering about the approaching witcher. One thing about a small village was that news of visitors spread like wildfire. She was anxious to see Geralt. It had been too long. Her smile faded however when she opened the door and saw the near lifeless woman in his arms. “Get her on the table, quickly.”

Geralt laid the woman down and helped Triss start removing her dress. He noticed among the wounds was one just like the one he got on his back before finding her. “Found her in the woods. She was the only one left alive out of about twenty Nilfgaardian soldiers. No sign of what or who did this though.” They stopped short of bearing her completely. No one noticed Triss's friend the healer slip out the door.

“These wounds are not from a beast or animal Geralt. A human; likely a sorcerer or mage did this to her,” Triss worried. She turned to the young girl that was with them. “Fill the tub with hot water. Use the tea tree oil and add some of the liquid soap to the left.” She saw Geralt arch his brow in question. “There are so many wounds the best way to ensure we cleanse them all is to put her in a tub loaded with antiseptic. Normally I wouldn’t because it will be incredibly painful but she’s unconscious.”

Geralt removed his armor and dropped it on the floor out of the way before tossing his shirt aside as well. As soon as the water was ready they rid her of the last of her clothing and he lifted her into his arms. Carefully carrying her the few steps over and lowering her into the water. The maiden’s eyes snapped open at the searing pain and she started to thrash about and struggle. Geralt grabbed her wrists in both his hands and held her still. “Shh, you’re going to cause yourself further injury. We are here to help you. My name is Geralt and this is Triss. She is a sorceress. She’s going to heal you.” 

The maiden’s mouth opened to scream at her to get away but the only sound that escaped her was a wheezing rasp. She wanted nothing to do with another sorcerer. Why couldn’t she just die? What had she done to anger the gods enough to make them let this happen to her? She could feel the restraints around her wrists and it took a moment to register that they weren’t metal cuffs but huge hands holding her still. For the first time, she forced herself to focus on the looming figure above her. Her emerald green eyes met gold and she slowly calmed down. She didn’t know why but all the fight drained from her as his low, growling voice soothed her and her eyes slipped shut again.

Ciri positioned another bucket of water under the woman’s hair as it draped over the back of the tub. She began scrubbing and picking muck and bone fragments out of her hair while Triss and Geralt cleaned her body. Ciri couldn’t help but stare at the witcher as he gently cleaned and cradled the maiden's arms and legs. She hadn’t seen the gentle side of him and it helped her relax to know he wasn’t always such a brute as he seemed. 

The snarl Geralt let out when he started washing her feet made them all jump. Triss quickly moved to see what he was so upset about. There were bruises and lash marks from a cane where the bottoms of her feet had been beaten raw. “It’s a war crime,” he growled in answer to Triss’s unspoken question. “They do it so the person can’t stand to run away. I haven’t seen anything like this since Falka’s Rebellion.”

Once she was cleaned Geralt moved her back to the table and Triss covered her breasts and pelvis with towels to preserve what she could of her modesty. “I can’t heal all of this,” she sighed. “I can heal the internal injuries, probably the broken bones and the worst of the burns but she is going to have a very long recovery.”

Geralt nodded, “do what you can.” 

“Girl,” Triss called to Ciri, who was now sitting in a chair by the fire. “I need to go out behind the cabin and collect all the wildflowers you can for me. I need the stems to be about this long,” she showed her with her fingers.  “Take those two baskets and that cloth bag by the door. As quick as you can.” Ciri nodded and ran out the door. 

Triss pushed up her sleeves and prepared for a long session of healing. “ Hold her so she doesn’t hurt herself more. Healing bones is extremely painful and the burns won’t be much better.” Several hours and most of the flowers in the village later Triss was passed out in her bed, exhausted and Ciri was asleep in the den.

Geralt sat beside the woman and kept the fire going in the kitchen. He put his shirt back on but was too tired to even bother buttoning it as he leaned back in one chair and put his feet up in another. He finally took the time to really look at her and study her features now that she was stable. Her hair was fire red, her skin as pale as his own, and her eyes almost crystal green. She was tall, with long legs, slender but muscular build. He could tell she was used to hard work be it on a farm or as a servant. She had several scars on her back and legs that looked like she’d been whipped and beaten throughout her life and he wondered where she’d come from. He took her small hand in his large one. “Who are you m’lady and what drew me to you?” he asked.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt z rivii

[lassieposting]

Y'all ever think about how Young!Vesemir would still have to take contracts to provide for the Kaer Morons

Give me little Witchers who are left alone in a cramped room above a tavern for days at a time, told to sit tight and keep quiet and not draw attention because they're surrounded by humans and he won't be there to protect them

Little Witchers teaming up to look after Vesemir when he comes back from a hunt injured and exhausted. Double-mutated Geralt gets Stitching Duty, because he's got the steadiest hands. Eskel sits by Vesemir's head and distracts him during the unpleasant bits. Lambert gets sent out to make sure Vesemir's horse is stabled/untacked/fed/watered/groomed, and Remus goes running down to the innkeep to make sure Vesemir is fed and watered too.

Little Witchers who realise, as children inevitably will, that their parental figure is struggling, and try to ease the load. Geralt will venture out to forage for potion supplies while Ves is away. Eskel learns to charm free meals out of motherly innkeepers with compliments or the offer of helping out with chores. Lambert is a shameless little thief, but sometimes he'll filch something Ves can sell when their coin is low.

Vesemir who freezes in place the first time he comes back to a tavern, bloody and covered in mud, and is greeted by a gaggle of little Witchers running to hug his legs, because? He's their only stability. He's their protector, their provider, the only source of positive attention they really have. He's often sarcastic and short-tempered and sharp-tongued, but they miss him when he's gone, and they feel safer when he's back.

Vesemir who goes from oh no, absolutely not, every single one of you sleeps on his own bedroll to ugh fine whatever but the first one of you little bastards to kick me is getting yeeted when the pups all dogpile onto his bed after he's been away a while or someone has a night terror or he's hurt and they're worried about him.

Vesemir who shrugs off hateful comments aimed at him with a snarky comeback, but will absolutely throw the fuck down with anyone who starts in on his boys.

Little Eskel and Geralt - the oldest, the first to notice that Ves will go hungry so they can eat when funds are low or opt to replace Lambert's boots over replenishing his potion ingredients - who always ask to tag along on hunts. They can help! They'll be useful! They won't get in the way! They want to pull their weight!

Vesemir who actually realises that his own relationship with his father figure was more distant than he would've liked, as a boy. He idolised Deglan, wanted his approval. Deglan took a special interest in his training, served as his mentor for his first year on the Path, called him an affectionate nickname. But never hugged him. Never said he was proud of him. Always taught him that Real Men Need No One, young feller, now let's have none of that pansy nonsense.

Vesemir who sees the pups go from fearing him to missing him and trying to look out for him and seeking affection from him when they're scared or sad or pleased to see him, and makes a conscious decision that actually, Deglan, you were wrong. Yes, being cruel to be kind is often essential to Witcher training: it's a tough, dangerous, survival-of-the-fittest lifestyle. But real men hug their fucking kids

Just. Jesus I am like two years late to this party and absolutely consumed by single dad Ves feelings send help

#the witcher #netflix witcher #nightmare of the wolf #kaer morons #vesemir #dad!vesemir #just? how comfortable the wolves are with hugging each other and the deleted forehead touch scene with ves and geralt #this is a man who hugged his children

[geraltofriviacollection]

Chapter Six

Paring: Geralt x Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witcher’s world. Will she survive? Eventual smut may come about😉

A/N: This is the first part in a series. I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work without permission. Please leave comments! ❤️

Things seem to settle into a routine. Ciri spends most of her days training with Geralt when she’s not watching me train with Vesemir. I can hold a steady orb of energy and bring it forth with ease. Tapping into the power I had the night I killed Eskel……

The knot in my stomach tightens watching Ciri train. I fear Geralt may not be enough to pull her back from the edge. Seeing her on the obstacle course makes me nervous. Watching her fall off and stand back up in pain makes me proud of her endurance. Geralt walks with her disappearing into the keep. 

A short time later I start to enter the room where Geralt is bandaging her up but ciri comes flying from the room like a bat out of hell. I start to ask if she’s alright but before the words have left she is already far down the hall. 

I turn going into the room and see Geralt kneeling by the bed and he sighs. “Do I want to know what that whole thing was about?” I ask walking further into the room.  He sighs again at my question. “So I am going to take a shot in the dark and guess that you tried to show that you care by imparting a valuable lesson and ended up saying something stupid with all 10 words you use. Did I miss something?” I challenge. 

“Must you always be like this? Such a pain in my ass.” He growls.

“Well I haven’t made any plans on changing but we shall see where the day takes us. Now spill, what did you say to her?” I ask to get back to the point. 

He looks at me for another moment before sighing and moving to sit on the bed. “I told her that she is not a Witcher and that great fighters all end up dead in the end.” He explains looking up at me. This time it's my turn to sigh. “I only told her the truth.”

“Next time less truth would be good.” I say moving to sit next to him I gently place my hand on his as he doesn’t move it from mine. “You may have told her the truth but you also managed to tell her that you don’t believe she can do it.” I told him. 

“I do believe that she will die if she doesn’t understand she isn’t a Witcher. I will not have her die to prove a point.” He says. 

“Geralt, She has lost everything she has ever known in a matter of months. She is trying to figure out her new place in this world. This is not Ciri proving a point, this is Ciri figuring out who she is again. Our job is to keep her safe while she does that. We won’t let anything happen to her. You just need to learn how to be a tiny bit softer with her.” I tell him. He sighs and squeezes my hand. “Now my next piece of advice is that you go and maybe try to talk to her again.”

A few days later I wake up with a strange pit in my stomach like something is about to change. Almost like smelling the wind before rain. In the afternoon I’m still with Vesemir practicing. I’ve learned how to throw balls of energy in my hands at a target. However my aim still has much to be desired so hitting the target is not going well. 

“Lass, I don’t think I have ever seen someone so bad at something.” He frowns at me stroking a hand down his face. 

“You say that and yet I know how you feel when Everard tries to cook a meal.” I joke wiping sweat from my brow. He laughs as he hands me water. I hop up on one of the benches in the lab. “Ves?”

“I thought we agreed that name would not be spoken aloud again.” He mumbles working on something next to me. 

“I agreed not to speak that name aloud in front of others, since I am your new favorite you have agreed to indulge me.” I grin at him. He rolls his eyes at me. 

“What is it you want to know, Lass?” He smirks. 

“Why aren’t there any woman Witcher’s?” The question hangs in the air before he responds. 

“Over the years since the Witchers came to be, women have been put in the trials. Not a single one of them have survived. Deglan believed it had something to do with the-“ 

I tense as I feel something in the air has shifted. 

“What is it, Lass?” Vesesmir interrupts himself. 

“I don’t know. Something has shifted. I can’t tell much more than that.” I stumble through my explanation. Vesemir comes in front of me and tilts my head side to side. Just then my stomach rumbles quite loudly. He smiles. 

“I think we may have found the problem.” He laughs. We walked down to the great hall only to find Lambert there. Vesemir walks over to talk to him and I naturally go in the other direction considering…. Well everything.

The door opens and Ciri comes in first with a red headed woman behind her and Geralt coming in last. She looks familiar and very pretty. I can seem to place her name. 

“I brought dinner," he says with a dead boar on his shoulders. The rumbling in my stomach halts like a foot slamming in the brakes looking at that thing. A very familiar feeling arises down south the longer I look at Geralt holding that boar. 

“More than that.” Vesemir says breaking my creepy stare and He glances over at me before turning back to the woman. “My child, what a surprise.” He walks to her and she kisses his cheek hello. 

“Oh hell, haven’t even had my fill of grog yet and ,already the women are tripling.” Lambert says. “Merigold.”

“Lambert, I see your wounds have improved but your manners have not.” Light laughter fills the air. 

“I wish you had come sooner. We all could have used you.” Vesemir says to her. Sorrow and guilt make my throat and chest tighten. 

“Hopefully, we still can.” Geralt says, turning to look at me. I’m not at all fond of that problematic transition. Her eyes follow his and she sees me standing there. Ciri sees me for the first time and comes to join me at my side. I smile down at her before looking back up at Geralt and my eyes move back to the red headed woman. 

“I’m Triss. Geralt has told me about you on our walk here.” She smiles at me. I smile back at her. 

“I imagine it couldn’t have been very much, considering that he mainly communicates in grunts.” Ciri and Tris chuckle. 

“I think I might like her.” Tris says, looking at Geralt and them me. He rolls his eyes with a slight uptick in my mouth. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She smiles again at me. “I’ll go and dress for dinner. I assume you’ll want to wash up as well?” She says to everyone. Chuckles go around again. She takes that as a no before leaving the room. 

Ciri takes a seat. “So, How do you know her?” She ask Geralt. He sighs and I smirk before intervening. 

“I'm sure he will tell you all about it after you have washed up.” I tell her. She gives me a look that calls bullshit. “Okay maybe not but that does not change the fact that if you sit here much longer you might smell worse than that boar.” Ciri grunts in discontentment before leaving the room as well.  “You know she gets that from you.” I smirk at him. He rolls his eyes again before walking off leaving me. 

Dinner with Triss is a rather uneventful occasion. I learned enough to know that I like having another female in the keep. Even though we are still woefully outnumbered, the energy has shifted into peaceful uncertainty. Something still feels like teetering on the edge of chaos like a shoe waiting to fall.

I leave the table first, stealing myself away to the armory. I stay there practicing controlling this power to avoid sleeping. The nightmares for killing Eskel haunt me when I close my eyes. Watching the life drain from him is the only part that seems to be crystal clear in my memory. My only hope at night is to push myself hard enough to have dreamless sleep.

 My fear of dreaming is not the only thing that keeps me awake at night. The longer I stay the more I have begun to feel some of my memories of the storyline fade. Not big things but smaller details. I can’t help but to feel purposeful. 

It’s late into the night by the time I leave to head to my room. I am about to turn the corner when I hear voices across the way. 

“If it’s up to me, everyone will know their names.Perhaps  they can live on in our memories. Perhaps something more.” I recognize Triss speaking. “You witchers pretend not to have emotions, but you do. I know you feel it too. All of it. Normal love, normal hatred,normal pain, normal fear and regret, normal joy and normal sadness.” I peak around the corner and across the courtyard I see Triss taking Geralt's hand in hers. “Stay with me tonight.” She says. Geralt starts to talk but Triss cuts him off. “Only stay. Let’s not be alone.” she says. 

‘Nope, don’t like that.’ I think to myself watching this unfold in front of me. I try to suppress my inner psychotic dialogue and try to attempt being reasonable. Geralt probably is lonely and Triss is sad and beautiful. Maybe he should take her up on her offer… Yeah fuck that I’m still not liking it. Just as I’m about to run over to break up whatever the hell this is, Geralt takes his hand from Triss. 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt says before walking away from her. Triss stands there a moment before walking away. I let out a sigh of relief when I heard a voice behind me and nearly hit the ceiling at the abrupt sound. 

“So are you going to tell him?” Vesemir ask once I have calmed down from my near heart attack. 

“Damn it Ves! I almost woke up the whole keep with you coming behind me like that.” I whisper yell at him. 

“From the looks of it you were about to wake the keep by fighting one of the best mages I know.” He said teasingly. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about, old man.” I say lying like a rug through my teeth and starting to turn back around. 

“You and I both know you have feelings for him. I think he might return them if you tell him.” He says, causing me to pause. I nod my head before going to my room.

The next morning I leave the keep on Roach to find a berry patch. I’ve managed to half way fill the basket when I feel the string between ciri and I tighten. The feeling travels through me so abruptly I drop my basket berries and the glow starts. I leave the basket and mount Roach and we rush back to the keep. When we finally make it back I push the reins into Lambert's hand rushing in not even hearing what he says.  I run through the halls and find her in her bed. Geralt standing next to her and Triss sitting on the edge of her bed. 

“I felt it. What happened?” I ask them but panting. 

“She went into some weird trance and passed out a second later.” Geralt explains. 

“What do you mean you felt it?” Triss asks me. 

“How long has she been like this?” I hiss looking between Geralt and Triss.

“Not long.” He tells me. I lean down and the second my hand brushes her cheek her eyes open and I jump a bit at the movement. 

“Cirilla” Geralt calls out to her moving closer. I back up and give her room to sit up. “

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” she repeats covering her face with her hands. Geralt looks at Triss before looking between Ciri and I. 

“Ciri, look at me.” I say to her firmly but gently. “You need to tell us what happened.” I say moving to wrap an arm around her. She leans into me but stays quiet. Geralt comes even closer. 

“You are brave. But let us help.” He says looking at her. She finally moves her hands from her face. 

“All right.” She sighs. “When the black Knight captured me..I was scared. I screamed. 

And that’s when the monolith cracked and fell.” She pauses and looks up at Geralt. “I toppled it.” I hugged her closer to me. I can feel the way she trembles as I hold her. 

“How can that be?” Triss ask looking at Geralt. 

“I don’t know.” Geralt replies. “I need to see it for myself.”

“I really didn’t mean to do it, Geralt.” She says pulling away from me and I can see the tears in her eyes. My chest tightens at the sight. “And if these monsters are my fault…” She trails off looking at me.

“Ciri, Nobody blames you. It was an accident.” I tell her pulling her back to me and she fully sinks in my embrace. A lone tear streaks down her pale face. 

“It’s alright. We’ll fix it.” Geralt says placing a hand on her arm not cuddled into me. She nodded her head before closing her eyes as a few more tears fall. I look up at Geralt and the look on his face tell me we need to talk. He walks out of the room. 

Tris leaves shortly after. Ciri and I sit together until the trembling stops and the tears have dried. I stay until her breathing has evened out and her eyes have closed. I pull away from her as gently as I can so I don’t wake her. 

I leave Ciri to find Geralt only to overhear another somewhat intimate conversation. 

“You are important to me, Triss. You always will be.” He says. I decide that is a good time to make my entrance because well I have heard enough of that. 

“Care to fill me in on what you plan is big guy?” I ask him walking in and effectively smashing whatever fucking vibe was just in the air.

“You’re going to Cintra.” Vesemir says, rounding the corner behind Geralt. 

“Cintra?” I question.

“You said you’d never go back there.” Vesemir says to Geralt.

“Cintra holds the answers that I need.” He says, looking at me. “Besides, no Witcher has died of old age lying in his bed dictating his will. I have a girl to protect. I can’t just stay here.”

“I have a friend who studies monoliths. I can portal you to him.” Triss offers. 

“Portals are no fun.” Is all Geralt says. 

“Do you think you could excuse us for a moment?” I ask looking at Vesemir and Triss. They both nod before leaving us. “How long will you be gone?” I ask him.

“Not long enough that you will not be annoyed with all my grunting when I come back.” He says with a slight uptick in his smile as he takes a couple of steps closer to me. 

“Under different circumstances I might not mind your grunting so much.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can catch them. I feel my face get hot. I take a look at Geralt to find an amused sort of smirky smile on his face. “I mean I wanted an answer in hours to days.”

Geralt is close enough that I can feel his body heat as he looks down at me. “A few days. Less than a week.” He says softly.

@freegardenbanananeck

#geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #geralt x y/n #geralt fanfic #Geralt and Ciri

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 6

{previous chapter} || {next chapter upcoming}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: On the journey, you and Ciri bond, and she and Geralt give you some training. A series of unexpected things occur. The road goes ever on.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of major injuries and death, mentions of vomit, mentions of personal injuries. Intense scenes of fighting, multiple mentions of blood, graphic description of a monster death, moderately graphic descriptions of a corpse. Spoilers for The Last Wish (in particular, The Lesser Evil story). While prior knowledge of that book and story is not needed, I highly recommend it - it's a masterclass of writing and exposition.

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: I am very, very excited for you all to see this chapter. I feel as though we're finally reaching the heart of the story - the scenes I've wanted to write since the very beginning, when I first had the idea for Accismus. I hope you'll all enjoy this segment (though many of you may also hate me afterward). Comments are incredibly encouraged and appreciated! Without further ado...

Leaving Novigrad is nothing but chaos. It’s sheer, overwhelming, and somehow endearing, but nonetheless chaos. 

As soon as the three of you are on your feet, there’s a desperate rush of teasing, goodbyes, and demands of letters, as if it’s just now sunk in that you’re actually going. There are calls for a final round of drinks, goblets of honeyed mead being shoved into open hands, wishes of luck murmured over the rims of glasses. 

