#jaskier x siren!reader
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Benevolent Creatures (Jaskier x siren!reader)
A/N: Hi babes!!! I will be posting a little something shortly to just explain a couple things but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this!
Warnings: nothing outside of canon for the Witcher Netflix
Word Count: 4.5k
“Where is Jaskier leading us, Geralt?” Cirilla asked quietly. Geralt looked over his shoulder to where she sat atop Roach.
“I don’t know.” He answered.
Just ahead of them was Jaskier. He strummed his lute as he walked down a narrow path of moss-covered stones.
Ciri’s eyes flickered to her right. Something scurried beneath the underbrush.
“How much longer until we get to wherever it is you’re taking us, Jaskier?” Geralt stepped over a tree root, then guided Roach by the reins over it.
“Not long at all.” The bard spoke over his shoulder. “We’re nearly there.”
“And where exactly is there?” Ciri raised her eyebrows. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’ll see.”
Geralt didn't like how silent everything was. There were no crickets, no frogs, no birds. There was no sign of life anywhere in the swamp.
Roach huffed and whinnied, jerking her head back. Her ears flickered back and forth as if she too was trying to find some sort of sound.
“Shh, girl.” Geralt signed axii, calming her down.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ciri furrowed her brow.
The witcher looked to his Child Surprise, then returned his gaze ahead.
“She knows something isn’t right.” He pulled back a branch from a black willow tree that dangled in the path.
Just a few moments later, the walkway opened up to reveal a pool of water. A wooden bridge that seemed to be decaying crossed over the water and led the way to a small wooden structure on the other side of the pool.
The wooden structure— which appeared to be a home —sat up on wooden stilts four feet off the ground. The front porch wrapped entirely around the home. Green moss and vines of all sorts grew along the sides of the structure, appearing as though it was being engulfed in greenery.
“Jaskier!” Geralt hissed. “What are we doing here?”
“Relax, Geralt.”
As he climbed the stairs to the house, Jaskier straightened out his jerkin and tucked his hair behind his ears. But he decided that having his hair behind his ears wasn’t a good idea and made him appear as though he was trying too hard. So he shook his head out to give himself a bit of a roughened look.
Letting out a breath, Jaskier raised his hand to knock on the door. Before his hand even touched the door, it was pulled open.
You stood just inside your home, a soft smile on your lips.
Without so much as a second thought, the bard embraced you in a firm hug. His arms wrapped around your waist and then around your shoulders. He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your intoxicatingly sweet scent.
You kissed his neck since that was all you could reach, your fingers grasping his jerkin.
Jaskier pulled away so that he could properly kiss you. His hand found your chin, tilting your head up.
You smiled against his lips. Your hands came up to hold onto either side of his face. The sound of his heart beating quickly filled your ears. It was a familiar sound you always longed to hear.
He pulled away first, blue eyes finding yours.
“You smell odd.” You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked up at him, brushing your thumb across his stubbly cheek.
You couldn’t quite place what he smelled like, but it wasn’t his usual scent. There was someone else laced with him, someone’s scent that made the hair on your neck stand on end.
“Well, I haven’t properly bathed in days— thanks to a series of unfortunate events.”
You opened your mouth to speak, ready to offer him a bath, but you heard movement to your right. You turned your head, eyes landing on the witcher and the child Jaskier had been traveling with.
You could sense her Chaos, the powerful aura radiating off of the girl. But she wasn’t what concerned you.
The white haired witcher carried twin swords on his back. A part of you wondered if they were the same swords he had decades ago. The same swords he used to try to murder you with. The same ones that he used to kill your sister.
A scar on your forearm burned from the sight of the swords. Instinctively, you placed your hand over the scar.
You took a step away from Jaskier, brows drawing together.
“Julian, what is the meaning of this?”
Geralt’s nose scrunched as he realized who you were. Your voice was far too familiar to forget. His medallion trembled, causing him to place his hand over it. The wrinkle between his brow deepened with frustration.
Without any explanation to the girl, he reached an arm out to guide Ciri behind him.
The simple action made you even more tense and unsure of the situation. He was preparing to fight you.
A growl began to vibrate in your chest, animalistic and primal.
“What the fuck, Jaskier!” Geralt demanded, drawing a sword from his back.