Dandelion starts chattering as fast as he can about the djinn, too fast to give you any room to speak. He squeezes your shoulder and promises the ballad will be his best one yet, then assures you that you’re welcome to return at any time you’d like - which is so kind you don’t even know how to respond. Luckily, he doesn’t give you the chance. He’s off to chat with Zoltan about something.

You, Ciri, and Geralt try your best to lug your things to your horses in the midst of everything, but the two of them keep getting pulled away. Just as you’re thinking you’ll get out unscathed, Priscilla pulls you into her arms for a hug, and you nearly drop your bag in shock.

“I wanted to ask if you’d join us for Yule,” she says, giving your shoulders a tight, comforting squeeze before she pulls away. “Only if you’re interested, of course,” she adds quickly. “You’ve been such lovely company! I know we’ll all miss you just as soon as you’re gone. If you could manage it, we’d love to have you. There’ll be no ballads, I swear it.”

Your throat feels tight. “Thank you,” you tell her, forcing a smile. “I’d love to.”

As soon as you’ve said it, you know that you’ll have to be there. If not to see them all again, then to avoid disappointing her. Was it really just a few days ago that you and Geralt were in that cave, hiding out from the rain? When you had been telling yourself to shut him out, to not tell him a thing more about yourself? It seems years away now - as if the train of thought had been washed away the moment you’d stepped inside the Chameleon. 

At your answer, Priscilla beams at you, and with a final squeeze of your shoulder, escorts you out the door. “Stay safe, all of you,” she says.

Then, Dandelion is shouting out something else about the ballad, Eskel and Lambert are snickering over something about Geralt and a broken leg, and the three of you are finally, truly off. 

For the first time, you have something to look forward to after you and Geralt find the djinn. If only your hands would stop shaking.

From the very beginning, the journey out of the city is different than the one coming into it. Your days do not pass away in lengths of unbearable heat or blistering palms. Not that the heat is not there, of course, but it’s more manageable in fair company, when you feel less of a burden and more of a friend. 

If Yennefer’s presence had been a shard of ice, then Ciri’s is a warm glass of mead, filling you up from the inside out. Geralt clearly cares tremendously for her, and it’s not long before you do, too. And how could you not, coming to know her? 

Everything comes and goes in a blur of sun and moon - strengthening hands on the reins and calluses being built, Ciri’s witty, snippish remarks, and Geralt laughing, laughing, at her tales of being a witcheress. Somewhere in between, you’re being roped into talking about yourself. 

Geralt may not push about your past - or who you are at all, really - but Ciri wraps her inquiries in innocent questions that have you talking much longer than you’ve realized. Then, with your throat raw and hoarse, you’ll finally notice her tricks and - with no small sense of betrayal - drop off in the middle of a sentence. 

“What?” she’ll laugh. “Go on!”

And then you’ll be talking again.

You can’t stand to speak about certain parts of your past, so you talk about everything else - tales of your rambunctious childhood, memories of your parents that aren’t painful enough to silence you.

You tell them about your father raising horses, and how the first gift you can remember was a mare named Mead - the same one you’ve named your current horse after. You tell them about being five, imagining you were the village’s doctor, going from door to door with a piece of wood and noting down ‘illnesses.’

You’d even pretended to treat your father’s case of ‘measles’ - which was nothing more than a scrape on his arm - with a mysterious plant which had turned out to be poison ivy. It had given you both a horrible rash for a week. 

Your mother had tried to be stern then, but couldn’t hide her shaking shoulders from you as she rubbed soothing creams over your arms, concocted from the herbs in the gardens in front of your home. Nor could she hide the fond smile she gave you afterward, gently brushing her thumb over your cheek.

From then on, you’d been banned from touching mysterious plants - which led you to reading books instead. Your parents had been educated, and they’d taught you how to read, too. You’d gone around, begging neighbors for any spare works they could spare. It had been before the war, and times had been different - the people, too. More willing to share, even in Velen, where need bled into the very soil.

Every chance you’d gotten, you’d read and reread books about gardening, history, healing, and anything else you could get your hands on. When you were old enough, you worked any odd job you could, because you wanted to become a doctor. Cleaning, gardening, finding lost items. Mending torn clothes, fetching something from the next town over, catching a fish someone needed for a meal. You’d done it all. Everything you could.

“Busy as a bee, weren’t you?” Ciri muses with a smile. “Buzzing around from place to place.”

You can’t say her description is inaccurate. In those times, you hadn’t been still for a moment. Becoming a doctor had been your lifeblood, the reason behind every action you made. It was planted in you, a root that would not come out.

And, for the first time since you left The Chameleon, your words choke in your mouth, and you can’t speak - not about that. You leave the story there, and Ciri doesn’t question it.

 But you feel Geralt’s eyes on you, those warm, inspecting eyes that never seem to leave you. You wonder what he’s thinking. You’d give anything to know. 

Just a few days after you’ve set off, Geralt and Ciri take to training you. Even with two witchers, they explain, it’ll be good for you to learn. A real sword is too advanced to start with, and neither of them have practice ones, so Ciri shows you basic defensive actions, dodges, and escapes, and has you repeat them until they’re instinctive. Then she has you practice them in more depth, in various scenarios. 

“That’s it,” she says. “Keep spinning. Buzz around! Just like a bee!” 

Eventually, that shortens down into a two-worded application of the phrase. “Shift left! Faster! Buzz - bee!”

Any time you’re paired with her, you do alright. Not perfect, but enough to draw a look of pride when you successfully disarm her or escape her grip. She’ll give you a tip or two, then have you do it again. 

“How was that?” you ask afterward, panting.

She grins at you, a twinkle in her eye. “Perfect. Just like a bee.”

With Geralt, it’s a different story. 

Every time you’re paired with him, even before you’ve started, you freeze up. Your mind goes completely blank, as if the sight of him wipes your memory clean, wipes every instinct away. It’s even worse when he touches you. All you can seem to think about is the warmth of his body pressed against you, and even though you try with all your might to remember what to do, your movements always end up jarred and clumsy. 

“Try again,” he says softly, over and over. “One more time.” It’s never unkind, but he’s strict, drilling the moves into you with an intensity that you can only describe as fear. He’s worried about you. 

“Gotta use more force,” he says. “C’mon, faster. No, the other arm. Remember what Ciri said?”

You do. Buzz around like a bee. But if you’re a bee with him, you’re certainly a dead one. Your body just will not move the way you want it to, no matter how hard you try. This sort of thing goes on until you’re both exhausted, and you turn in for the night. And, naturally, when Ciri practices the same moves with you the next morning, they come naturally. 

“Well done, busy bee,” she says.

And there are Geralt’s eyes again, fixed on you. Golden. Piercing. Almost teasing, as he raises his brows. And you know he knows. 

For the fleeting moment when your gaze meets his, you regret not kissing him when you’d had the chance. More often than not, you’ve caught yourself ruminating on the softness of his lips, on how they might feel pressed against yours. On his hands, warm and sure, tracing a path down the small of your back. 

Then your mind rushes back to you, and you remember why you hadn’t. Your reasoning seems less and less sound when he’s looking at you like that.

Most nights of the journey are spent outside, but there’s the occasional inn that you come across, and none of you can resist the chance of a warm bed. You and Geralt share a room as you had before, and Ciri takes her own. That’s the only moment of awkwardness you can feel, when the three of you bid each other good night - but it’s brief and fleeting, and there aren’t any moments of tension with you and Geralt like before. Even if you might wish for it.

The inns are rare, and the farce you’ve put up for yourself is bearable. Usually, the three of you sleep in shifts, and the two of them drill it into you to wake them if you hear or see anything. 

You never do, not in those nights under the stars, keeping alert in the progressively cooling air. There’s never anything but the three of you and open air, the soft sounds of Geralt and Ciri breathing. It’s the one time you seem to get for yourself, and you come to look forward to it. Being able to think, without Geralt or Ciri watching you, you can almost pretend that the djinn isn’t real. 

Almost.

As time goes on, something between you and Geralt slowly shifts. Ciri is a buffer, too clever for anything to slip by her, and Geralt would never do anything while she’s here - not even if she’s ten minutes away, gathering some food for the journey. 

There seems to be a silent agreement that settles in. You don’t know what it will be like, in those days after she’s gone, but you do know with an absolute certainty that nothing is going to happen while she’s with you. And, with the lessening number of inns that show on the journey, it makes for very little room between you and Geralt. Not enough room for romance, that’s to be sure.

Thoughts of kissing him fade. Your eyes still linger - on his sure hands, strapping up food to Roach, on the scars of his arms, soft and pink - but you’re quick to catch them. The message there is clear. Not now, it says. It’s not the time. 

Maybe not ever, you think, a deep pit in your stomach.

Eventually, with this sort of emotional blockade put up, solidifying, you’re able to do the defensive moves even with Geralt. They collectively decide that you’re ready to move on to something else. The further on you go, the more dangerous the roads are.

Initially, Ciri tries to give you a dagger. Unfortunately, as soon as she hands it to you, your hands start sweating so much that you can barely grip it. It might be helpful if you didn’t feel like throwing up every time you look at it - much less holding it. Geralt finally notices the way you’re trembling and takes the thing away.

Which means you must resort to other methods of protection. As soon as the three of you come across a town with a blacksmith, you’re set up with your own crossbow, equipped with bolts. Thankfully, this turns out to be a success. You’ve worked with a bow before, after all, and Geralt and Ciri make you take turns shooting it while riding on Mead, hitting random targets until you’re very pleased at your aim.

And, of course, Ciri can use a crossbow bolt to hit a piece of wood mid-air. Like father, like daughter, it seems.

When the three of you cross over the border of Kaedwen, the mood changes. You’re not sure why. There’s something deeper, something veiled in the air. You spend your nights tense. Your dreams turn feverish, plagued not only by visions of a dagger in your hand, but by the cave you’d seen that night in Novigrad.

The deep, dark pit seldom leaves your mind. You grow so weary of it that your eyes turn desperately to your surroundings as the three of you ride, pleading for something else to attach to. Rain falls heavily and fog chokes the pathways, making it hard to see.

And, for the first time, the three of you come across some danger. 

For a first event, it’s not much. It could be much worse, really. Just a few ghouls, eating a decaying corpse. No bandits. No giant centipedes bursting out of the ground, or swarms of nekkers ready to claw you apart. 

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. It doesn’t stop your immense sense of discomfort, the sweat pilling up on your palms, trickling down the back of your neck as you mindlessly put an arrow toward your bow.

You hate monsters, but there’s something in particular you hate about necrophages. Something… unsettling about the way they crave rotting flesh. Only one thing lies between them eating you, and it’s your loss of life. Not exactly an encouraging thought.

As the three of you ride in closer, your stomach starts churning at the smell in the air. Death. You’d give anything to never smell it again.

Being at the front of the line, Ciri leaps off her horse and kills three of the ghouls in a quick, clean motion. Then she looks at you. “Just one left,” she says, motioning to one that’s a little further down the road. “Go on, Bee, give it a shot!”

“Ciri,” Geralt says, hand tightening a little on his sword. Hesitation brims his tone. “Gotta be careful.”

She simply shoots him a look, eyes twinkling. “Aren’t I always?” she asks.

You know the answer to that, and you don’t like it. You also do not want to do what she’s asking. You can barely stand to look at the remaining ghoul for a second longer, much less target and kill it. Then again, you really should know how to defend yourself. And if you can’t kill a ghoul, you’re almost hopeless with anything else.

“I’ll do it,” you tell them.

Mead is shifting uneasily under you, so, with your heart pounding like a drum, you swing off the saddle and tighten your grip on your crossbow. You can’t seem to remember how to breathe. Geralt’s silence and his gaze on your back aren’t helping.

It’s the ghoul dashing near you that rouses you. Your heart starts thrumming even faster, as if your mind has finally comprehended the fact that there’s not only disgust but danger here, and you grab the bow and attempt to do what you know.

In, out. In, out. You notch an arrow and take aim. These are natural movements, ones you’ve repeated, and they should come with ease - but this situation is anything but natural. The thing keeps running in circles, distracted by Ciri, who evades its attacks with clean, fluid movements. 

She’s clever, steering clear enough to give you a good aim, letting you predict its movements without worrying about hitting her. She’s putting herself in danger for this, and waiting for you, and you need to shoot. 

So you do. You line up the ghoul in your sights, take one more deep breath, and your hands shake like a leaf as you finally pull the trigger. A split-second later, there’s a horrific, sick sort of noise, a terrible splatter that you can’t bear to watch. You keep your eyes on the ground and tremble in silence.

“Well done!” Ciri says. “Excellent shot!” 

When you look up, the ghoul is dead. You'd actually hit it - something you didn’t think you could do - and on your first try, at that. You give a weak smile at Ciri’s enthusiasm, but can’t turn away from the ghoul’s body. 

Blood is spilling onto the ground like dark wine, sickly metallic in the air. The uncannily humanoid face is twisted up in agony, frozen in death. And, worst of all, it’s laying a few feet from the corpse it’d been eating. This close, your gaze takes in every terrible detail. Your throat goes tight.

These are scraps of someone, someone who was like you, now laying in the dirt. Someone who lived, breathed, loved, someone now unidentifiable, rotting and alone. What a terrible way to remain in this world - nothing but a bloody, stinking mass of bones on the roadway. And, for the life of you, you can’t look away. The image burns deep into your mind even as you shut your eyes.

It’s become hard to breathe. The scent of death is burning through your nostrils, choking through your senses. You’re shaking worse than ever. Geralt is saying something, but you can’t hear him - your heart is thundering in your ears, and your stomach is turning again, and all at once, you bend over and vomit up your breakfast.

Geralt swings off Roach and is instantly at your side, gently patting your back. “Hey,” he says soothingly, softly. “You alright?”

You can’t manage an answer. Your knees don’t feel steady. You have to fight the urge to reach out and grab onto him, choosing to plant your hands on your knees as you retch instead. 

Ciri is quick to join the two of you, sheathing her sword. “Not to worry,” she says, her tone bright as ever. “That’s the adrenaline, Bee. You’ll adapt over time.”

You spit the acrid taste out of your mouth and wipe your face with your sleeve, tearing your eyes away from the corpse with all the strength you have. You’re still trembling.

What you want is a hug. You really, really just… want to be wrapped up in a warm pair of arms and held. Squeezed tight, like Priscilla had squeezed you. But neither Geralt nor Ciri can read your mind, neither of them have really hugged you before, and you’ve just been vomiting up your breakfast - so of course they don’t hug you. 

“What - what were you saying?” you ask Geralt, voice as shaky as you feel. “Before? I didn’t hear you.”

“Told you that was a good shot,” Geralt says. “Gotta aim higher, though. Hit it a little low.” He’s taken to rubbing your back instead of patting, and the action feels so nice that you’re half tempted to lay down in the dirt with your exhaustion and let him keep doing that. 

But the smell of death is still in the air, and if you don’t get away from here soon, you’re sure you’ll throw up again. 

“Thank you,” you shakily tell Geralt, attempting to straighten up.

He watches you closely, tensing - as if he’s waiting to catch you. “Could take a break, if you need,” he says. 

You quickly shake your head, starting shakily back toward Mead. “Not here.”

He must understand - he can smell it too, after all. Stronger than you can. Much, much stronger. How does he stand it? But, from the look on his face, maybe he doesn’t stand it at all. Maybe he simply survives it, because he must.

Geralt gives a nod, helping you up onto the saddle with a firm hold that seems to sear into your skin. “C’mon, Ciri,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not much longer before Ciri’s time with you comes to an end. 

You can hardly believe it, when she pulls to a halt and announces that this is where you must part. She hasn’t said it, but the fact that she’s parting with you instead of going all the way to the caves, it’s clear - this is urgent business. 

Gods, are you going to miss her. It seems as though just yesterday you’d been at Dandelion’s inn, sipping on honeyed mead, saying your goodbyes. Yet, here you are, and you’ve arrived at Ard Carraigh, and she’s going. Can this be real? Had those days - a little over a month, if you’re counting correctly - slipped under your fingers so quickly, unnoticed? 

Yes, they must have, because there’s a numb, aching loss in your chest that only could have come from coming to know her. Worst of all, there’s a terrible feeling that you’ll never see her again - one that pulls deeply at your gut. You can’t stand it. You’re so tired of regrets that you pull her close without thinking and hug her, and she hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you for letting me travel with you, Bee,” she says. “I hope we’ll meet again one day.”

“We will,” you stubbornly tell her. “I’m sure we will.”

She pulls away and gives you a smile, and you watch fondly as she steps over and hugs Geralt. 

“Take care of yourself,” he says softly.

“Always,” she replies, grinning at him. She steps back, grabbing the reins of her horse, Kelpie, then swiftly mounts up onto the saddle. “Good luck, you two!” she calls, waving. “I’m sure you’ll sort everything out, and Dandelion will have a lovely ballad to sing!”

You wave goodbye and watch as she rides off, leaving you and Geralt behind. And, in her absence, there’s a large, gaping hole.

You and Geralt do your best to fill it, but you can tell it’s still there. Furthermore, you can tell Geralt is constantly tense - and that does nothing to soothe your addled nerves. You two still have a ways ahead of you, and despite your newly formed skill with the crossbow, your unease remains.

Mostly, you spend the days quiet, and struggle to sleep at night. Geralt does the same. You miss Ciri’s chatter, her warmth, her ease of getting you to speak. Without her, everything is strange and much too silent, much too eerie.

During your night shifts, you keep alert, rubbing warmth into stiff hands. With clouds covering the stars, you often turn your eyes to Geralt - murmuring things in his sleep, brow creased. Sometimes, you’ll catch a few words, a repeated whisper as soft as the wind. Ciri. Yen. And, only once, another name - Visenna. 

When he jerks awake, hand automatically reaching for his sword, you scoot back from him - not afraid, but a little space won’t hurt. After a long moment of staring at you, realizing there’s no danger, Geralt relaxes and takes over the shift from you. And you don’t sleep any better than he does.

Three days after Ciri has gone, the two of you come upon more danger. It’s in a small town, one reeking of trouble, and you’d be tempted to shy away from it - if the growling in your stomach wasn’t so prominent. The two of you are riding through when you see him - a boy, no more than eighteen, laid on the ground. He’s surrounded by a small crowd, face red and pained, blood soaking his tunic. 

And, for reasons neither you nor the gods can explain, you don’t think for a second before you jump off your horse and dash toward him. Thankfully, Geralt is right behind you. 

“What is it? What happened to him?” you ask breathlessly. 

“Bandits, likely,” someone replies, voice hushed. “Been worse than usual, of late. The lad came riding up, yelling something about being attacked. Slumped over. Fell straight off his horse into the dirt.”

As you push further in, the crowd starts to separate, people fleeing back into their homes for safety. But you can’t leave this boy here. You can’t. There’s a voice at the back of your mind, shouting out something you should remember, but you can’t hear it past the rush of blood in your ears.

When you lift up the boy’s tunic, you find a great deal of bruising, surrounded by a deep, seeping wound in the abdomen. Without hesitation, you scramble for the bandages in your pack and press them against the wound, applying pressure. 

The boy yelps in agony, hands clawing at yours hard enough to draw blood, tears coursing lines in the dust on his face. “Stop,” he groans, “stop it! Gods, it hurts - stop!”

He’s thrashing about with so much force that you can barely keep the bandages on him, much less apply the pressure you need. Blood is pouring out of him, staining the grass under him.

“Geralt,” you pant. “Help me - hold him down!”

But Geralt doesn’t. He simply stares at you, unmoving, an indiscernible look on his face. 

“Help me!” you cry, attempting to press harder. “He’ll bleed out!”

When he finally kneels next to you, you sigh in relief, watching as he grips the boy’s shoulders and holds him still. Finally able to apply the pressure you need to, your mind spins, trying to remember if you have a needle with you. A wound like that… it’ll need to be cauterized, too. Stitched up as quickly as possible.

But the boy’s face has gone blue now, and he’s started gasping. Too much blood loss - no, no, no, please. His body shakes with spasms, breathing going ragged. You desperately try to staunch the bleeding, to keep what blood he has left in him from spilling out. “Stay with me,” you tell him, muscles wound so tense you can barely breathe. 

But after another horrible round of jerking, the boy’s breathing falters, and he goes still. And then… then, there’s silence. Only silence. Not even the call of a bird, or the stir of the wind. Just… nothing.

The unbearable quiet is interrupted by the soft sound of Geralt saying your name. Slowly. Cautiously, as if he’s testing the waters of your reaction. Then he releases the boy’s shoulders and rises to his feet.

“No,” you say numbly, refusing to look at him. You keep your eyes only on the boy. “You can’t go - I won’t let you!”

Fiercely blinking back tears, you start a series of resuscitation compressions, pushing strong, even movements into the boy’s chest. “Stay with me,” you say helplessly, panting out the words. “You can’t go!”

You work methodically, desperately, waiting for the boy to revive, praying for it. But the body stays motionless under your hands, lifeless, still warm. Your arms are searing from the effort and tears are streaming down your cheeks, blurring your vision. 

You can’t fix this, your mind is telling you. There’s no chance.

But you can’t stop. You can’t.

Suddenly, there’s a pair of arms behind you, pulling you off the body. You start clawing, lashing out like a wild animal, screaming and kicking with all your might. “Let me go!” you shriek, wriggling around, beating your fists out until they make an impact on something. “Let me go, you - you bastard!”

“He’s gone, Bee,” Geralt says calmly, his voice soft in your ear. “A wound like that? Nothing anyone could do. C’mon. Gotta get you cleaned up.”

But his soothing tone only makes you more wild, more feral. You scream and kick and claw some more. He gently sets you in a sobbing pile onto the ground, and by the time you come into contact with the soft, fragrant earth, his words have set in. The truth of them, that deep down you already knew. You pull your knees toward your chest and weep.

Kneeling down next to you, Geralt places a hand on your back, rubbing slowly - the way he had after the event with the ghoul. You’ve realized what your mind was screaming at you, now. You wish you’d listened. 

“There’s - there’s something wrong with me,” you sob softly. The words are bitter in your mouth, acrid. Tears are choking in your chest, slow to die out, leaving you wracking painfully. “Everything I touch… That’s why I can’t go back to Oxenfurt. I just make things worse.”

Geralt’s touch pauses for a moment at your words, but only briefly. He goes back to rubbing your back. “Did all you could,” he says gently. “Didn’t make it worse. He would have died anyway.”

You shake your head. “I hurt him. He needed comfort, and I hurt him because I wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t only him,” you choke. “It’s everyone, Geralt. I try to help, but it hurts people. I should just stay out of it. I try to, I really do, but it still just… happens.”

“People getting hurt like that, dying - that isn’t your fault,” Geralt says. 

“And how can you know?” you ask. The words are bitter, spitting from your tongue like venom. You regret them, but the anger doesn’t die away.

Geralt sighs, letting his hand go still on his back. “Know it because I used to think like you,” he murmurs. “Never got involved, if I could help it. Thought I made things worse. Maybe I do. Don’t know, sometimes.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his words, inhaling sharply. “Couldn’t stay away, though,” he says. “Figured it was better to try.”

His words shock you into complete silence. They carry such an intense vulnerability that it numbs you down, every nerve, every sensation. You lay on the ground, stiff as a board, taking it in. He’s never talked to you like this, so openly. Your sobs shudder to a halt and you close your eyes, breathing heavily. 

He knows, then. He knows what it’s like. Not everything, of course. Only you could ever know that. But the sickly, squirming pit of guilt in your stomach - Geralt knows what that’s like. And he’s somehow lived with it for decades.

“C’mon, Bee,” he says. “Gotta get you cleaned up. Ought to bury the body, too, before the necrophages smell it.”

Oh. Bee. He’d called you that several times now, hadn’t he? In the midst of everything? You hadn’t quite processed it then, but now that your brain is working… it’s always been Ciri, calling you that. Geralt has never called you Bee before today. 

You give a nod at his words, feeling a little calmer, intending to sit up. Your muscles are slow and aching, and you’re still trembling. Geralt shifts and reaches toward you, and you reach back, thinking he’s offering you a hand up. What you’re not expecting is for Geralt to lift you into his arms and carry you. But that’s what he does. 

He picks you up like you don’t weigh an ounce and carries you to the nearby inn. His arms are strong and sure, and you lean your face into his chest, too weak to resist the temptation.

“Need a room,” he tells the innkeeper.

They don’t argue with him.

You don’t take in much of what happens right after that. You know you’re set on a bed, and the innkeeper comes and goes a few times before Geralt kneels in front of you, dabbing a clean cloth into a bowl of water. 

He keeps searching your face, looking for something. You only start registering what’s happened when he finally starts speaking.

“What you said before…” He pauses, hesitating. “At Blaviken. I felt like you do, afterward. Kept thinking - should have stayed out of it. Tried to, before that. Tried for a long time after, too. Guess, in the end, I couldn’t.”

He takes your hand in his, gently scrubbing away some of the dried blood. “I was passing through, on the way to Yspaden,” he starts. You sit unmoving, afraid you’ll break the spell of his words. 

“Stopped at Blaviken on the way,” he continues. “Brought in a kikimora, hoping there’d be a reward. There wasn’t. But the alderman told me to bring it to the wizard - Stregobor. I’d met him before. He didn’t pay me for the kikimora, but he invited me in. Wanted to ask for my help. Wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with him, but I listened.”

He sighs heavily, looking up at you. “Ever heard of the Curse of the Black Sun?” he asks.

You blink in surprise. “I… I have,” you reply, swallowing hard. “I read about it. It was a prophecy, wasn’t it? During an eclipse, sixty girls would be born, made servants of the goddess Lilit, and bring the end of the world?”

He nods. “Yeah. That’s the one.” His face tightens with anger - just a flash, but enough to jar you. There are so many situations where he’s been completely composed even in the face of chaos, of pure frustration. What on earth could have made him so angry?

“These girls,” he slowly goes on, “people were convinced they were demons. Stregobor talked about mutations, insane tendencies… changes in the internal organs, unidentifiable tissue, cruel and aggressive behavior. People who believed the prophecy used it as a justification for murder. They did autopsies, studying the corpses, claiming it was for the greater good. One of them… they vivisectioned her.”

Your reaction is instantaneous. You jolt as though you’ve been slapped. Vivisection? What the hell were they thinking? They’d murdered and tortured these girls just because of the day they were born? Frankly, you couldn’t care less about their internal organs or behaviors. That doesn’t sit well with you.

“Gods…” you say faintly.

Geralt’s jaw clenches. “The girls - they weren’t easy to pick off. After a time, they started locking them in towers, instead. Isolating them. But some would escape. Others died.” He stalls, lost in thought for a moment. “Stregobor had once been sent to supervise one of these girls - a princess of Creyden. Renfri.” 

Pain flashes over his eyes at the name, as if it wounds him to say it. Perhaps it does. Even so, he continues.

“Her stepmother, Aridea, had been told by one of Nehalania’s Mirrors that Renfri would kill her and a number of others. They sent a huntsman to kill her. She escaped. Tried to kill her multiple times after that, too. Poisoned apples. Assassins. They failed. 

“When Renfri came across Stregobor again, she recognized him - knew what he’d done. So she pursued him, wanting revenge. Tracked him down to Blaviken, where he’d locked himself in a tower at the edge of town, used a spell to keep anyone out unless he wanted them to get in. He asked me to kill her. I refused.”

As if he’s just remembered what he was doing, he goes back to cleaning the blood off of you - but it’s clear his mind is still far away. “I met her,” he says. “Renfri. The alderman couldn’t arrest her - she was protected by King Audoen. But she wanted to talk to me. Snuck into my attic later that night, told me what happened to her. Asked me to kill Stregobor. Told me it was the lesser evil.” 

He shakes his head. “Stregobor told me that, too - when he asked me to kill Renfri. But I told her that I wouldn’t kill Stregobor. And that I wouldn’t stand by, letting her slaughter innocent people to get to him. I asked her to leave Blaviken; to stop seeking revenge, because she wasn’t going to kill Stregobor. She gave in. Told me she would leave the next morning and never return.”

His expression has gone permanently pained now. His hand rests on your arm, frozen mid-action. “The next day, I told the alderman that Renfri and the gang she’d brought along with her were going. And he told me… told me one of her men had been at the massacre at Tridam, three years before. Hadn’t heard of it, but he told me what happened.

“A group of thieves were captured by the Baron of Tridam. The remnants of their men seized a ferry of innocents - demanded he set them free. When he refused, they killed hostages one by one until he finally released the prisoners. And… Renfri had mentioned that to me. ‘The Tridam ultimatum.’ I hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but… when I heard it, I realized what was going to happen. And I ran for the market.”

Geralt’s face has gone deathly white. “When I got there, Renfri’s men were waiting for me. All of them except her. She’d gone to the tower to talk with Stregobor. Left a message for me, though. ‘Choose. Either me, or a lesser.’”

He finally sets the cloth down, too distracted in his story to clean. His words sit in the air, tinged with a regret you can almost feel in the air, thick, and heavy. But why? you think. Surely it had been right of him to do? You listen to him go on, scarcely breathing.

 “I made my choice. I killed them. All of them…” he says. “After it was done, Renfri showed. Asked me if I was sure I made the right choice. I told her it wouldn’t be another Tridam. She told me that it wouldn’t have been. Stregobor had refused to come out. Even told her she could butcher Blaviken and the neighboring villages, but he still wouldn’t leave his tower… I told her to go. She wouldn’t. We fought…” 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, unable to finish. You don’t need to hear it to know.

“People stoned me, afterward. The alderman stepped in. He asked if… if that was my idea of lesser evil. What was necessary. I told him it was… Didn’t know what else to say.”

He inhales sharply, looking out the window. “He told me to leave, to never return. And I did.”

His words fade into silence. Something in your chest aches so deeply that you can’t even speak. It throbs, pitching amidst the knots of guilt built into your ribs. The Butcher of Blaviken. That’s what they call him, now. Because of that. It haunts him, everywhere he goes.

“Geralt,” you finally whisper, resting a hand on his arm. He inhales sharply and stands, gently pulling from your touch.

“We should bury the body,” he says softly. You follow him without a word out to the grass. 

You’re still mostly covered in blood, and now you’ll be covered with dirt. The sun is brutal and the air is sticky, and you can still smell the iron on you, sharp and nauseating. The two of you find shovels and take to digging, your hands reddening from the effort, sweat dripping down your neck. Tears course down your cheeks. And you don’t stop digging until it’s done.

A makeshift grave, marked by a pile of rocks. You hadn’t even known his name. He’d been so young… The town members are still hiding in their homes. No doubt watching you, though.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur to the grave, hoping the boy can hear you wherever he is now. “What you sought in life, may you find it in death. Rest peacefully.”

After a long moment of silence, you and Geralt go back to the inn, this time to properly wash off the blood and dirt. The guilt cannot be scrubbed with it, but it pains you less. Maybe because it doesn’t pain you alone.

The next morning, the two of you are off again. There’s quiet between you, but not uncomfortable. Both of you are grieving. Your thoughts go over Blaviken again and again. Then, hesitantly, over your own past.

You’re going to have to tell him. You don’t know how, or when, but you will. Now that he’s told you about Blaviken, it’s as if something’s come loose. You can no longer keep it in, the way you’d once resolved to. You keep catching yourself opening your mouth - trying to find a way to speak. But the timing isn’t right. It just isn’t right.

The further into Kaedwen you get, the colder it is, and it’s especially brutal that night. It may be blistering hot in the days, but the nights turn icy as death, unnatural and unsettling. The chill bleeds into your bones. Makes you want to curl into a ball and never move again.

And, of course, there are no inns around. You set up your bedroll and try your best to keep warm, but even with the fire Geralt makes, shivering takes a hold of you. It’s not long before your teeth are chattering. You ache for the Chameleon, for the warm, soft feather bed you’d slept on. Your eyes grow heavy, but sleep won’t take you.

When Geralt rests a hand on your shoulder, you jump about ten feet into the air, startled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m alright.” It comes out between chattering teeth. You don’t need to see his face to know he doesn’t believe you.

“Come here.”

You force yourself to sit up, giving him a look. He raises his brows, patting the bedroll next to him. Surely he doesn’t mean… no, that can’t be it. It’s closer to the fire, that’s all.

With frozen fingers, you pull your bedroll toward Geralt, laying it next to his. It’s a little better now. 

Geralt lays down next to you, tilting his head up to look at you. “Get over here,” he says. “Got me worried you’ll freeze to death.”

Your heart starts racing. Fuck. If only he couldn’t hear it. If only the warmth of his arms wasn’t so appealing. You crawl over, resting yourself at his side, and he automatically wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, into his chest.

Gods, he’s warm. Heat practically radiates off of him. You can’t stop yourself from sighing in relief, tucking your face into his neck. This close, you can smell the smoke on his skin, the hints of wood and earth and sweet leaves, mingled with hints of his sweat.

It’s already overwhelming enough to have him holding you like this. You practically stop breathing when his hand goes to the back of your neck, wrapping it in more warmth, callused fingers that you truly believe could rival silk on your skin. His thumb rubs a slow, soothing motion in the space behind your ear, and you inhale sharply.

Him touching you like this - well, it’s making you cry. Tears start to spill onto your cheeks and you try hopelessly to stop them, terrified that he’ll pull away, stop what he’s doing. But, even though he must know, he doesn’t stop. He keeps touching you, the way you’ve so desperately needed to be touched, and you relax little by little. 

After a few minutes, your brain is barely there - melted, as though your body has become liquid. Your thoughts swirl into the heavy grip of sleep, and the world slowly fades away.

For once, you don’t have nightmares.

When you wake the next morning, you’re still in his arms. You can hear the crackling embers from the dying fire behind you, and you can feel Geralt’s breathing - even, steady. His hand still rests on your neck.

You never want to move. You know you’ll have to, but you don’t want to. For a while, you close your eyes and lie there in a meditative state, so content you’re practically purring. Then, Geralt jerks awake, and to your absolute dismay, he lets go of you and sits up, looking alarmed.

The explanation for that comes very quickly. There’s a group of men on horseback riding toward you. You can’t see them, but you hear them, crashing through the trees, clearly not caring if you know they’re coming.

“Geralt-”

“Grab your bow,” he says, pulling out your sword. His voice is low and firm. “Get behind me.”

You do as he asks. Your hands are shaking, but you force yourself to breathe slowly, readying an arrow. You try not to imagine what sound it will make, if you’re forced to kill.

As the men crash out of the woods, you can see that there are three of them. They circle around your camp, whooping and shouting before they come to a halt, grinning down at you with a smile that makes you want to recoil. You step closer to Geralt.

“Look at this, lads. A camp!” one of them says. “What’ve we got here?” He casually rests his hand on his sword, and you can see Geralt stiffen. The speaker is missing an eye, and he reeks so badly that you can smell him several feet away - sweat and whiskey and gods know what else.

You wait for Geralt to respond, but he says nothing - and what could you possibly say?

“Oy!” one of the others shouts. This one is wearing a red vest, stained with something that looks terribly like blood. “You fuckin’ deaf? We asked you a question!”

Still, Geralt says nothing, but his hand tightens on his sword.

“Won’t speak to us, eh?” the third asks. With the authoritative way he talks, he’s clearly the leader of the group. He leaps from his horse, bounding with nimble steps toward you and Geralt. His teeth are black and his hair is matted, and a jagged scar runs down his neck. “I’ll make you talk,” he says. “Could use some entertainment, couldn’t we, boys!”

“Aye, we could!” the man with one eye says, sliding off his horse to join the leader. “Been nothing but sniveling cowards, lately. I bet that grey one would put up a fight.”

And put up a fight, Geralt does. 

He slashes so fast you barely see the blade move. All at once, the one-eyed man is crumpling to his knees, blood pouring down his abdomen. The leader draws his sword and leaps back, snarling. 

“A lot of nerve, you have!” he says. “You’ll pay for that!”

And, suddenly, everything turns into chaos. The leader strikes, and instantly, the air rings with the sound of blades. The man with the red vest urges his horse on and gallops around, yelling out insults, slashing in your direction. You barely manage to dodge them.

Geralt is preoccupied, so - despite your shaking - you turn your bow toward the red vest and shoot. It hits his shoulder, and he cries out. His horse startles, bucking below him before it throws him off, vanishing into the woods. You’re hoping he’ll stay down, but he gets to his feet all too quickly, favoring his right leg and spitting insults.

You grab another arrow and try to load it up, but you’re too slow, too slow, why couldn’t you have just taken that dagger-

In a moment, he’s on you, shoving you to the ground and knocking the wind out of you. The djinn is tugging, tugging - Geralt’s dancing the line of acceptable distance - and you blindly scratch at the man’s face, gouging your nails into flesh until you hear a scream. His grip slackens, and you prop your feet up on the ground and force your hips up, throwing him off of you - one of the moves Ciri taught you. 

Gasping and stumbling to your feet, you dart in Geralt’s direction, but a hand catches your shirt and drags you back, momentarily choking you before he pins you to a tree.

Blood is streaming down his face. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he says. “I’m going to tear you into pieces, you hear me? You’ll wish your mother never popped you out!”

In the midst of your panic, you have the sense to knee up into his bollocks. Pain radiates through your leg, and despite the howl he lets out, he doesn’t let go. More crashing comes from the woods - more bandits, presumably. The look on his face practically spells it out.

For a moment, he’s distracted, slightly tilting his face toward the woods and easing his grip. Taking your opportunity, you slam the base of your hand into his nose with as much force as you can possibly muster. His knees buckle and he stumbles back, cupping a hand over his face.

Limping away, you catch a glimpse of Geralt - standing over the now-dead leader, panting but seemingly unharmed. More men pour in from the trees and slink in, raising weapons, and he readies his sword - but you know there are too many, just too many, and as a hand snatches around your waist and pulls you away, the world begins to crumble.

Nausea sets in, a turbulent dizziness, the world crumbling apart - too far! He’s too far! Something cold slices your arm, and the smell of blood hits you. You throw your elbow backward and make contact with bone, stumbling away and vomiting, knees buckling as the djinn’s wish takes hold. Your palms hit the ground.

Geralt lets out a cry of pain - the kind that can only mean he was hit. You call his name and helplessly crawl forward, trying desperately to get closer. Then, just as the djinn’s symptoms stop, something strikes the back of your head. 

Blinding pain erupts through your skull, and Geralt shouts with you as you crumple to the ground. Everything has gone blurry - the voices around you are muffled, but you can see Geralt, laying on the ground and barely moving.

We’re going to die, you think, cheek pressing into the soft dirt under you. Colors spin before your drooping eyes and the urge to vomit again comes and goes. We’re going to die, and it’s my fault.

 A heaviness takes over you. The pain is lulling you away, taking you somewhere far from this place. In the last moments, as the world fades, you hear screaming - multiple men screaming - and noises that can only mean death. 

Then, everything turns to darkness.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix @enrapturedbythemoon @angie2274

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt x you #geralt/reader #geralt of rivia x you #mywriting

[cosmos-coma]

was thinking all night of an eskel request, and i think i finally got one! eskel pining for the reader while at kaer morhen for the winter, maybe some teasing from the other witchers? super in the mood for fluff, so if you get around to this, extra cuteness plsss and thank you!

Before the Snow is Gone

A/N: My friend I will ALWAYS be happy to write up your requests. I'll admit that I really struggled with this one for some reason, but I hope I made it comedic and fluffy for you!

Pairing: Eskel X Reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: bit of angst and depression (from Eskel)

_______________________

Geralt and Lambert poked their head around the frame of the kitchen door as another sigh came from the room. There they watched Eskel look forlornly into the stew pot as he stirred, his eyes and thoughts somewhere far from here. 

“Is he still sighing about missing his lover?” Lambert whispered to his white-haired brother, watching as Eskel began rummaging through the spice jars, looking depressed at each and every option.

“He’s been like this for 2 weeks and we’re only a month into winter... Even Lil Bleater can’t cheer him up like she used to.” Geralt said, shaking his head as he watched his brother finally settle on a spice and add it to the pot. 

“What are we looking at?” Asked Yennefer's voice as her head appeared between the two men. 

“Is Eskel moping again?” Jaskier asked now, his head poking out above everyone else’s. 

Geralt blinked as he looked up at his bard. “Jask, you’re shorter than I am. How are you-?” 

“I’m standing on a chair…” he admitted as everyone pulled away from the doorway to talk face to face. 

“There has to be something we can do. I don't want to eat sad stew again.” Lambert complained with arms crossed. 

Yennefer was the first to pipe up this time, “I... think I may have an idea..”

----

Lil Bleater propped herself up on his legs, baaing and begging for attention as Eskel took care of the other stable animals. She huffed when she didn’t immediately get the petting she craved and stamped her feet against him. 