As you growled once more, dagger-like claws grew from what had once been human nails on your hands.
The bard came to stand between you both, holding his hands out to either of you.
“No, no! There will be no fighting!”
“Witcher.” You spoke through your teeth.
“What is she?” Ciri asked quietly, her question directed to Geralt.
“Siren.” Geralt let out a breath. He didn’t want to let on that he was worried. Should you choose to do so, you could very easily incapacitate him and slaughter Ciri and Jaskier. “Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought us here?”
“We will be safe here for a little while, Geralt! At least until we can get some sort of plan figured out.”
Your eyes shot to the bard, unaware of his intentions. Never had he brought anyone to your home.
“Ciri will not be staying here.” Geralt told him, yellow eyes finding yours.
Your lip curled up into a snarl. Human teeth were replaced with what looked like dozens of sharp canines.
“Alright, darling.” Jaskier turned to face you, reaching out to place a hand on your arm. You turned and stormed into your home before he could put his hand on you.
“Don’t you dare touch me!”
Jaskier followed quickly behind you.
“Y/N, I don’t—,”
“You brought a witcher here to my home, Julian! And now I cannot stay here!” You spun around to face him. Your chest ached with betrayal.
“My love, my dear heart. Geralt isn’t here to cause you any harm.”
“You can’t see into his mind.” You shook your head, walking away from him once more. “He’s already made his decision and decided my fate.”
“He’s probably made that decision based on what he knows of other beings like you, but my heart, you aren’t like them.” Jaskier took your hand to stop you from moving away from him. “You are different. All you need to do is show him.”
You looked up at him, searching his blue eyes for a few moments.
Gods, you had missed those blue eyes so much.
“I won’t beg a man for my life, Julian.”
You pulled your hands out of his and turned to walk away again. This time, you only made it a few steps before he spoke.
“I’ve told you stories of Geralt before, my sweet. You’ve heard the ballads of our journeys. I am so, so sorry that I brought them here to your home.” His eyes fell down to his hands momentarily. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other choice, dear heart. That girl out there, she’s in danger and this is the only place that I know she is safe. And Geralt trusts me, he trusts my judgment enough to allow me to bring her here…. So I-I suppose all I am asking is that you just please, please my love, my heart, trust me as well.”
You looked past him to the front door that was left open. The witcher still stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the porch.
Your stomach twisted with the idea of letting him into your home, into what was perhaps the only safe place you had left. After what had happened the last time you encountered the witcher, the mighty Butcher of Blaviken, you didn’t even want to be in the same providence as him.
“I do trust you, Julian.” You murmured.
Jaskier kissed your knuckles and then your lips, smiling at you.
“I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than that.” You raised your brows as he took a step away from you.
“Indeed I do.”
***
While Jaskier talked with Geralt and Ciri outside, you busied yourself with straightening a few things in your home.
There was a small stack of books that had grown on the kitchen table. You picked them up and crossed the room to the wall of bookshelves on the opposite side of the room.
“I didn’t think sirens were capable of appearing….” Ciri trailed off as she walked into your home. “Human.”
“They aren’t.” You placed the last book on the shelf. “Sirens are only capable of looking like sirens.”
“But you said she was a siren.” She looked over to Geralt.
“It’s…. complicated, Ciri.”
You crossed your arms, eyes set on Geralt.
“Because something is complicated, you refuse to explain it to her?”
The witcher gritted his teeth together.
“You are standing before what is perhaps the last Nixe on the Continent, Ciri.” Geralt held your gaze. “They were nearly hunted to extinction at the beginning of the century.”
“Why?”
“Because they are extremely dangerous. Far more than the sirens you’ve seen from Skellige.”
You tilted your chin up, trying your damnedest to remain calm and collected while the witcher spoke of the truth he knew.
“Every creature must hunt for their food.” You said. “A lion hunts for its food just the same as a fawn. Doesn’t mean the lion should be killed.”
“Your kind turned into a problem when you began slaughtering hundreds of humans purely for entertainment.”
The tension in the air was thick and uncomfortable as neither you nor the witcher backed down from the glaring contest.
Jaskier clapped his hands together, making you look in his direction.
“Alright! Geralt, let’s go outside.”