“I’m sorry, Kiddo… I guess I’m just not really here right now.” He said as he finally took the time to pause and look down at her frustrated grunts. Another sigh left his lips as he kneeled down to pet her and jostle her horns in a weak effort to play. He knew he wasn’t being any fun lately and he knew everyone else could see it. Hell, Vesemir even tried to have a talk with him the other week, but it had little effect. 

He couldn’t help it if he missed you so greatly. He had spent his warmer months being by your side as much as he could. Memorizing your voice, your eyes, and the feel of your hand in his as much as he could so it would all be perfect in his memory when winter came. 

But now… now it was only making it more glaringly obvious that you really weren't by his side. That you weren’t truly there to whisper to him in the dead of night when he can't sleep, nor to smile at him as you simply passed by. 

“I don't know what I'm gonna do for the rest of the winter, Bleater… it’s getting hard just to get out of bed each morning, let alone go through my chores.” He mumbled softly to the bright-eyed kid. “I’m a witcher, you know? I should be better than this… I’ve faced vampires, and dragons, so-” he paused for a moment as he idly scratched Lil Bleater’s chin.  “So why is it so hard to leave...? Even when I know I’ll be back…”

Lil Bleater only quietly baaed in response, trying to soothe her dedicated caretaker, but not sure how. So she does what all goats do best- she chews on his fingers. 

Another sigh from the soft-hearted witcher, this time with a small smile, “I Love them so much…” he mumbled out, getting lost in his own thoughts again, until an unexpected voice pulled him back with a snap. 

“I Love you too, Eskel.” 

He blinked as he heard it. That was… your voice…? That was your voice! It was you! Eskel spun around to face where the sound came from and nearly dropped Lil Bleater back to the ground when he saw you.

There you stood in the open stable doors, wrapped in your warm winter clothes, cheeks ruddy from the cold, and a big bundle of clothes in your hands. Your breath puffed up in front of your face as you dropped your bag and ran straight into his arms. 

Eskel could hardly contain his excitement as your beaming face came running into his embrace. “You’re here..! but, how…?” Eskel asked, hugging you tight against his chest and drinking in your scent. Soft kisses pressed against your forehead and your temple as you tried to answer, but you couldn't get your words out past the laughter bubbling from you.

“We thought you could use a visit...” came Yennefers voice as she also drifted into view of the stable doors, followed by Geralt, Lambert, and Jaskier. “You’ve been moping about for weeks now and I figured it's easy enough to conjure a portal,” she shrugged, “I open up another portal Home in a few days, so enjoy it.” 

“Geralt, Lambert, and I are also gonna take care of your chores, so you can enjoy your time together.” Jaskier chimed in with a thumbs up and that characteristic charming smile,“and that time starts now, so go on and get out of here! Shoo! Go be gross and in love,” he said, quickly ushering you two out and tossing your bundle of clothes at Eskel. 

Laughter trailed behind you two as Eskel led you inside so you could settle down. However, Eskel rumbled with quiet excitement, and as quick as you settled he was taking your hand to show you everything about the keep. From the kitchen to the armory and everything in between, your beloved witcher just wanted to share every part of his childhood home that he held dear on your first visit. 

“I missed you so much” You mumbled as you took a pause from reading. 

Eskel had finally snuck you away to the Keep’s library at the end of the tour so you two could spend the perfect first evening together. Hot chocolate filled your mugs and your sweet whispers filled the air as you read to him. His head lay tenderly on your chest as he soaked in the warmth of your presence. The fire crackled softly before you and everything was just as it should be. 

“I missed you too… I’m glad you finally get to visit after hearing about it so much” he lifted his head to smile up at you, that notch in his lip tugging it into a larger grin. “And we’ll make the most of our time here. I promise. We can do anything you want- build snowmen, ice skate-” 

“Even just cuddle up under a blanket to fight off the cold…?” you offered with a shake of your head and a chuckle, “I don't care what we do, Eskel, as long as I can be next to you. We could spend the entire visit cleaning up horse shit and- as long as I don’t get any on my face- then I would still consider it an amazing time.”

Eskel’s chest rumbled with laughter that easily passed through your whole body, “I mean- that can be arranged…” 

An even stronger laugh emanated from him as you poked him in the ribs and frowned, “I think I’d rather fall in the lake, Esk. Let’s just take this day by day, okay?” you asked, running your fingers through that lovely dark hair of his. “I love you so much, Eskel. No matter what we do or how far away you are or how hard it is that I can’t see you.” 

You smiled as you pressed a soft kiss to his slightly chapped lips,“and I love knowing that I’ll be able to see you again as soon as the first flowers bloom.”

“Oh, Darling,” Eskel smiled, his expression easy and light as his honey-like eyes melted your heart into a sweet puddle, “I’ll be at your door long before the snow is even gone.” 

___________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight (<3) @dark-academia-slut @madamemelancholysstuff

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel x y/n #eskel x reader fluff #eskel witcher #eskel imagine #Eskel #Eskel fluff #eskel fic #kaer morhen #Geralt and lambert are great brothers #and Yen and Jask are superior friends #tw3 eskel #tw3

[eskelsgirl]

Labour?

(Title is still in the works) This is just a brief prologue. With an abrupt ending. Main pairing: Geraskier, Side pairings: Vesemir/Original Male Character, Eskel/Original Female character. Tags: Alpha/Omega/Beta au, canon divergence, arrange marriage -kind of? Vesemir looks down, unimpressed at the young omega at his feet, even less so at the omega’s beta ‘father’ that put him there. Male omegas were as rare as alpha females, unheard of but not impossible. The boy wasn’t a tiny thing like his omega; he was all limbs and about as tall as his oldest, with no hips to speak of. This wasn’t the first time men have tried to sell their unwanted children off to the witchers to pay their debts. But Vesemir already had enough pups and wasn’t looking for another.

“And what am I to do with him?” Vesemir asks, looking back up at the court. “He’s no child surprise, far too old for the mutations to take.” The beta growls a low warning, which is unimpressive, but Vesemir doesn’t allow the challenge to go unpunished. Growling back louder, a vicious snarl that sends the beta aback. A fraction of a movement caught Vesemir’s eyes: a young girl hanging off the skirts of her maid. The red swollen mark on her cheek would soon become a proper bruise. She was a timid thing, holding on to a well-cared-for doll. “She’ll do,” Vesemir says, his eyes narrowing on the girl. "She’ll make a fine playmate for my youngest.” “No!” The forgotten omega at his feet snaps, grasping Vesemir’s arm, pulling attention back onto him. “You will not touch her.” Cornflower blue meets harden amber, the first time Vesemir had seen the omega’s eyes full of defiance. The pieces clicked; maybe he would have a use for this omega after all. “Very well, then,” Vesemir shacks his arm out of the boy’s grasp. “I’ll take the omega off your hands, as well as his dowry.” “Dowry!” The beta yells, “Yes, if he is to mate one of my sons, a dowry is to be paid,” Vesemir explains, taking the time to now circle around the omega. “Then again, you are trying to cheat your way out of a 1,000 crown contract. You must not even have a dowry for your children.” A few snickers meet Vesemir’s ears, it seems someone else was enjoying the look of humiliation on the Lord’s face. After that, getting the dowry, a horse for the omega, and a bag of his belongings didn't take much convincing. “Go witcher.” The lord sneered, “Do not expect a warm welcome again.” —------- It was a long ride to where ever the Witcher alpha was taking him. While Jaskier was pleased to be away from his father, he will dearly miss his little sister and hope she will be safe without him there to protect her. The alpha didn’t speak much or at all, only deeming him worthy of conversation to command when to rest, eat, and water the horses. Jaskier wasn’t good at silence, so he spent most of the time lost in his head, humming songs or speaking softly to himself. He had made it through most of Hannelore Varidil’s epic poem, which he had memorized years ago. When they had stopped in a village outside of Kaedwen after weeks of camping outside, Jaskier was ready for a real bed, even if it was filled with straw. The Witcher dismounted effortlessly, while Jaskier still hadn’t mastered it. Once his feet touched solid ground, a young boy quickly gathered the reins in exchange for a few coins. “Come.” One-word commands. It seems that all the conversation Jaskier will ever have. Vesemir leads him to some form of market, stalls set up near two established buildings, the inn, and a tailor. Assuming they were heading for the inn, Jaskier didn’t think much but walked forward, only to be stopped by Vesemir. “Finally going to sell me then?” Jaskier couldn’t help the quip as it left his mouth. Then, he braced himself for a smack that never came, only a chuckle. “Not worth the hassle.” Vesemir answered, “They’ll probably arrest me for kidnapping.” “Fair. So what are we doing?” “Shopping.” Vesemir turned to the nearest stall, selling vegetables, and moved on before finding a traveling merchant with what he needed. “A master Witcher,” the merchant smiled. Vesemir didn’t need his secondary gender to tell him what he needed from the man. The Distaste was obvious, but he wouldn't turn down a paying customer.

“A blue Opal pendant to match your omega’s beautiful eyes.” The pendant was beautiful, and its silver wiring suited it better than the gilded sapphire next to it. Vesemir huffed but didn’t correct the merchant; instead settled on a crescent moon-shaped jasper with bronze wiring. “My mate prefers the simpler things in life,” Vesemir admits, holding the necklace in the light. “A young thing such as him-“ 

“He’s not my mate. He’s for my son.” Vesemir growls,

#Witcher #Geraskier #Geraskier a/o/b #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #jaskier #omega Jaskier #Alpha Geralt

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 10

Chapter 9

--------------Kaer Morhen---------------

Back at the keep, the witchers were doing their own thing when they felt faint vibrations from their silver medallions.

The ones from hanging from the memorial to their fallen brethren were vibrating as well.

Back in the library Vesemir, who had fallen asleep after spending the better part of the night researching the books Tris gave him, had slowly woken up the moment he felt his medallion start to hum.

Jaskier, who was holding Aemma, noticed the concerned looks on the witchers' faces. "What, uh, what's going on?" the bard asks in concern.

"It's not another leshen is it?" Eskel asks, concern on his face after what happened with the last one.

"I don't think so," Geralt says, "but just to be sure," he turns to Jaskier, "give me the baby."

Jaskier does as Geralt says and the witcher takes Aemma back to her room. Jaskier follows.

-------------the forest------------------

You could only stare at the man before you in horror, not sure what he was going to do.

The look on his face said he'd spend quite a while looking for you. Now he has found you.

Daemon looked down to you, no change in his facial expression to betray what he was thinking about. He slowly approached you as you tried to get your stuck foot out of the exposed tree root.

Ciri managed to get back on her feet by this time. When she saw the man approach you, she runs and grabs the dagger that fallen off your person when you tripped. She stood between you and Daemon, having the dagger pointed at the prince. 

"Don't come any closer," the young girl warns.

"Ciri, what are you, doing?" you whisper to her, "get out of here."

Daemon stops, and merely tuts in a condescending manner, "point that dagger away, girl. Do you even know how to use it?"

"I'm warning you," Ciri sneers.

Daemon just laughs lightly, amused by this girl's foolish bravery, "do you even know who I am?"

"...do YOU know who I am?" Ciri challenges back.

During this standoff, you managed to wiggle your foot out, finally standing up.

"Ciri, go back to the keep," you tell her, "it's me he wants." "But he-" "Ciri, you need to trust me on this" you scold, "do as I say. Go."

Ciri was reluctant, but she did as you told her. Right as she turned and left, you quickly leaned down, grabbing some snow mixed mud and hurled it at Daemon's eyes, temporarily blinding the man.

"Run!" you shout to Ciri as you and her sprint through the woods once more.

Ciri was the faster runner, so she managed to get a good distance. You on the other hand had some trouble due to the foot that got caught in the tree root. You felt the heavy armor against your back when Daemon caught up with you.

The two of you trip and tumble down a hill. Once at the bottom, you try to get back up, but the prince was faster and pinned you to the ground on your belly. One hand on your back, the other on your head.

"Let me go!" you demand, panting from the chase.

"Thought you could get away from me, Little Lark?" Daemon speaks, panting just as hard as you were, "thought I would never find you?"

"What do you want, Daemon? Why are you here?" you turn your neck as far as you could so as to face him.

"You know why, I'm here," the prince sneers, "you didn't think I would find out?" "I don't know what you're-" "You damn well know what I'm talking about!" Daemon pushes your head back down, "I know, (y/n). I know why you left King's Landing. I know about the child...OUR child."

"No..." was all you could say.

At that moment, you hear Triss calling out for you.

The sorceress had been in the woods collecting herbs when Ciri ran into her and told her what had happened.

"Triss! I'm over here! I'm-" Daemon yanks you to your feet and places a hand over your mouth.

You bite his hand, forcing him to let you go.

"Triss!" you call out, climbing back up the hill. 

Daemon grabs you again, as you struggle to get him off you

Suddenly, vines and tree roots spring up from the ground and wrap themselves around the prince. Daemon struggles to pull them off, giving you the chance to escape.

You get to the top of the hill to see Triss had just cast a spell on the vines to help you get away. "Triss, you found me," you say. "(y/n), who is that man? What's going on?" Tris asks.

"No time to explain. Where's Ciri?"

"I'm over here," Ciri runs up to meet the two of you.

"We need to get back to Kaer Morhen," you say, right when Caraxes swooped in to help his master. Triss' eyes widen at the sight before her.

"Is that a dragon?" "Triss! We need to get out of here!" you insist. Triss shakes out of her trance and opens up a portal to take the three of you to Kaer Morhen.

Right after the portal closed up, Caraxes managed to burn the last of the vines and roots off of Daemon.

Having seen you had escaped once more, Daemon could only growl out in frustration.

-------------Kaer Morhen----------------

When you, Triss, and Ciri had gotten back, you notice the witchers had their armor on and their weapons sharpened. You notice Vesemir was mixing various potions in haste.

"What's going on?" you ask, "where's Aemma?"

"In your room with your brother," Eskel assures, "a monster may have invaded the keep again." "Monster?" Tris frowns.

"(y/n)?" You hear Jaskier's voice as he comes to the main hall, "oh thank the god you're alright," he pulls you into a hug, "Geralt said a monster had invaded the keep."

Your eyes widen a bit when you realize what that monster might have actually been. "The keep is not being invaded by a monster," you say, getting the wolves' attention, "at least not yet."

"What do you mean, by that?" Lambert demands, "how do you know?"

All eyes were on you now.

"(y/n), who was that man that was attacking you?" Triss asks.

"Man?" Geralt raises an eyebrow, "What man? (y/n), did he hurt you?" "It's not-" "A man with silver blonde hair ambushed us in the forest," Ciri blurts out, "he was riding a giant red dragon. He would've taken (y/n) away if Triss didn't show up and stop him."

"Silver blonde hair?" Coen points out, "that sounds oddly familiar."

"It's him, isn't it?" Ciri asks, "it's Aemma's father."

"Wait, Aemma's father is here?" Jaskier frowns in confusion, "I thought you said he didn't know."

You were at a loss for words, looking down in shame.

"...I think it's time you told us the truth," Vesemir speaks to you, handing you the book he spent last night looking at, "the whole truth."

You knew then and there you couldn't hide your past anymore, so you decided to come clean.

"After spending a year or two in Westeros, in King's Landing, I was brought into the service of the royal family," you begin, "House Targaryen. Descendants of Old Valyria, the blood-"

"The blood of dragons," Vesemir finishes for you, "that's their words, isn't it? Fire and Blood?" "Yes," you nod before continuing, "I became the personal Bard to King Viserys' daughter, princess Rhaenyra, after performing at her name day feast."

"Oh, wait a second," Jaskier interrupts, "Aemma is this king's daughter? You caught the man's attention?" "No," you shake your head, "Viserys isn't the father...It's prince Daemon, the king's brother. He's the father."

  The witchers exchanged looks, clearly shocked by this revelation.

"Oh, gods help us all," Jaskier mutters. "Jaskier please-" "Him?" Jaskier exasperates, "of all the people you had to get involved with, it had to be THIS man? (y/n), what were you even thinking?!"

"You're hardly in a position to judge me on my choices!" you point back.

"What do you know about this man?" Geralt asks.

"Oh, not that much, if I'm being honest," Jaskier simply answers, "but based on friends across the sea, this man has a reputation for brutality and lechery. He is known as 'the Rogue Prince'. I never imagined my sister would get involved in such a man."

"I'm not proud of it," you get defensive, "but...Daemon was the reason I got that position in the first place."

"So what, you felt like you owed him something?" "It wasn't like that! I never owed him anything!" you argue back at your brother, "I made my choices, I'm living with the consequences, that's more than what I can say about you." 

"Alright, that's enough!" Geralt breaks the two of you up, "(y/n), you're right. The choices you made in the past are done. We need to plan for right now. If what you say is true, it's only a matter of time before this Prince Daemon finds this place. We need to be prepared."

Right on cue, the witchers' medallions started to hum again.

"Witcher!" a man's voice was heard from outside the keep.

You immediately recognized the voice.

"Come out, witcher! Come out, White Wolf!" Daemon calls out, "Come out and face me!"

Chapter 11

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher geralt #eskel #lambert #coen #vesemir #daemon #daemon targaryen #geralt x reader

[thethumpergod]

More Modern Aiden X Lambert

"The stars are beautiful out here," Aiden remarked, pointing to the sky. "I think Ciri told me that one was called Libra the... something."

"Libra the Scales," Lambert chuckled. "Huh? So you were actually listening?"

"Of course, I was," Aiden replied, sounding offended. "Ciri was imparting very important information, and it was only polite that I listened."

"Damn," Lambert giggled. "Okay, sorry. I think I know a nice spot where we could go and look at them if you want?"

"Sounds delightful."

He led the way to a spot not terribly far from the cabin but distant enough for them to enjoy some peace and quiet.

"Maybe Eskel is onto something; living out in the mountains seems nice," Aiden mused, trying to avoid tripping over a tree root. "I personally couldn't stay too long; I am a bit too social for that."

Lambert never really brought up the challenges they all went through. He wasn't eager to share his trauma with everyone he met. He thought back to Coen and how he just laid it all out there; maybe he was used to doing it by now...

Lambert looked over at him and said, "Eskel didn't really start spending most of his time out in the woods until he got his scars…"

"Oh," his boyfriend paused.

"Don't tell him I said that, and for fuck sake, don't ask him about it," Lambert sighed. "It was hard enough getting him to leave his house after that."

"Well, don't take this as a come-on to your brother, but I don't think he looks too bad at all," Aiden smiled. "I know a few people who'd probably melt over him."

"You aren't trying to play matchmaker like you did with Coen, are you?"

"Me? No, never."

#the witcher #fanart #aiden the witcher #lambert #aiden x lambert #modern au #fanfic #artists on tumblr #cat witchers

[karolincki]

Winter Wonder Chaos

Jaskier and Geralt go to Kaer Morhen for winter. Shenanigans and winter fun ensues.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: none, this is just pure fluff and silliness with cutagens and Witchers who have tails and ears

Read on Ao3

This is a fic for @yakowo as part of the Witcher Winter Exchange from @witcherficwriters . I hope you like it ❤️

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

Jaskier was bouncing on his feet. Next to him, Geralt was chuckling, while he waited for their luggage to arrive.

Jaskier poked his tongue out at Geralt. "Don't pretend you aren't just as excited as I am to see your family again."

"I am calm personified."

Jaskier snorted. Geralt might be able to fool everyone around them, but even when hidden by a glamour, Jaskier could see the telltale signs of Geralt's tail going haywire. He was just as excited to go back home as Jaskier was.

They were back at the Kaedweni airport to be picked up by Lambert. Jaskier and Geralt had both missed Kaer Morhen and its inhabitants, and as Jaskier was able to work from home, they had decided to come here for winter.

Jaskier had never seen proper winter, Lettenhoven and Oxenfurt both being too far south for snow to ever stick around. He was only slightly disappointed when he found out that it hadn't snowed yet in Kaedwen, but Geralt had promised that by the end of winter he wouldn't be able to stand to see snow. Jaskier highly doubted that. Snow was magical and beautiful.

Geralt's stomach growled and Jaskier snickered. "Poor darling, I'm sure Vesemir will have a lot of food prepared for us."

Geralt huffed and slumped down onto Jaskier, who struggled a little to carry both their weight.

"I surely will have perished until then," he whines. "I hope Vesemir made pierogi."

Jaskier grinned and pressed a kiss to Geralt's cheek. His boyfriend was adorable when pouty.

Finally, after what felt like hours, their luggage came and they rushed out to find Lambert.

They had barely made their way outside when Jaskier was nearly tackled to the ground.

"Aiden," he managed to wheeze out and said witcher purred up a storm as he rubbed himself all over Jaskier. Ahead of him, Jaskier could see Lambert and Geralt engaged in their ritual lets-see-who-can-squeeze-the-other-to-death-first-hug.

Jaskier's heart swelled with happiness. It was good to see they have been missed as much as they missed the other witchers.

Eventually, Aiden let go of him to greet Geralt and Jaskier got to experience the death hug himself. It was weird how happy this made him.

The landscape on their car ride was just as beautiful as last time. Winter in the south meant bare trees and everything looked grey and sad. Here everything was still green due to the evergreens. Jaskier sighed happily. It looked like a fairy tale.

Geralt next to him scooted into the middle seat, sniffing at Jaskier and whining softly.

"What is it?"

"You smell wrong." He was shooting daggers at Aiden who was cackling in the front seat. Seeing Jaskier's confused expression, he added "He scented you and now you smell like Aiden."

Ohhh, Jaskier thought, Geralt is just a jealous puppy again. Smirking, he pressed closer into Geralt.

"I guess you'll just have to mark your territory again."

Hunger flashed across Geralt's eyes, but before he could say something Lambert interrupted.

"Oi! If you two try to get it on in the back, I will throw you out! Don't you dare desecrate my car like that."

Geralt just huffed. "Fuck off, Lambert."

"Fuck you!"

"Maybe if you don't want me to desecrate your car, you should keep your husband in check."

Lambert spluttered and from there on the two brothers fought the entire way back, spurred on by pointed comments from both Jaskier and Aiden.

When they finally made it to Kaer Morhen, Eskel was already waiting for them outside. He wasn't wearing his medallion, so Jaskier could see his tail wagging freely. If it were to go any faster Eskel would surely take off into the air.

As Lambert carried their luggage and Aiden back inside, Jaskier and Geralt got greeted by Eskel. Eskel squeezed Geralt just as hard as Lambert had, but luckily he had a little more sensibility than his youngest brother and subjected Jaskier to a human-safe hug.

"How was your journey?"

"Good, Geralt was so hungry, I had to keep him from fishing a half-eaten sandwich out of the trash can at the airport."

Eskel laughed and Geralt grumbled. He sniffed the air and as his eyes lit up he bolted inside.

Jaskier looked fondly after Geralt. "I had half a mind to just let him. Have you seen the prices? It's ridiculous!"

They went after Geralt and Jaskier quickly found out why his boyfriend had been in such a hurry. The entire house smelled like pierogi.

In the kitchen, Vesemir was fending off Geralt with a wooden spoon.

"Dinner is ready in 10 minutes, you will wait until then and not eat half of them already!"

It seemed that Geralt had taken off his medallion too, because Jaskier could see Geralt's ears twitching, clearly contemplating how to best get around Vesemir to steal some of the pierogi.

Taking mercy on Vesemir so that he could finish cooking, Jaskier pulled Geralt out of the kitchen.

"Come on you big oaf, help me set the table, then you will get to eat faster."

Vesemir nodded at Jaskier in thanks as he did his best to manhandle an uncooperative Geralt to the living room. He sighed. Geralt and hunger were a horrible combination.

Dinner was absolute chaos.

The witchers all behaved like over-excited puppies, talking over each other, demanding each other's attention, and not being able to sit still. Even Vesemir got a little swept up in the general ruckus, smiling broadly and egging his sons on. It was obvious how happy they all were to finally be reunited again.

After dinner, Vesemir send them all out to get their energy out, while he and Jaskier cleaned up a bit.

"I hope my boys weren't too much for you."

Jaskier looked up from where he was washing plates.

"Not at all. Geralt has relaxed around me so much, but coming back here is always something else. I love seeing him completely let go."

Vesemir hummed.

"I'm glad he found you. I never thought a human could accept us all so willingly and freely."

Jaskier blushed. Getting Vesemir's approval so freely meant a lot to him.

"Tell me if they should ever get too much, though. I know hiding places in this house not even my boys know of."

The warmth in Vesemir's voice made Jaskier blush even deeper.

"I will. Thank you for welcoming me into your home."

Vesemir smiled back and went to put the dry dishes back into the cupboards.

When they got back into the living room, Jaskier cooed at the sight.

The Witchers had finally run themselves exhausted and were lying now in a big cuddle pile in front of the chimney. Soft snores could be heard and Jaskier melted at how their ears were twitching in sleep. He was curious what they could be dreaming about.

Jaskier looked over at Vesemir.

"Will you join them?"

"Ah, my old bones won't last a night on the stone floor. Will you?"

"No," said Jaskier laughing. "I did once and I nearly suffocated when they all ended up lying on me. Also, Lambert is a horrible kicker, I don't know how Aiden can live with that."

Vesemir chuckled lowly. "He always used to do that since he was a small pup."

Together they moved upstairs. Jaskier flustered a bit as Vesemir pulled him in for a fatherly hug. His family was nice, but none of them would ever have been this physically affectionate. He had to suppress a grin as Vesemir tried to subtly sniff him, making sure he really was okay.

Jaskier quickly got ready for bed. Moonlight was streaming through a crack in the curtains.

Happily he snuggled into Geralt's huge bed. He could live one night without Geralt. They still would have weeks here together.

He couldn't wait to see what was to come.

————

Four days into their stay a scream woke everyone up. Not Jaskier, though.

He was the origin of the scream.

"Geralt, wake up!!"

Jaskier jumped onto the bed where a sleepy Geralt was trying to hide beneath the blankets.

"Get uuuuup! It snowed!"

Why was Geralt not sharing his excitement? Before he could complain more, an arm shot out from the pile of blankets and dragged him under. Shrieking and laughing he wrestled with Geralt until he could free himself. Quickly he jumped over to the window.

As far as Jaskier could see, everything was covered under a thick blanket of snow. It didn't look like the same place anymore. The snow hid the shapes and forms of the landscape, transforming it into a plane of glittering snow in the morning sun. Brightly grinning, he turned around.

Geralt was sitting up in bed, horrible bed hair, and the blankets pooling around him as he scratched lazily at his naked cheat. His expression was still bleary and full of sleep and usually this would be enough for Jaskier to press Geralt back into bed and lovingly rail him, but today he had more important things to do.

Jaskier didn't even bother putting on thicker clothes or socks before rushing outside.

Which was a mistake.

He took three steps outside before running back in. Jaskier knew snow was cold, but that cold…rather rude of the snow.

Quickly he grabbed his shoes and back out he went.

It was magical. The snow was crunching under his boots but it was still so fluffy to the touch. He gathered enough to make a snowball. It wasn't as round as he wished it to be, but it flew beautifully into the distance anyways.

He turned around at the sound of crunching footsteps. Geralt was walking over, a coat slung over his arm and a besotted smile on his face.

"Did the snow make you forget common sense?" he chided gently.

Only now did Jaskier realise just how cold he has gotten in those few minutes outside and he thankfully let Geralt help him get the jacket on.

"Sorry love, I just got too excited."

"Hmmm, I do know that a happy you tends to lose all his brain cells."

Geralt sneaked his arm around Jaskier and gave his ass a playful squeeze. Jaskier gasped in affront, but Geralt kissed him quickly before he could say anything.

"Let's eat breakfast and then we will all go outside?"

Jaskier pouted, but he let himself be pulled back inside.

The others already sat around the table, munching sleepily on their breakfast. Lambert glared at him.

"You couldn't have been any louder this morning?"

"Sorry," said Jaskier sheepishly.

Lambert grumbled some more but let Aiden soothe him which consisted of the Cat simply depositing himself in Lambert's lap and purring until Lambert stopped scowling so hard. It was adorable.

As promised, they all went out after breakfast. Vesemir had some carrots so they began with building snowmen, which quickly ended in a competition of who could build the biggest and most snowmen.

Later everyone will claim it wasn't them, but when the first snowman got knocked over all hell broke loose. It's everyone for themselves and even Vesemir got dragged into the fight.

Jaskier hid behind a snowman. There was a momentary lull as everyone had spread out to hide and restock their ammunition. Carefully, he peaked around.

There, just below the roof of the stables, was a tail swishing from behind a snowman. Jaskier knew that when the witchers were fighting they could hold perfectly still, but in a play fight like this, their tails tended to betray the fun they were having. And this time also Lambert's position.

Jaskier grinned to himself. Geralt had warned him to not spend time below the roof as the snow on top easily got loose and could bury you. He would use that now to his advantage.

Carefully, he aimed one of his bigger snowballs at the rooftop.

The snowball flew and landed perfectly with a thunk. Something cracked and before Jaskier knew it, the entire snow on the roof came rushing down.

"What the — AAARGGHH!!"

Jaskier howled with laughter as Lambert got buried under the snow, muffled curses coming from beneath it. But he wasn't the only one.

He could hear Aiden laughing, in fact, he laughed so hard that he fell out of his hiding spot in the roof beams.

Jaskier's side was hurting with how hard he was laughing. Lambert slowly clawed his way out of the snow pile and immediately zeroed in on Jaskier. His eyes were speaking murder.

"Oh fuck."

Jaskier suddenly had much more sympathy prey of wolves. Lambert took one step forward and Jaskier booked it.

Geralt just laughed at him as he was chased around by Lambert who was carrying the stomach of a snowman to throw.

————

One of Jaskier's favourite winter activities was just lying on a sofa in front of the chimney with a mug of mulled wine while reading a book.

The wolf witchers were more adventurous. They didn't deal well with being cooped up inside all day and went regularly on long hikes into the mountains. Aiden usually didn't join them. Unlike Jaskier, he was definitely fit enough, but as it turned out, the cat wasn't too happy about the cold and also preferred to stay back and lounge in front of the fire.

Jaskier loved those afternoons. Aiden didn't mind a little conversation, but for the most part he also liked to just relax together in silence.

One afternoon Jaskier decided that he had read enough and maybe he could take a nap. He put his book away and yawned.

Aiden looked up.

"Are you taking a nap?"

Jaskier just nodded in affirmation.

Aiden immediately jumped up from the floor and walked over to the couch. He plopped down beside Jaskier's legs.

"Gonna join me?" Jaskier asked, a yawn interrupting further questions.

Aiden didn't answer. He scooted a little closer and began purring as he pressed first his left and then his right hand into the soft part of Jaskier's legs over and over again.

Jaskier smiled softly. He loved Geralt and he loved his more wolfish instincts, but there was something about those cat mutations that Jaskier found extra adorable.

Baking cookies, Jaskier thought. He smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke up several hours later to Aiden nosing at his neck who by now was cuddling him and the sounds of the wolf witchers returning home. Geralt was the first who entered the living room.

"Hello love, did you have a good trip?"

Geralt hummed and sat down on the ground next to the sofa.

"It was fun, saw some rare species. Vesemir thinks they might be repopulating, so that's exciting."

He leaned forward, sniffed at Jaskier, and growled. It wasn't a playful growl, his ears alert and his lips curling, revealing a row of very sharp teeth.

Aiden immediately jumped away, but he was laughing menacingly as he rushed out of the room.

Jaskier looked confused at Geralt. "What was that about?"

He tried to smooth out Geralt's scowling, but he only scowled harder.

"Aiden marked you. He knows it annoys me when you don't smell like me anymore."

Jaskier had noticed before that Geralt loved it when Jaskier took his clothing and looked unhappy when Aiden was rubbing himself too much on Jaskier. That would explain it.

"Bad kitten. Should I tell him off?"

"Do you like his affection?"

Jaskier cupped Geralt's face in his hands who immediately pressed kisses to his palms.

"I do, but I don't like you being unhappy."

"But I don't want to drive a wedge between you two."

Jaskier leaned forward, kissing Geralt softly. Geralt sighed into the kiss, demanding a few more before he would let Jaskier move away again. Jaskier couldn't help but giggle.

"My sappy wolf. Then how about we get a little revenge on them?"

Geralt grinned mischievously.

"I love the way you think. What's the plan?"

"Well, I'm gonna assume that Lambert and Aiden equally like it for their things to smell of them?"

"Yeah, it just feels right."

"Then how about we fuck in their bed, make it smell of us?"

Geralt pulled away, his eyes blown wide in surprise.

"That's mean…they will hate that. Lambert will explode when he finds out."

"Oh, well, if it is too much…"

Geralt laughed. "No, it's fucking perfect. Lambert wanted to take Aiden into town tomorrow." He leaned a little closer to whisper into Jaskier's ears. "I will fuck you until you can't come anymore and then I'll fuck you some more."

Jaskier moaned, his entire body immediately burning with arousal.

"Fuck, yes pleased, Geralt." He sat up and moved into Geralt's lap. "I also think we should practice for that right now."

Geralt growled and caught his lips in a kiss again. It was the complete opposite of their earlier kisses, hungry and with too much teeth, but Jaskier couldn't care anymore. It has been a while since they last had sex.

Jaskier yelped when Geralt suddenly stood up and carried him up to their room without any effort. Another wave of arousal hit him at that casual display of strength.

On their way, they passed Aiden. Jaskier winked at him. The consequences be damned, if this kind of revenge gets Geralt going this much, then he will happily do it again.

————

They all spend most of their time at Kaer Morhen, but from time to time Vesemir sent them out for errands. Today it was Jaskier, Lambert, and Eskel's turn to go into town.

As they'd be among people, the witchers put on their medallions again to hide their more animalistic traits, but Jaskier missed seeing their true forms. He had gotten used to them so much.

But even when their outward mutations might be gone, their inner ones did not.

Eskel was the one who liked to pretend the most that there was nothing unusual about them. When in public he always pretended to just be a regular human.

Lambert did not care for that. He sniffed around constantly, following smells and noises. Eskel had to reign him back in more than once when he tried to walk off to find the source of an especially delicious smell.

They were on their way back to the car when Lambert began to throw snowballs at Eskel.

"Cut it out, Lambs."

"Why, you need to loosen up a bit!"

Eskel just threw Lambert an exasperated look while Lambert continued to throw snow at him. Jaskier snickered on the side. Brotherly love could be a lot. Eskel growled lowly at Lambert when he tried to throw the next one. Lambert stopped for a second and then changed tactics. Now he was trying out just how close he could throw the snowballs next to Eskel's head. Eskel rolled his eyes but didn't say anything anymore.

When they got back to the car, Lambert threw one especially close. Before either of them knew what happened, Eskel had caught the snowball.

With his mouth.

He stopped, startled about what just had happened.

Jaskier and Lambert were turning red in their faces trying to suppress their laughter. The confused expression on Eskel was just too funny.

Jaskier lost his fight against his laughter, when Eskel growled, spit out the snow in his mouth, and tackled Lambert to the ground.

He was in stitches as he watched Lambert getting his ass beaten. Eskel had him in a headlock and was stuffing snow down Lambert's jacket.

"Asshole! Get off me! Nooooo, it's cold."

"Beg me for it, Lambchop," Eskel said now laughing while continuing to press snow to Lambert's face.

"Fuck you!"

Jaskier watched them for a few more minutes and packed the car as Lambert couldn't break out of Eskel's hold on the slippery ground.

Eventually, he gave up the fight. He was trying to nose at Eskel's neck and lick it in a show of submission.

"Are you sorry?" Eskel said, not sounding angry anymore.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Please let me go," Lambert whined, pouting at Eskel.

Eskel chuckled and licked a long line across Lambert's face, who bristled but submitted to the treatment.

They helped each other off of the ground and with a still giggling Jaskier in tow they drove back home.

————

Jaskier loved winter here in Kaedwen. The snow was beautiful, the landscape magical and he had been able to try out so many winter activities like skiing and sledging that he never got to do before, it was just a joy all around.

Every time he thought the snow was gonna melt away there came a new snowstorm, trapping them all inside and laying down a new layer of snow.

They spend their days in front of the chimney, drinking warm beverages, telling stories, and playing games, and Jaskier honestly never felt more at home.

He did start missing Oxenfurt though. And spring. And seeing other colors besides white.

Jaskier would never admit to it though.

With the weeks passing it was getting warmer and warmer. Jaskier knew that by now in Oxenfurt the first spring flowers had sprouted because Priss had sent him so many pictures that he'd gotten rather jealous.

One morning Jaskier woke up, Geralt already getting dressed and looking out the window.

"Did the snow finally melt?"

A shadow flickered over Gerald's face, but Jaskier couldn't decipher in time what it meant.

"No, it actually snowed last night."

"What?!" That couldn't be, it was supposed to be warmer by now! Quickly Jaskier jumped out of the bed and rushed to the window.

"You ass!" he shouted. It had, in fact, not snowed anymore. Most of the snow had melted away and nature was waking up out of its winter sleep. There were patches of early spring flowers all over the fields and Jaskier jumped excitedly up and down.

"Did you get sick of the snow after all?" Geralt teased. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, nuzzling into his neck.

Jaskier huffed. "I'm not admitting to anything. It's just nice to see something else for a change."

Behind him, Geralt chuckled.

"So next winter we will come again?"

"You bet we will.

#the witcher #geraskier #cutagens #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #lambert x aiden #eskel #vesemir #fluff #humor #karo writes

[writingmysanity]

hey! could i make a request for an eskel x short!reader? preferably the same witch reader you always have, just eskel making fun of their height difference and teasing them? (established relationship) ty, i love ur writing! :)

Five times he teased you about your height, the one time you get to tease him about his

Pairing: Eskel x reader

Word count: 2949

TW: slightly NSFW? alluding to it. Also, blood, canon level though.

A/N: Okay so this got a little out of hand. It is much longer than I meant it to be. I really hope you like it!!

Also... unbeta'd completely, if there are mistakes... so be it. Oops.

Silence washes over the forest as the last of the creature falls at your feet- your sword settled snugly into its chest. Eyeing it cautiously, you watch for any movement, nearly jumping when its clawed foot twitches, the last of life melting from its body. Huffing, you wipe your hands at your pants, nose scrunching in disgust at how its blood paints your skin, the stench turning your stomach as you turn away from it, not even bothering to retrieve your sword yet. 

“Esk?” you call gently, whisper swallowed by the shaking of the leaves, a sudden gust of wind cooling the splatter across your arms and face, making you shiver, absently wiping at the crimson liquid. 

“You…” There is a soft gasp, and a lull in his words as he hauls himself up slowly, using a tree as support before you rush over to him, hands shooting out to steady him. Golden eyes meet yours, a weak smile crossing his scarred face teasingly. “Red really brings out your eyes,” he chuckles before grunting in pain, staring irritably down at his arm, slashed by the creature's claws. 

Rolling your eyes, you lift his arm slightly, mumbling about keeping it elevated while you help him to the horses where all of your supplies are nicely packed away. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, you take on as much of his weight as you can, grumbling about headstrong witchers biting off more than they can chew. He just chuckles, shifting his arm to rest on top of your head, his smile stretching into an all out cheshire grin, eyes dancing with mirth. 

“What? You told me to keep it elevated.” you fight the urge to just drop him, eyebrow quirking up at him, unamused. 

“Hysterical.”

“I thought so.”

__

Huffing in pain, you limp towards camp, pausing to lean against a tree to take pressure off of your ankle for just a moment. Looking down, you cringe at the sight of red bleeding through your tunic. 

“Fuck,” you whine, pressing your hand on your stomach for pressure. “This was new.”

Hearing your voice, Eskel pokes his head out through the trees, a smile at the ready but sobers quickly. In a moment, he is at your side, kneeling. You ignore the fact that he also has to hunch over while kneeling to get a proper look at you. Straightening some, he just about comes eye to eye with you, worry swimming in his. Taking a deep breath, you force a smile, hoping it is convincing. 

You know it isn't. 

“If you think this is bad, you should have seen the other guy,” you try to joke, wincing when he lifts your hand from your stomach, gently prodding at the stab wound. He huffs at you, lips tugging into a line, unimpressed. 

“Why didn't you call for me?” his voice is strained, you can hear the anger there. Anger that you know isn't aimed towards you- you know what he'd do to protect you. You shrug. 

“I tried,” you mumble, knowing he can hear you. “They gagged me.” he straightens more, already standing before you can stop him, a growl tearing from his chest. 

“Where are they?” you stop him, lifting your arms to cradle his jaw, ignoring the pain as you stretch. The muscles there work with his restraint, eyes boring down on you. You soften, tugging him closer. 

“Dead,” you promise. He stops, blinking down at you before softening significantly, sighing as he leans down, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. 

“What am i going to do with you?” he wonders out loud, arm wrapping around your middle slowly to tug you closer. Humming contently, you allow yourself to fumble into his chest, resting your forehead next to his heart, tension melting from your shoulders once you're able to feel it thundering under your palm.

“Patch me up?” you suggest after a moment, earning a snort from him and a curt nod. 

“Yeah,” he sighs as he straightens up again, standing at his full height, looking down at you. “Can you walk?”

Nodding you move to push yourself off the tree, yelping softly when you suddenly put your full weight on your ankle, Eskel’s hands shooting out to catch you when you stumble. 

“That's a no, Kit.” he states softly, hands moving from your hips to right under your armpits as he lifts you, your arms being forced straight, taut with the pressure. Your face squishes with your shoulders begin forced up, face scrunching up in distaste as you kick your feet a bit. He dangles you in front of him like a misbehaving cat, amusement painting his features as your feet sway a good foot and a half off of the ground. 

“Say nothing,” you grouch. His silent laughter shakes his frame, and in turn, your entire body.

“Or what?” he muses, laughter subsiding. “You'll scratch me?” 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you grumble, kicking out at him, barely hitting his thigh. 

“No, I feel like you'd like that too much.”

__

Soft brown wood, smooth under your fingertips, carved- and collapsable. Grinning, you thank the shopkeeper, pressing her payment into her hand as you skip out. She just laughs, nodding after you.

Have a pleasant day, she calls after you.

Hugging it to your chest, you march up the steps of the Inn with confidence. That same confidence melts away as you reach the door to your room, peeking in to assure yourself that Eskel is still gone- away on his contract. Heaving a sigh of relief, you slide in, closing the door softly behind you as you plop on the bed to look it over again, nodding in satisfaction. 

Looking around, you smile at the room. It had been more expensive, but it was bigger than you were used to- including a tub for private baths, instead of having to go to the communal baths, again. There is a dresser, topped with a mirror, and in the corner is a small kitchenette, just big enough to make your own meals, if you so choose, two cabinets hanging on the wall behind it. 

Looking out the window, you hum. The sun is starting to go down, vibrant colors painting over the soft blues. 

He should be back soon, and he will be hungry. Of that you are sure. 

Hopping down from the bed, you move to the kitchenette, beaming as you get to use your new stool. Setting it out, you flatten the top, stepping on it slowly to test it before putting your full weight on it. When it holds, you look up, laughing in delight as the cupboards are right in your line of sight, immediately starting to pull things down to cook. 

As you are finishing up rummaging around in the space, Eskel steps in. The door shuts quickly behind him before he looks up at you, his sweet smile stretching further, watching you.

“What is that?” amusement is plain in his voice as he strides to your side, hands settling on your hips to steady you as his sudden presence startled you enough to knock you off balance. Swallowing, you glance up at him through your eye lashes. Even with the stool, he is still taller than you by a head.

“A… stool?” you grumble, hands resting over his. Giving your hips a soft squeeze, he looks down, staring at it, eyebrow arching at you.

“Why?” sighing, you cross your arms, preparing for his teasing.

“To save my knees,” you mumble. His eyebrows shoot up, a shit eating grin stretching across his face as his hands come to rest behind you on the counter, caging you in, a sparkle in his eyes in spite of his exhaustion. “I keep hitting them when I have to climb things.” you clarify, flicking him in the forehead. 

His laugh startles you, pulling a smile from you as well as he playfully rubs at his forehead where you flicked him.

“Sure, Kit,” he hums. “Whatever you say.”

__

Eskel’s hand comes back towards you out of habit, a silent invitation, as hoards of villagers swarm around you, bumping and pushing without even so much as looking up or apologizing. Immediately, you take it, watching the scarred side of his mouth tick up, feeling the size difference in your hands. Silently, he looks behind him, eyes glowing like sunlight, enthralling you- beckoning you like a sunflower to their rays.

“Stay close,” he hums, tugging you closer. Nodding, you rest your cheek on his arm, other hand coming to cradle the back of his arm. He smiles at the sensation, leading you through the crowds, ignoring the sneers and quiet jeers of those who notice who he is. 

You are just about to turn to give that last guy a piece of your mind when Eskel tugs you back to him with his hand firm around yours, giving you a soft smile. 

“How about some fruit?” He offers, voice gentler than usual. A distraction, because while he appreciates that you'd go to bat for him, he would rather you didn't. Too many out there willing to hurt you to get to him. Sighing, you nod slightly. 

“Yeah, sounds nice.” 

Silently, he leads you to the stall at the edge of the village, an elderly woman standing there with crates of different fruits and vegetables that are in season. She eyes Eskel closely, so he stands back as you go looking to find what you'd like. She doesn't say anything to this, only seems to relax some, helping you inspect each piece. Two peaches and a bunch of grapes.

He only steps forward to pay, and to her credit, she sends up the slightest of smiles, nodding to him. He nods gently, handing her the coins before turning back to you, smiling now. 

“Onward!” you cry playfully, making him laugh, nodding. You motion to a group of trees lining the edge of the village, overlooking the lake nearby. You just about melt when he places his hand on the small of your back, smiling up at him. He relaxes the more you head out of town until you're right on the banks of the lake. 

“What would you like?” you hum, holding up the fruit. He looks over them for a moment before grinning, swiping both of the peaches making you gasp at him. 

“These,” he states as a matter of factly, eyes shining like melting gold in the sunlight. 

“But I wanted one of those,” you whine, reaching for them. Giving you your favorite crooked grin, he lifts them well above his head, knowing you can't reach them. 

“Then grab them.” he challenges, tilting his head slightly. Huffing, you look him over slowly, debating on how you want to go about this. The trees aren't close enough for you to use as leverage… there are no rocks, and you'd rather not actually hurt him to get the fruit- besides… he's wearing a cup. 

Sighing, your head swings low for a moment, rolling your shoulders.

“Fine,” you hum, meeting his curious eyes as you step back before taking quick steps back towards him, bouncing on the ball of your foot and jumping. Your hands lift to meet his shoulders, hauling you up higher, your legs coming to wrap around his waist, the motion catching him off guard. Instinctively, his hands move to catch you, one hand wrapping under your legs, the one holding the fruit lowering slightly, forgetting what he was doing for a moment, breath catching in his throat. 

Grinning to yourself, you slide one of your hands to his neck, scratching up the back of his head gently, toying with the hair there watching his mouth fall slack a bit. Taking advantage of his attention now being on you instead of the fruit, you lean up, stretching your neck some to meet his other hand- winding your free hand around his wrist, tugging it down to you slightly, allowing you to take a bite of one of the peaches. Humming happily, you lick at your lips, lapping up what juice that started to run down your chin, looking back down at him.

He is stone, eyes wide- pupils blown. You swear that he isn't breathing, until you lean down, brushing your lips over the scars on his lip. 

“They’re sweet this year,” you purr, teasingly, nose nuzzling into his cheek. “Want to taste?” 

This brings him back to life- earning a breathy groan, “Fuck.”

Immediately, he drops the fruit, his hand wrapping around you roughly, pulling you closer. Looking up at him again, you meet his eyes, dark pupils blown to where you can hardly see the gorgeous darkened bronze. You smile, fingers splaying over his shoulder as his lips meet yours.

__

“Eskel?” you call, trees weaving past you, looking around frantically. Your voice echoes painfully through the open space, fading to a whisper when your voice finds its way back to you, as if beckoning him. Wincing, you stifle your whimper, pausing only to catch your breath, leaning your back against a tree.

“Eskel, please,” you choke out, fighting the trembling in your limbs as you push yourself back up, stumbling back to your feet, moving towards where you heard the screaming earlier. “Just answer me, something. Anything.” you beg, pushing through the undergrowth, ignoring how it cuts through your clothes and pulls at your skin. 

If he was anywhere near, he would hear you.

Soon, you stumble into a clearing, blinking rapidly to adjust to the brightness of the light compared to the dim shadows of the trees. Rubbing at your eyes, you squint. 

“Oh i'm going to be sick,” you rasp, looking at the scene before you warily, stepping further in slowly. Two creatures and a body- a woman. She is laying face down, but you recognize the clothing. She was the witch that was after Eskel, her blackened hair swirling around her, thickened with blood. Looking around frantically, you find Eskel’s sword lying just a few feet from her- both of them- splattered with blood, the brilliant blades searing in the sunlight. 

“...Esk?” you call softly, swallowing. “Love, please… please come out- if you’re hurt i can heal you. Its just me, i swear.”

Nothing. 

Blinking back tears, you slide forward stooping to collect his swords. He will need them when you find him. 

Not more than a few feet away from his swords, half hidden in the grass, is a small body. Tiny enough to be a doll- maybe 6 inches tall. Frowning, you shuffle closer to him, leaning down to poke at it. 

It isn't unusual for witches to use dolls to control people, but it isn't a practice you've seen done recently. And this doesn't look like any doll you've ever seen. The details are too… detailed. They're normally very vague- a piece of the Victim sewn in for the spell to work. It isn't necessary for the doll to look like the target themselves. 

Shuffling forward, you lean over it, gently moving to turn it over, the limbs flopping with the movement, moving more like lead then cloth- and is much too solid. Lifting it slowly, you cradle it in your hands, its head resting snugly in one palm as you look it over, watching with wide eyes as the chest rises and falls. 

There is no doubt who it is- his scars almost non-existent, but his tousled hair and bright red gibson. 

“Esk?” you ask slowly, your voice must be much louder now that you're so close. His tiny body jerks, reaching for his swords out of muscle memory, looking around in a daze, his eyes slowly lifting to meet yours- his brilliant yellow eyes unmistakeable. 

“Kit?” His voice is smaller, closer to that of a child, holding none of the baritone or chill it usually does. The squeak makes your lips twitch, as you look at him with care, nearly melting into the ground in relief. 

“Oh, thank the gods- you're alive.” he winces, rubbing gingerly at his ear with one hand.

“What happened?” you shake your head, shrugging, careful not to jostle him too much in your hands now that he is sitting up. 

“I don't know, you didn't come back last night, and then I heard these awful screams- they sounded like you. I…” you pause, blinking away the tears, shaking off your terror. There is the lightest tap on your palm where he is patting your hand, giving you a slow smile. 

“Okay, Kit… It's okay… Im okay.” he states the last bit with slight uncertainty. He doesn't know what happened. Or why he is this size. You nod, accidentally shaking him in your hand. 

“We uh… do you think Triss or Yennefer would be able to help you?” you ask softly, gently moving to stroke his head, softening. He is cute this way. He huffs at the fact that he finds himself leaning into your mistrations, rubbing his cheek against the pad of your finger. 

“They might,” he hums, the higher pitch making you giggle, pouting when he bites at the pad- the feeling closer to what would normally be a nip. “Hey!” you watch in amusement as his face scrunches up in distaste. 

“Can we just go?” he grumbles, your lips twitching a bit, trying not to laugh at him.

“Sure, love,” you hum. “Would you like to travel on my shoulder or my pocket?” if looks could kill, you'd probably be dead, an eyebrow quirking at you, unamused. 

“Hysterical.” you have to fight your grin, snickering as you place him on your shoulder.

“I thought so.”

__

Tag list: @errruvande @thesleepy1 @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @queenxxxsupreme @screechingdreamercollectorsblog @open--till--midnight @one-eyed-captain-kinky

@seidenbros @cosmos-coma @deanmcogorman @dark-academia-slut  @jessalyn-jpeg @daughterofautumn

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

#eskel x you #the witcher #eskel #basil eidenbenz #eskel x reader #eskel witcher #eskel imagine #witcher eskel #eskel fic #netflix eskel #game eskel #eskel fanfiction #soft eskel #netflix!eskel x reader #netflix!eskel x reader fluff #netflix!eskel #game!eskel #game!eskel x reader #eskel my heart #eskel my love #eskel my beloved

[valandhirwriter]

Pick 3 of your favorite characters. Tell us when and how you fell in love with them. Inquiring minds want to know :)

Then tag 3 or more people, hopefully who aren't shy :D.

3 of my favourite characters.... that's quite the challenge I have to admit. Because I read a lot and had a lot of favourite chars accordingly. But, here we go, I will try to give this a bit of bandwith, because I have character types that speak to me much easier than others.

Boromir of Gondor

When did I fall in love with this character? At about 13, when I first read Lord of the Rings. I remember reading through the story, and wondering why none of his companions would try and reach out to him. Legolas and Gimli waste time arguing whether bow or sword is the better weapon, while beside them their comrade is slowly drifting off into darkness. Boromir also had some vibes of Hagan of Tronege from the Niebelungenlied to me, also a character who is considered dark, fierce and also fiercely loyal. While many consider Hagen the bad guy of the story, I also liked him best. The early picture of Boromir that I had in my mind, was close to the book describtion, black hair, very tall, haunted grey eyes and a scar on his forehead. Naturally when the movies came along, my favourite actor Sean Bean had the role, and the picture changed around a little. Watching his interpretation of Boromir seeded the first ideas for a story arc about him in my brain, though it would take me another ten years to sit myself down and write the story. In that story i then explored many of the questions I had since first reading the novel: What drove Boromir to such extremes? What happened to Gondor? How did Aragorn leaving after the Umbar campaign impact Gondor long.term? Even after finishing that huge arc, I still love Boromir as a character. His story has been with me for a long time, and will hopefully remain with me for a long time still.

2. Raistlin Majere

I discovered the dragonlance books by accident in my teens. And while the quality of the novels can be called into question, their humour certainly still echoes with me. That and... Raistlin. He was the character I found fascinating at once, and not just because he was the only one in the group actually using his brain. Unfortunately the authors had set up his split from the group and later his "fall" in War of the Twins, instead of really exploring the character with more depth. There was so much potential there, so much aspects to tell a story. Raistlin had the potential to be one of those compelling dark characters, who casn make the heroes torn, because while not with them on principle, their help is still invaluable. I sometimes consider writing a story about him, beginning from before his trials at the Tower of Wayreth and building the AU from there. But I would have to take huge liberties, and have yet to find just the right story companion for him. What draw me to Raistlin is his intelligence, also his detachment, his ability to see the situation for what it is, and not need delusions about hope or good, to sustain himself. He sees what is, and doesn't despair but come up with a plan. That nickname "the sly one" hit me hard when I first read about him, because it told me how judgemental those friends of his were.

3. Eskel

Ciri arriving in Kaer Morhen, and getting frightened by one of Geralt's comrades, because his face is clawed up in some manner... I still remember reading that scene, some time in the 90ies. I was curios at once, especially as scarface, ahm Eskel, proved to be a nice guy in the few scenes he had in the book. I liked him, and I wanted to know more about him. I came up with several stories how he had gotten his scars, and who he was outside of just one of Geralt's brothers. Unfortunately the author never bothered to tell us more about him. Then came the games and I was only marginally enticed by them. Some aspects are good, others are meh... and I will honestly admit that I am still so-so about the Diedre tale. Then came Netflix... and wow was I pissed. Eskel needed his own heroic story I decided and well... it happened. He's still my favourite Witcher, and hopefully will remain so.

Honourable Mentions

Lan al Mandragoran

Wheel of time was another series I devoured in the late 90ies (and on as new books came out), and Lan was my favourite character in them. I was sure he would die in Tarmon Gai'don, but that did not hinder me devouring everything about him. And what a confrontation in the last battle. Reading that, i was sure, so sure, he'd not come out of this alive, and so happy when he did. I would love to write a story about him and Tam meeting at the Blood Snow and upsetting the entire applecart of events.

Athos

Athos from the Three Musketeers is another childhood hero, from reading the books (Three Musketeers/Twenty Years After/ The Viscount of Bragelonne) when I was a young teen. I like Athos, is aloofness, his honour, is utter reality-defying sticking with said honour, and also his haunted past. He was one of my first fanfic subjects (cringe, the stories were so bad) and i still adore him to this day.

Tagging @regis-favorite-raven, @do-androids-dream-ao3acc, @lohrendrell and @eskel-loves-lilbleater to talk about their favourite characters and how they encountered them.

#ask game #nice asks #favorite characters #reading

[beth--b]

Fall

“One last contract Jask, we need the coin,” Jaskier muttered to himself as he walked beside Roach. Jaskier looks at Geralt’s unconscious form slung over the mare’s saddle and shakes his head. “For fucks sake what am I meant to do with you now? At least you have some sense about you Roach, I know you will get us to the keep but really it would be much easier if Geralt was conscious.”

It was late Fall and time to head to the keep for the long cold winter ahead. Geralt getting hurt and being out of commission for the trek up the mountain was not part of the plan.

He continues to chatter at the mare and berate the Witcher as he makes his way up the trail. It was going to be a long trip to Kaer Morhen with Geralt unable to lead them. He had made the trip a few times now, and Roach knew the way but it was not an easy journey under the best of circumstances and these were certainly not those.

If he kept talking though he could pretend that everything was alright, that Geralt was just being his usual silent broody self and he was riding Roach. Not that he was out cold and would be for who knows how long. He had taken a contract at the last town near the base of the blue mountains, it was unusual for any monster activity there with the number of Witcher’s that passed through, but a manticore had been spotted nearby and the people wanted it dealt with before Winter set in and no more Witcher’s would be there to deal with it until the Spring.

Geralt had been able to kill the beast but he had taken too many hits himself, along with a dose of venom in doing so. He was low on potions so Jaskier couldn’t just give him Swallow or Kiss to help speed up the healing process and he had nothing to counteract the venom. 

read it on ao3 here

Jaskier had seen this happen before, or at least something similar. Geralt’s body had basically shut down to aid in healing and to let him work the venom out of system, without proper treatment or potions it could take some days for him to regain consciousness. In the meantime Jaskier would need to try to get them to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir would be able to help Geralt once they were there. He only hoped that they made it before the snow set in.

After several hours of trekking up the path Jaskier gave up talking to himself in favour of focusing on his surroundings. He knew that there were many things in these mountains that could kill a man, the path was dangerous on its own the further one travelled, without worrying about wolves or wargs or forktails.

If he was lucky he might come across Lambert or Eskel on the journey but he wasn’t holding his breath.

When it began to get dark Jaskier finally spotted the small cave the Witcher’s used as a place to stop the first night on the trail to the keep. Jaskier sighed in relief and led Roach over the cave. The bard removed the saddle bags and set up their bedrolls before heaving Geralt over his shoulder and laying him out on his bedroll. He got a small fire going near the mouth of the cave and then checked Geralt’s wounds. Satisfied that the deep gouges in his chest were not infected and the stitches were holding well he moved to the head wound that Jaskier had at first thought had killed his Witcher from the sheer amount of blood.

Again, the stitches along Geralt’s hairline looked good. He then checked the more minor wounds and once done, he set about removing Roach’s tack and scrounging up some food for himself. 

With nothing left to do but sleep he lay beside Geralt and carefully lay his head on the Witcher’s shoulder. He fell asleep listening to the slow but steady breathing of his love.

Jaskier woke at dawn and after checking Geralt’s wounds once more and changing his bandages he saddled Roach and tried to wake Geralt enough to help get him back on the mare. He wasn’t confident it would work but finally he got enough of a response from Geralt that with Roach kneeling he was able to get him into the saddle again. 

After breaking camp and packing away the last of their belongings they set out again for another long day.

If Jaskier could keep up the same pace he would be able to reach the next stop over point by nightfall and then tomorrow they would reach the Keep and Vesemir.

“You can do this Jaskier. He would be able to get you there no problem.”

Getting himself some dried fruit and nuts from the saddle bags he set off again, Roach following behind him.

The day passed in much the same way as the last. Jaskier spent some of his time chatting to Roach, he checked Geralt a few times, tucking his cloak in around him, and finally lapsed into silence. Geralt was slightly warmer than he should be, though Jaskier was confident it was just his body fighting off the venom and nothing to be too concerned about. It was getting colder as the day wore on and the cloud cover was getting heavier. It wasn’t unheard of for an early snowfall this far North, it may only be Fall but Jaskier was growing increasingly concerned at the prospect of snow.

His fears came true as it began to lightly snow as dusk approached. They hadn’t made it as far as he had hoped and they would be travelling to the stop over point in the dark at this rate, the path ahead made more treacherous as the snow covered the ground.

“Fuck,” he growled to himself. Feeling exhaustion deep within his bones he nevertheless began moving faster, Roach keeping pace beside him. Jaskier reached out and kept one hand on her bridle as the sky darkened, hoping between them they would be able to keep steady and not slip. He only hoped he would be able to find the cave as night fell.

As they approached where Jaskier was sure the cave should be he slowed down keeping an eye out for the opening to the Witcher’s cave. He knew there were others along the way but he wasn’t sure what they may harbour in their depths so he didn’t trust using them. Most creatures tend to steer clear of the cave’s along here that smelt of witchers, not to mention that there was always firewood and a spare blanket or two and as the temperature dropped Jaskier was sure they would need all the warmth they could get. 

It was now full dark and Jaskier had lost count of how many times he had stumbled, only his grip on Roach keeping him from falling. His fur lined cloak was no longer enough to keep him warm and he was almost at breaking point. Finally he spotted the marker for the cave. Nothing obvious if you didn’t know what to look for, but Jaskier knew and he almost cried in relief at the sight.

Although small, the cave was tall enough that Roach could come inside as well and Jaskier led her in, repeating the same tasks as the night before, though the long day and cold temperatures had slowed him down making everything far more difficult that the previous evening.

Once Geralt was off Roach and covered under furs in his bedroll Jaskier build a small fire near the mouth of the cave, though with his fingers clumsy with cold it took far longer than it should have.

Once he had finished his tasks he sat in front of the fire, trying to get some warmth back into his fingers. Once the feeling had returned he dragged his own bedroll beside Geralts and covered them both in all their furs as well as the couple of musty blankets stowed in the back of the cave. 

Despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come easily and Jaskier lay awake long into the night worried about how they would make it to the Keep the next day if the snow continued through the night.

When dawn came Jaskier had already risen and broken camp. The sooner they left, the sooner they would reach Kaer Morhen.

Geralt had roused enough to drink some water and eat a little jerky before he had passed out again. Jaskier reassured himself again and again that he was alright, his body just needed rest to heal. He had lost huge amounts of blood along with the fucking manticore venom, and if he was human he’d have bled out long before Jaskier could stitch his wounds. 

Jaskier always liked to correct his lover when he said he wasn’t human, though in these circumstances Jaskier could not be more grateful for that fact.

As they made their way out of the cave Jaskier was dismayed to see the snow had continued through the night, the way before him covered in an ankle deep layer of snow. 

He pulled a blanket free from their saddlebags and wrapped it around Geralt as best he could, before pulling his own cloak around himself with a shiver. 

“Come on girl, soon you’ll be in a nice warm stable, we just need to get home. We can do this. We have to do this,” he began to make his way through the snow leading Roach along the path.

By mid morning the snow was falling in thick flurries around them and Jaskier could hardly see the path before his eyes. He was seriously worried that he may not be able to make it, and wouldn’t that be terrible to have made it so close only to fail in the last stretch. 

Shivering, he leaned into Roach’s side for a moment trying to work out what to do. He was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers and toes and he knew that hypothermia would soon become a real concern. He had never been so grateful to be shivering as he knew that meant things were not yet so dire that he couldn’t push on. He briefly checked Geralt and found that the Witcher was cool but not too cold to be worried about. At least that was one thing to be thankful for.

Finally pulling away from the mare he set forth once more. He kept his head down and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. After what felt like years but was in reality several hours, Jaskier became aware of the fact that he was no longer as cold. A part of him knew that there was something deeply wrong here as the snow was still falling and he was now walking in snow up to his knees. He couldn’t feel his toes, could hardly feel his legs for that matter.

He was so tired.

Maybe he should stop.

Roach nickered, nudging his cheek with her nose. Jaskier looked at the mare and remembered why he couldn’t stop. He needed to get Geralt home.

One foot in front of the other. 

He kept going until he reached a wall. He wasn’t sure why there was a wall in the path, why would someone put a wall there?

But then the wall was moving and there was someone speaking with him.

“Eskel?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Jaskier come on, we need to get you inside. What the fuck happened?”

“Geralt, he needs help. Manticore venom, no potions,” Jaskier ground out, he felt like he was going to fall but he needed to tell Eskel, Geralt needed help.

There was muffled shouting nearby and then a flurry of motion as someone lifted Geralt down from Roach’s back and someone else led Roach to the stable. Jaskier was dimly aware of Eskel wrapping his own cloak around him and leading him towards the keep but before he could make it inside Jaskier lost the battle with keeping himself on his feet, numb legs giving out beneath him.

Eskel managed to catch Jaskier around the waist and lifted him into his arms, the bard turning his head into his warmth and going limp in his arms.

***

When Jaskier is next aware of his surroundings he is warm, almost painfully so and his toes and fingers burn causing him to moan.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks, leaning over the bard.

“Eskel? What happened? Is Geralt alright?”

Eskel helps him to sit up and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. Jaskier looks around the room relieved to see the familiar walls of the room he and Geralt share in the keep.

“Hey Jaskier, Geralt’s fine, or he will be soon. Vesemir had checked him over and given him an antivenom and a dose of Swallow. How are you feeling?”

Jaskier took a moment to feel relieved that Geralt would be ok before thinking about answering Eskel.

“Ah tired I guess and rather sore. But I’m alright, at least I think so.”

Eskel nodded as though that was the answer he expected.

“You’ll feel some pain as you warm up, much longer out there and you would have been lucky if you hadn’t lost your fingers and toes, or your life for that matter. You’ve been out for a few hours. Next year maybe try for a slightly less dramatic entrance, hmm?”

Jaskier smiled and nodded. “Of course dear Eskel. When Geralt’s feeling better I’ll be sure to tell him no contracts at the bottom of the fucking mountain again shall I?”

“You and me both,” Eskel agreed. “Now you should get some more rest but before you do, are you hungry?”

“A little, something warm would be wonderful.”

“Alright I’ll be back shortly.” Eskel stood up from the chair beside Jaskier’s bed and headed out the door to get some food.

Jaskier lay back down while he waited, he wanted nothing more than to go to Geralt but he knew he’d never make it in this state. He would eat, sleep some more and then go to his Witcher.

Jaskier wasn’t aware he had dozed off until Eskel woke him with a gentle shake of his shoulder.

“Oh sorry Eskel, didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, yawning into his hand.

“It’s fine Jaskier. Here eat up while it’s warm.” Eskel passed over a bowl of warm stew and sat down beside the bed again, staying nearby until Jaskier finished before taking the bowl and standing again.

“Call out if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied, already half asleep once more.

***

The next time Jaskier woke he was hot. 

While it was preferable to being cold he couldn’t quite understand why he was so warm.

When he finally blinked his eyes open he saw the source of the heat and decided he didn’t mind being a little over warm after all.

Geralt had obviously woken while Jaskier slept and joined him in their bed. With the fire banked high and the extra blankets plus a Witcher in the bed it was no wonder Jaskier was so warm. 

He managed to push some of the blankets away, still feeling warm but no longer uncomfortably so, he settled back on the pillow beside Geralt. He softly stroked a finger along Geralt’s jaw, the stubble making his sensitive fingers almost sting, not that it would stop him from touching though. After a few moments had passed he went to pull away only to have Geralt’s hand reach up and capture his, pressing Jaskier’s palm against Geralt’s cheek.

“Hm stay,” Geralt rasped, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Not going anywhere love,” Jaskier whispered, turning his head and pressing it up against Geralt’s neck. “We made it and I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt finally released Jaskier’s hand only to turn onto his side and wrap the bard in his arms. 

They were both safe and warm and had the whole Winter to spend together.

Jaskier was on the verge of falling asleep again before he forced himself to speak once more. 

“Before I forget Geralt, no more fucking contracts at the bottom of the path. I’m not sure Roach and I will be there to rescue again if we have a repeat of this year.”

Geralt just snorted and shook his head. “Deal. Next time we’ll send Lambert back down the mountain.”

Jaskier laughed and pushed himself up enough to lean in and kiss his Witcher before replying. “Good, though I won’t be the one to tell him that. I like my body parts exactly where they are.”

Geralt just hummed and pulled Jaskier back against his chest, breaths evening out as he fell asleep again.

Jaskier fought the pull of sleep a little longer just to revel in the feel of Geralt against him. Despite what he had said he hoped he would always be there if Geralt needed him. Just as Geralt was there for him.

#witcher trick or treat #treat: fall #hurt geralt #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #bamf jaskier #hurt jaskier #witchertort2

[open--till--midnight]

Ok hear me out, Eskel x reader who is just very... ordinary.

She has a good knowledge of herbs and medicines and patching people up, that’s about it besides a hobby of storytelling and singing little tunes she hears from traveling bards.

Maybe Eskel comes across said reader (however you want) and is drawn in by her for no particular reason he can place. Maybe after a couple encounters after rough contracts, each time ending with her fixing him up and letting him rest in her home till he can leave, he asks her to come with him on the road. Eskel of course being the man he is, would say that it was for healing purposes and a Witcher could always use a medic. But he really just liked the the comfort of readers presence.

-🌲🌾anon

Lessons in Hospitality

eskel x gn!reader

summary | after catching a glimpse of a mysterious witcher, you are captivated. and after a couple encounters, this witcher is ready to take you with him.

cw | drinking until drunk, not proof read

wc | 3100

a/n | so this ask is very similar to my Love Letters series, so if you like this, you'd probably love that, because of this, I deviated from this ask a little bit, but not by much. also, reader is shorter than Eskel, but I don't say by how much

also, i am so sorry for not getting this done sooner, like this ask was from august. but i also have to thank you for getting my creative juices flowing again *muah*

***

You cursed yourself as boiling water splashed your fingers, nearly causing you to drop the pot you were trying to move off of the fire. No matter though, you found temporary relief by dunking your fingertips into your wash basin nearby. And disregarding your scalded tips, the soup would still turn out fine. 

You kept the leftovers hanging over the fire after you ate your fill. Inevitably, you always made too much. Maybe the growing loneliness of your home was getting to you. If one could call it loneliness. On either side of your walls was the endless racket of your careless neighbors. And in front of your home, busy streets and at the back rested ancient woods. You felt a pull towards the trees, wanting the grass at your feet as opposed to the ceaseless mud of the town streets.

In the morning, your day began with a buttered slice of bread while hurrying to dress. The town square was already full of the two dozen children that lived there. A few were missing, but they were bound to show up. They looked forward to Monday mornings as much as you did. With no schoolhouse or teachers, you took up the responsibility of instilling in these children a love of learning and fueling the fires of their curiosity. 

You started by sitting on the edge of the dried-up fountain and began asking the children about their past week. When the usual speakers finished you encouraged some of the quieter ones to speak up. Which they did, they always did what you asked of them. 

When the sun was at its peak in the sky a stranger walked past with twin swords strapped to his back. The children, of course, could not hide their staring. You gazed at the man through lowered lashes, hoping to conceal your immediate fascination with him. But you snapped back when he disappeared through the butcher’s shop doors.

The children’s excitement erupted instantly in the form of questions and enthusiastic statements. Like ‘who was that?’ and ‘did you see his swords?’. Your little town hadn’t seen a witcher in decades, definitely not in your lifetime. But you’d heard the stories and the songs. After you told the children about the job of witchers, they, of course, requested a story. 

Your story took the form of a ballad you’d heard years ago by a traveling bard, the name of which you had long forgotten. 

That night, while you lay facing the ceiling, you contemplated the stranger from earlier. Those swords, those scars, there was no doubt he was a witcher. You wondered what could bring a witcher to your town. You hadn’t heard of anything that could warrant hiring a witcher. Everyone knew there were creatures in the woods, but they’d never caused issues. Perhaps he was just passing through. A small, dark part of your mind hoped he was here for a job, that he would stay just one more day.

His face was at the front of your mind as you fell asleep and it was the first thing you thought of when you woke.

The day ahead of you would consist of running errands for the townsfolk. With no real job you picked up what you could. This was easy since your neighbors appreciated all you did for their children. 

The herbalist needed a root that could only be found in the woods and she was willing to pay good money for you to retrieve a basket of them for her. You knew those woods well, so you agreed.

As you passed the first line of trees you began to feel foolish. A witcher had just graced the town with his presence and what were you doing but leaving town and entering the most dangerous place you could. But maybe that’s why you did it. Your curiosity had put you in danger before, and now you were willingly walking into monster-infested woods for a bit of gold.

The wind whistled through the thick patches of trees. You knew where the roots were and you took no time to get there. The longer you spent in the woods, the more uneasy you became. But the roots were only feet away, so you laid down your basket and got to work, hoping to leave the woods as soon as you could.

As you pulled the last root, you caught the overwhelming feeling of eyes watching you. And the woods around you grew silent, unmoving save the few branches swaying with the wind. A growing fear settled in your gut as you rose and surveyed the area. 

From behind a tree, a witcher crouched, his hand ready to draw either silver or steel. But when he looked out his hand dropped to his side and he stood. 

“You know what manner of creature lives in this forest, don’t you?”

You almost tripped as you spun around to face the stranger who was now leaning against a tree. It was the man from the day before, the witcher. Any fear you felt fled the moment you saw his face.

“I’m afraid not. I mean, I’ve heard stories. We all know there are monsters here. I saw you yesterday, going into the butchers. Is that why you’re here? Did he hire you?”

“Yes.” The witcher’s lip quirked up as his eyes shot down. He, too, had seen you the day before. You had struck him with a curiosity that he hadn’t felt since his youth. 

“Not much of a talker, are you?” 

“How would you know that?”

“Am I wrong?”

The witcher responded with a smile. And when he didn’t speak, you gave him your name. 

He gestured to his chest, “Eskel. And as much as I’d like to continue this chat, I am hunting and you are not only in the way but also in danger. Will you let me walk you home?” 

You grinned at him, “Yes.”

He wasn’t used to being so willing to spend more time than needed with someone, but he felt a sense of obligation to keep you safe. Not that you were a burden, quite the opposite, he had been entranced by you and he needed to know why.

The witcher who you now knew was Eskel carried himself differently than most men. His shoulders were slumped, although you could practically taste the tension he held in them. And though he stood taller than you, it did not feel as though he was looking down upon you. He seemed to make himself seem smaller than he was. You did not know it yet, but it was his resounding effort not to scare away the human who had so quickly captivated him.

“So, what exactly are you hunting?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No, actually. Just trying to make conversation.” 

The rest of the walk was silent. And while this silence comforted you, you wondered if it had the same effect on Eskel. By the hint of a smile you could see from his side, you assumed it did. 

When Eskel brought you to your door you asked, “Would you like to come inside for a while?”

“Maybe another day, I’ve got a job to do.”

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.” 

He shot you another breathtaking grin and turned away. Eskel was thrilled that he’d had a successful interaction with someone so enchanting. But he left you wishing that you had insisted on his stay. He was probably staying at the only inn the town had, you wouldn’t wish your worst enemy there. The pub and its patrons made just about the worst environment one could imagine. You couldn’t let him stay there. He was risking his life to make your town safer, the least you could do was offer him a soft cot and a warm fire. But when you stepped out of your door to call out for Eskel, he was gone.

So at sundown, you went to the pub that housed the inn. And you waited, sitting in a corner, nursing your ale. The hours passed and still no sign of the witcher. You had even asked around, no one had seen him. So you waited still. 

You couldn't count the number of drinks you'd had. But even when your vision doubled, you ordered another. You stayed planted in your seat despite the patrons' many attempts to get you out of it. The reasons for which you didn’t care to ask. 

Another hour passed and the moon was at its peak in the sky, but you wouldn’t notice because you were caught up singing drinking songs with the other patrons. You were rowdy and uncontrollable. You were a prime example of why you avoided this trash pit of a tavern. 

When Eskel stumbled into the tavern, tired and bloodied, your eyes immediately found him. 

“It’s you!” You slid off your chair and neared him, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long. Have a drink with me!”

Eskel saw the way the men at your table were staring at you. He saw nothing but trouble.

“I don’t think so.” He eyed a particularly decrepit looking man who had begun to look agitated. “Why don’t I walk you home?”

“But I’m not done having fun.”

“You said you were waiting for me? Well here I am. Come on.”

When Eskel got you outside he hoisted you up onto his horse and started to lead it. 

“Why aren’t you sitting up here?” 

“Look at me, I’m covered in monster guts.”

“Clothes can be washed, come on.”

Once he had mounted, he wrapped his arms around you to steady you as he held onto the reins. 

“Why were you gone so long?”

“Monster hunting isn’t so easy.”

“Really! Who would have thought?”

“Hush now.”

“Why did you say you were waiting for me? How did you know I would be there?”

“Easy, there are no other inns in town. As for why… That place is shitty.” You could feel Eskel’s laugh on your back and your face dropped. “I’m serious. You’re saving lives and you have to stay there? That’s terrible.”

He laughed again, not the reaction you had expected. “I’m afraid that is normal.”

“It shouldn’t be.” You mumbled before you fell silent. When you slumped against Eskel’s chest, he knew you were asleep only a couple of minutes before your house. 

As much as he didn’t want to disturb you, he ran his hand down your arm and spoke quietly to wake you up. He helped you off his horse and started to mount once more.

“Wait!” You realized you’d never actually asked him to stay at your home. But you found yourself suddenly dizzy. Before you could fall, Eskel had already reached your side. “Thank you. Now. You can stay here if you’d like. I mean my sofa is probably much comfier than whatever they’re calling beds over at the inn.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” You giggled.

When you woke the next morning, the witcher was gone. What he left was a note that read:

I’m sorry to leave so early, but the jobs need done and I couldn’t stay behind too long. 

I thank you for your hospitality, I hope this coin is payment enough.

Eskel

Beside the note was far too much coin for your simple act of kindness. But you planned on seeing the witcher again. So the coin along with the note went into a jar you placed by the door.

Not a night passed that you didn’t think of Eskel. Those golden eyes just beneath his furrowed brow. A jawline that could kill and his oh so kissable lips. And of course his most interesting feature being those scars that lined the side of his face, sexy in their own way. The way they tugged at his upper lip. The image of him never left your mind. 

Of course the rugged man, so rough and tough on the outside, but gentle enough to wake you up without startling you. The way he risks his own life to save others. He had this way about him that just outright captivated you.You were determined to see him again.

And every night, while laying on the cold hard earth, Eskel thought of you. Your humble sweetness. The way you so willingly offered a witcher a spot in your home. All because you thought it was unfair for him to stay at a run down inn. Something so simple, yet it meant the world to him.

He pictured your face and the way it lit up when you saw him walk through the tavern doors. The way your body fit perfectly in front of his kept his imagination running wild. He felt like a teenage boy again, only now he had the freedom to pursue his interests.

You longed for his return, though you knew it was unlikely. While you hummed in the kitchen, wiping off a wet pan, you heard a powerful knock on your door. Uncertainty grew in you. Your home had few visitors, and at the late hour it was, this was highly unusual. 

Against what you thought was your better judgment, you opened the door. It revealed a witcher, doubled over with a hand in the air, falling away as the door fell open fully. 

“Eskel!”

He was covered in blood, but you couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He clutched his stomach with one hand and kept the other firmly planted on the ground. 

You kneeled down and removed his hand from his stomach, now seeing the massive wound. If he wasn’t a witcher he would surely be dead. He went along with your motions to get him inside. You didn’t want him to be laying on the floor, but it was the only place the two of you were able to make work. 

Despite your attempts to stop him, he sat up halfway and started to dig through his bag. After digging around, he pulled out a vial and downed its contents. Only then did he lay down, eyes fluttering closed in defeat. 

You worked hard and fast to stop the bleeding, and even when it did you couldn’t tell whether it was because of your work or if he was just healing that quickly. You didn’t even know if your efforts were worth anything.

Once you were done it was a waiting game. You paced the length of your home. The screams of your left side neighbors could be heard, of course they would choose now to have a go at each other. You covered your ears with your hands and kneeled on the floor beside the unconscious Eskel. 

When he still hadn’t woken by midnight, you headed to bed, having nothing but the hope that he would be there when you woke.

Your hands were shaking when you were getting dressed the next morning. And you barely had the courage to go downstairs and face what may or may not even be there. 

To your surprise, he was there. He was kneeling, scrubbing the blood out of your floorboards.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“I could just get a rug.” 

He laughed, causing his muscles to ripple across his torso. When you processed that all he wore were trousers and your bandages, you tensed up.

“How are you feeling? I know that witchers can heal fast, but I guess I don’t know just how fast.”

“I’ll be fine. Just sore, that’s all.” 

“Impressive. Did you manage to kill the beast that did that?”

“Was no beast, just a man. But, yes, he is dead.”

Not knowing how to respond, you offered coffee, which led to several engaging conversations. Half the day had already passed yet neither of you cared for the lost time. 

“I can’t believe you tried to pay me!” You walked over to the jar by the door and slammed it down on the table in front of Eskel. “Can you not accept a bit of kindness?”

“I know the price of kindness toward a witcher. You deserve it.”

“Well I want you to take it back, please.”

Of course, he refused. That is, until he drew back and accepted the coin back.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

After dinner, and a few ales, you set him up on the couch and headed to bed. Both minds plagued with thoughts of the other. Neither able to quiet them.

And when you woke in the morning, he disappeared, once again. 

In the jar by the door there were now more coins than before. And the top corner of a note was tucked under the jar. 

I’m sorry.

That was all it said. The truth was that the witcher had no idea how to say goodbye to you. He ran through it in his mind countless times. But how could he leave one like you? He couldn’t, was the simple answer.

You cried that night, though you didn’t really know why. The witcher put a spell on you and you swore you were cursed. 

You had seen Eskel one more time after that. Not dissimilar to the way he showed up at your doorstep, kneeling and bloodied. After you patched up some minor wounds a night of comradery ensued. 

It was now a year since that night. You were in the forest looking for plants to show the town’s children. It was starting to get dark, so you decided to head back home. That was until you found Eskel. 

He was leaning against a tree, pulling what looked like a tooth out of his shoulder.

“Need any help with that?” 

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” You carefully started working at the fang, trying to keep calm. That’s when you looked up to see him smirking at you. “I’m starting to think you like playing the role of damsel in distress, Eskel.”

“Well, I keep getting saved by this knight in shining armor, why wouldn’t I like it?”

You let out an uncharacteristic giggle before fully unlodging the tooth from his shoulder.

You walked with him while he collected his reward and then led him back to your house where you made dinner and fell back into your routine of staying up until the early hours of the morning while talking about anything and everything.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Join me on the path this year.”

“Eskel…”

“You can patch me up, keep me healthy. It’ll pay well.”

“I don’t know how well I’d be able to do that. I do my best with you, but I know next to nothing about healing or medicine. And besides, I would probably just get in the way.”

“I guarantee you will not get in the way. I enjoy your company.”

You said yes, of course.

***

ending authors note | i don't know how much writing i'm going to get done in the near future, but if you want to be on a taglist, go to the link on my pinned post :)

#eskel x reader #eskel x reader fluff #the witcher x reader #lilywrites📝

[geraltofriviacollection]

Paring: Geralt x Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witchers world. Will she Survive?

A /N: This is the fifth part in the series. As usual I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate, or copy my work without my permission. Please leave comments! ❤️

Chapter Five

My eyes open and I see I’m in a smaller room. It takes me a second to realize that I have been covered in a blanket. Confused, I lift the blanket up to see that I am stark naked underneath. I look around and see Geralt standing a few feet away talking to Vesemir. I try to move to stand. My legs wobble and are about to Collapse when Geralt slips an arm under my arms.

“Do you ever just stay put?!” He growls and pulls me against him so I can stand.

“No.” I snap at him before trying to get my legs under me. Little leg control and trying to clutch this blanket has made things infinitely more complicated. “Where is Ciri?”

“Vesemir took her to the infirmary.” My frown is the only reason I think he continued. “She’s alright, just a small bump on her head.” I sigh and sag a little and Geralt pulls me a little closer to him. “Are you alright?” He asked me.

“I’d like to know why I’m naked. I’m also a little fuzzy on the details of what happened.” I slur, leaning my head to rest on his chest.

“You’re clothes burned off when you….when you killed Eskel.” He says lifting me into his arms. I choose to worry about the first part of that later.

“I’m sorry Geralt. I… Ciri was…..It was the only way to save everyone.”

“You knew he was going to die.” He looks down at me with a blank face as he lowers me back on the bed.

“Yes.” I said softly looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Geralt.” He moves to the door.

“Me too.” He says as he walks out closing the door behind him.

I lay back down on the bed and the full realization hit me of what I’ve done. Something happened for me to be able to change the story like that. The dread fills my stomach thinking about it.

Later I watch from a far as Geralt tells her to pack it in for the day. She stays frozen for just a moment before Geralt says something and she leaves him standing there. I walk over to him as he stares after her.

Something has changed in her. A fear driven intensity that I watch eat her slowly. I see it in the way she pushes herself. Knowing I can’t do anything about it. The only thing giving me comfort is knowing Geralt pulls her back from the edge.

“You know I don’t think it would kill you to hug her.” I say standing next to him watching her walk to the great hall. Geralt simply looks down at me and grunts before walking. “That’s what you do to people you care about when they’re scared or sad. Now look call me crazy-“

“You are crazy.” He growls lowly continuing on.

“Oh! Who would have thought the great Geralt would manage a joke.” I laugh and hear the faintest puff of a laugh come from him. “As I was saying she’s a teenage girl with no living family and hasn’t had a stable place to live since the fall of Cintra. You are all she has, a bit more emotional support would be good.” I explain to him. He turns to look at me with an eyebrow raised. “Jesus this fucking place..Just give her a fucking hug! Okay?” He pauses and looks down at me.

“I’ll try.” He says and then keeps walking leaving me to stand in the cold grinning like an idiot at my tiny win.

After lunch Vesemir and I begin working on helping me use the energy. The burnouts I feel from using that much always leaves me weak and light headed. He seems to think building up stamina by practicing will help. The old man is sadistic in his training even if it is effective.

“Keep the burn steady in your hands only.” He says walking around me. Using a stick he raises my arms that starts to slip. Sweat starts to slip down my spine as my arms begin to shake. I keep the energy pulsing in my hand, but something begins to change. He says.The energy in my hands flickers. “Hold it. Don’t let it slip.” He demands. The energy begins to burn into my hands and I start to feel dizzy. I try blinking it away but it only gets worse and I start to feel lunch wanting to make a reappearance. The energy goes out and I fall back against the table.

“That was almost not terrible. You held on for a little over two hours.” He smiles. Handing me water. I shake my head at it. The thought of drinking it only makes me feel more nauseous.

“How many conversations will I have to have today about men being supportive.” I mumble. Vesemir holds back a chuckle.

“Lass my job is to make sure that when it comes time to kill monsters you don’t get yourself killed in the process.” He says cleaning up. He’s words only serve to remind me of Eskel.

“You mean like I did with Eskel?” I ask quietly. Vesemir pauses in what he’s doing to turn to me again.

“Eskel wasn’t your fault. He was…he was already gone. We couldn’t have done anything for him. You saved us.” He says placing a hand on my shoulder before. The guilt sill eats away at me even with Vesemirs words. No matter how justified I sill ended someone’s life. “Are you alright?” He says looking over me.

“I’m fine. I think I just need some air.” I say. He gives me a look of concern before I walk out to the great hall just as ciri takes her lunch and training sword out the room. Geralt standing near by fixing himself a bowl.

“You don’t belong here.” Lambert says to me as I start walking to the door. Coen tries to silence him. “She killed our brother.” He shouts I flinch at the sound. He stands making is way slowly to me.

“I’m sorry.” I tell him feeling my eyes begin to water. “It was the only wa-“ I attempt to explain.

“You could have done anything else and you chose to kill him!! That was our brother, but that didn’t matter to you.” He shouts coming closer.

“That’s enough.” Geralt’s voice calls out. “Eskel wasn’t our brother anymore. She didn’t have a choice.”

“You brought your whore here. This is your fault too!” He rages before turning back to me. “Tell me did you like it when he took his last breath?” He asks. “How about his screams when you actually killed him? Hmm? Tell me!” He screams.

“I said that’s enough.” Geralt say grabbing lambert by his collar and stepping in between us.” Anger won’t bring him back and bitterness won’t help is find what killed him.” Geralt tells him as he lets lambert go.

“Oh I know what killed him.” Lambert snarls finally his eyes glaring at me. Coen comes and pulls lambert away. I turn before anyone can see the tears in my eyes and run out the front door.

The immediate bite of the cold and stinging air helps. I leave the castle gates and walk along the wall. I slump against the side of a broken tower. The guilt of his death steals the breath from my lungs. The weight feeling unbearable, the weigh heavier than the bruxa. That was an accident of sorts. I didn’t remember that Nevillen was holding a spear. Killing Eskel was intentional. When I left Ciri I knew what I was going to do. I know he would have died anyway and things would have been worse had Geralt killed him. Knowing these things does nothing to ease the ache in my chest.

I could have tried harder to tell geralt. Warn them about Eskel and maybe given them time to find a cure of at least slow down the process. Knowing the terrible things to come and not being able to change that feel like a weight slowly crushing me. I can’t change anyone fate at the end. That makes my question if I really am here to save Ciri.

I don’t know how long I sit there in self hatred and pity. Long enough to loose what little warmth of sun there was. I make my way past the gate, seeing the fires have already been lit for the night. I stand in front of the door dreading to enter. I push the door open and enter to find the hall silent. My eyes turn to the large barrel of ale sitting there waiting for me.

The more I drink the less real this all feels. Each sip washing my guilt further me like the waves of the sea. Laying there looking at the shithole I’ve somehow called home makes a hysterical giggle burst from my lips.

“I’ve been looking for you.” A voice calls out and I hear footsteps coming closer. Soon I see geralt standing above me.

“Maybe I didn’t want to me found.” I smile lazily at him sitting up to bring the cup to my mouth. He pulls it from my hands before the cup touches my lips. I frown at him reaching for the cup as he pull it our of my reach. “I’d like that back.” I hiccup

“I think you’ve had enough.” He frowns back at me.

“Contrary to Lambert's fine opinion I am not your whore you do not pay me therefore you can’t tell me what to do. Now give that back to me.” I fumed Standing attempting to get the cup.

“No.” He replies. Gently pushing me back down.

“I could strangle you with your fucking one worded answers and all you’re stupid grunts.” I slur swaying as I stand. “I didn’t ask to be here! I was in my world comfortable not in constant fucking danger.” I ranted. “Do you know how useless I feel knowing what happens and not being able to change a fucking thing or worse changing something and then not knowing if I made something worse happen?” He never even flinches at my drunken shouts. “The only thing i did was get you and ciri hurt. I kept eskel’s death from your hands hoping I could help him and I killed him.” I choke back a sob. “He’s dead and I killed him.” I sob header as the words leave my mouth. When I start to turn away Geralt pulls me to him. In my drunken state it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening but once I do I sink into his embrace. Soon the tears stop and I feel drained and tired. I close my eyes promising to rest them for just a minute when I feel him pick me up.

“I can walk.” I say sleepily leaning my head against him. He simply grunts, except this time it brings a small smile to my face.

@sparks363 - Sorry I’m so late ❤️

#geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #butcher of blaviken #geralt of rivia smut #the witcher #witcher geralt

[geraskierficrecs]

Mafia AU Update!

Read the latest chapter in Aiden’s POV here!

Teaser:

“You must be the new bartender Lambert hired,” a low voice murmured a few feet away.

It was only habit that kept Aiden from flinching at the unexpected arrival. There weren’t many people who could sneak up Aiden without him noticing. He turned to watch the scarred wolf as he settled onto a stool warily.

There were only a handful of wolves that did not carry the title of alpha with this much power. Everyone knew to fear and respect the Kaer pack’s consigliere. Great might be the head and heart of his pack, but Eskel remained the claw tipped fingers ripping through their enemies.  Unlike Geralt’s intensity, Eskel kept his power subtle, almost invisible until the moment when he used it like a blade. Aiden could appreciate the skill even if he hoped to avoid becoming a target.

“I am,” Aiden said in an even voice. “Would you like a drink?”

“An old fashioned, please.”

Aiden nodded and busied himself with gathering the supplies he needed. The weight of Eskel’s focus made him avoid the small Rolodex of recipes tucked away behind the counter in favor of trying to remember what an old fashioned looked like from the few times he’d someone else order one. He reached for an orange and carefully muddled a sugar cube at the bottom of the glass. Bitters next, he thought, and poured some over a larger ice cube.

His memory failed him as he reached toward a bottle on the shelf and heard Eskel’s voice call out, “You need bourbon.”

Swallowing, Aiden moved his hand over to the bourbon and quickly finished off the drink as requested. Eskel’s dark eyes picked up the glass with a thoughtful look, swirling the liquid inside. “How long are you planning to stay in Blaviken?”

Aiden shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Our pack always has a place for wolves that prove loyal,” Eskel said, eyes fixed on Aiden’s face like he was peeling away each layer of his expression. “Lambert believes you would be a useful addition. You and your brother.”

“He told you that?” He can’t help but look out into the crowd towards familiar broad shoulders and grumpy frown.

“Lambert wouldn’t have offered the job to someone he didn’t see potential in. He has a bit of a soft spot for people who need shelter.” Eskel took a drink and kept his voice perfectly even. “Some assume that his kindness is a weakness.”

There was a threat in the inhuman glint in the consigliere’s eyes. Unlike Geralt and Lambert, Eskel allowed his wolf to linger at the forefront of his features, working in unison like a well oiled machine.  Aiden was reminded of the rumors of bodies staked out in enemy pack lands and the way the crowd avoided getting too close to Eskel as he moved around him. This was a predator created to hunt other predators.

Aiden had no doubt Eske would burn the world to ash to protect his brothers and he recognized the same monster lurking in his own chest. So he offered Eske a rare bit of truth.

“I am not here to harm the Kaer pack.”

#lambert/aiden #geraskier #modern au #mafia au #werewolf au #werewolf mates #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier #hurt aiden #hurt geralt #top geralt #bottom jaskier #my stuff #angst #angst with a happy ending #geraltxjaskier #jaskier/geralt #geralt/jaskier #protective geralt #protective jaskier

[flowercrown-bard]

I love the marriage AU so much <3 Mutual pining and dumbassery, it's the best! May I ask did you make any plans/ideas what exactly everyone "gets" out of the marriage? Like the political boons each side gets from it? If it works out well for the witchers, then maybe a few years down the line Jaskier might set up Kaer Morhen real nice and have diplomats come in and set up marriage arrangements for Eskel and Lambert as well. Or just generally treaties with other countries :3

Thank you so much dear <3 that seriously means a lot to me! I am happy to confess that I have not planned a single thing. I only wanted to write a very specific scene and the arranged marriage was just a convenient setting. I do have thoughts about a reason for why they have married but it's pretty much exactly what @imjusthereforthecatpictures wrote in their incredible Eskel/Jaskier arranged marriage au "The Best of It" and they put it much better than I ever could (this is me unsubtly telling everyone to read that fic. It's already one of my new favourites) you know, i really wanted to take a break from writing for at least a week or two, but I have zero impulse control, so here's a little prequel Part 1 / part 2  / part 3  / part 4 / part 5  / part 6

Not a choice

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Lambert gaped at Vesemir.

 He tried to catch Eskel’s eye, but his brother was stubbornly looking at the honeycake in front of him. Of course, Vesemir had made them the stupidly delicious cake for a reason. He had probably thought it would be easier to convince them to agree to this fucking scheme that would ruin their lives. 

Lambert shoved Geralt, who was sitting next to him, making him look up. 

“He’s kidding,” he repeated, a hint of hysterics in his voice. “The old man found his humour in his old age.”

“The old man is right here,” Vesemir’s said sternly, but almost instantly, his expression morphed into tiredness. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “And I’m not kidding. I’m sorry.” Lambert blanched. He could count the times his old teacher had apologised for anything on one hand. When Voltaire hadn’t made it through the trials. When Eskel had returned from the Path with scars so severe that it had taken him two months to look at his brothers without turning his scarred side away. When he had sent Geralt through the second rounds of trials, as Geralt had admitted to him once. And now. Now, as he was telling him that he was bartering one of them away, just so they could have guaranteed work and protection from some poncy noble who had never cared about them anyway. 

He waited for Vesemir to go back on his word, tell them that it wasn’t necessary after all, that they would find a different way to deal with the rising violence against their kind, but Vesemir only averted his eyes. 

Lambert’s stomach churned. If Vesemir was this set on the marriage agreement, then things must be worse than he had thought. His mind went to Coen, who had returned from the Path with scars that hadn’t come from a hunt but from a town turning against him. He thought about the horse he’d had to abandon because the stablemaster had fucking lied and claimed that Lambert was trying to steal it, which had ended with pitchforks and torches being grabbed to run him off. 

He thought about Aiden, who was out on the Path right now, always recklessly claiming that he wouldn’t get hurt. Fuck, but what if he did? What if one day, Aiden didn’t return to him, because some fucking humans took him away from Lambert? And what would Lambert do, if he knew that could be averted, if only he agreed to this insane plan. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see his brothers tense and exchange looks. They must have had similar thoughts as him. They all had friends and brothers out there. 

If they wanted to keep their loved ones safe, then they had no choice.

“Which one of us is it then?” Eskel asked, though all of them knew the answer already. 

It couldn’t be one of the Vipers, Griffins or Cats. As much as they belonged to Kaer Morhen as any Wolf, it was the Wolves themselves, who were the face of the alliance. Not least because Geralt, the famed White Wolf, made for an impressive figure head. Humans loved these sorts of symbols, even if Geralt himself was neither leader nor ever attempted to become such a thing. Not that any of the witchers would have listened to them. If anything, they had made fun of Geralt mercilessly, when they had first heard that people thought him in any way important in some made-up hierarchy. Eskel, with his scars and broad shoulders would scare any possible spouse off, despite being the gentlest of them all. No human would give him a chance for long enough to get to actually know them. And after having witnessed how much Eskel had hidden himself away even from his closest family, neither of them was willing to subject Eskel to going through that again. Lambert, well. No one in their right mind would think of offering Lambert up for marriage. Even if he didn’t have a tendency to be a right bastard - one of his best qualities, if you asked him - he would fight anyone tooth and nail who tried to separate him and Aiden. Besides, in a way, them being together was what had convinced the other Wolves to give the Cats a chance. Without them, the Schools would have never banded together and become what they were now: A unity of Witchers that worked together and protected each other - another thing that had seemed preposterous when Lambert had been a boy, but that had become a necessity, when rumours of another pogrom had made their way to the Keep. 

Another sigh from Vesemir shook Lambert out of his musings.

“I’m sorry,” Vesemir repeated again. His gaze found Geralt, who returned the look unflinching, though Lambert could see his hands clenched into fists. “They asked for you.”

Geralt closed his eyes, taking a handful of steadying breaths. When spoke, for the first time since Vesemir had gathered the three of them together to discuss this, there was a light tremor in his voice, “Who is it? Who’s the one who’ll have to marry me?”

Vesemir reached into the pockets at the inside of his jacket and produced a letter. He handed it to Lambert, who passed it on to Geralt. 

When Geralt unfolded it, the first thing that caught Lambert’s eye was the sketch of a man with fair features and a shy grin. He was pretty, Lambert supposed, if one liked dainty men who looked like they had never even considered picking up a sword. 

He was about to make a teasing remark, when he noticed the way Geralt was looking at the picture. There was a crease between his brows, but to Lambert’s surprise, it wasn’t one of disapproval but with worry. Lambert’s mind ran through what Geralt had said before. ‘Who’s the one who’ll have to marry me?’ From the looks of it, Geralt was quickly coming to the realisation that maybe being married wasn’t the worst fate imaginable. Not for him at least. Apparently, Geralt was someone who liked dainty men. 

Lambert just hoped that Geralt’s betrothed wasn’t someone who had fallen for the bullshit people liked to spread about witchers. Lambert scanned the letter for more information about the lordling, who would invade their home, but all he found was his name. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and next to that, a line written in a different hand - maybe the Viscount himself had added the explanation, that he preferred his betrothed to call him by a different name: 

Jaskier

---

tag list (please tell me if you would like to be added or removed from this): @spookylostboy @justablobfish @karolincki  @flosimo @rebrandedbard @hollowxo @silvertonguelover @inanoldhousewrites @yaskefer @emotional-support-fandom @fandoms-princess @kore888 @fen-thenobling @geraskier-thots @strippiluolamies @sharinalein @slumberingcorpse @elle-ja-bell @bellathecatastrophe @hockles @ban-aard 

#alright that's enough procrastination for today #thank you <3 #arranged marriage au #geraskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #geralt #witcher #the witcher #my writing #fic #fanfic #fic rec #seriously that Jaskel fic has stolen my heart #and it explains the reasons for the marriage so much better than me #this thing i just wrote has nothing original to it #there's no way i could come up with anything that makes more sense than what I #imjusthereforthecatpictures wrote