“Come on, Ciri—,”
“No, she stays here.” Jaskier pointed to Ciri.
Geralt’s eyes shot over to the bard.
“I am not leaving her here with—,”
“Yes, you are.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm. “If Y/N wanted to spill blood today, she would have done so already. You know that. Now, outside! Come on!”
You watched as Jaskier ushered Geralt out of your home and closed the door behind himself.
Ciri looked around your home for a couple moments before her green eyes flickered to you.
“How long have you known Jaskier?”
“A while.”
“Geralt said you were dangerous.” Ciri’s blue eyes looked you over. “You don’t look dangerous.”
You wore an off white dress that brushed the floor as you walked. There was a slit up one side of the skirt that came just above mid-thigh. Over the dress was a dark green underbust corset. You wore no shoes, finding the material irritating and the restriction caused by them unbearable. Brown leather bracelets encircled both of your wrists and ankles.
You twisted a ring on one of your fingers as you moved towards the kitchen table.
“Come have a seat, child.”
She sat down across from you, curious to hear what you had to say.
“My kind…. We are very similar to sirens found on the coasts. We both are only women, and we both can produce what you know of as a siren song. But only sirens can fly, and only nixes can shapeshift.”
“That’s how you are able to appear human? By shapeshifting?”
“Yes.” You nodded, rubbing your arm absentmindedly. “Centuries ago, nixes existed just as any other creature. I suppose you could say we are dangerous, but humans are dangerous as well.”
“How are you dangerous?” Ciri tilted her head to the side a little.
“Just as sirens do, nixes hunt humans.”
The girl shifted in her spot, her eyes falling to the deer mandible on the table.
“Don’t worry, child.” You reached over to offer her a comforting hand, but at the last minute, you decided against it. You returned your hand to your lap. “Julian wouldn’t have allowed you here if I was like that.”
“Nixes…. What did Geralt mean when he said nixes kill for entertainment?”
You let out a soft breath.
“Nixes and humans are very similar, dear. Humans kill for pleasure too. They start wars, they slaughter their neighbors…. But my kind, we had a few slip ups where we went too far…. And there was no going back. For that very reason, we were hunted to near extinction.”
The front door opened and automatically, you stood up. It was only Jaskier, who offered you a gentle smile.
“Ah, sorry about that, ladies.”
“Where’s Geralt?” Ciri asked.
“He had to take Roach into town to be stabled.l since Y/N doesn’t have a stable she could stay in.”
“I have no need for a horse.” You reminded him. “They tend to have a strong dislike for my kind.”
You sat back down in your chair as Jaskier came to stand next to your chair.
“I apologize for his behavior, my sweet.” He placed a hand upon your arm and leaned down to kiss your head.
“There’s no reason for you to apologize for the ways of another man.”
“I hope Ciri isn’t giving you any hassle.”
The girl wrinkled her nose at Jaskier.
“None at all.” You smiled, shaking your head softly. “She’s just curious.”
***
Jaskier took Geralt away from the house in hopes that maybe you wouldn’t hear their conversation. But the witcher wasn’t keen on putting space between himself and the monster that had been left with his Child Surprise.
“I will not go any further, Jaskier.” Geralt spoke firmly, stopping his tracks just a few feet from the porch.
“Geralt, you—,”
“You led us straight to a fucking siren, Jaskier.”
“You don’t understand, Geralt! Ciri is safer here than she is anywhere else!”
“She’d be safer in a wyvern’s nest than here.”
“In all our years, Geralt, we’ve come across plenty of monsters that weren't actually monsters. Y/N is one of those–,”
“I promise you, Jaskier, she isn’t what you think.”
“But she is, Geralt!” A smile came to Jaskier’s face. “I’ve known her for seven years, and I swear to you she is one of the kindest, most gentle beings I have ever met. And-And I cannot have you holding such a harmful bias against someone I love!”
Geralt shook his head, rubbing his brow.
“You said the same thing about the blacksmith’s daughter in Caingorn last month.”
Jaskier shook his head and waved his hands dismissively.
“No, no, Geralt. Love isn’t black and white my friend! It’s shades of gray. Y/N— She is my one true love. The one my heart yearns for every bleeding second of the day. The one I long for when I am away. The one that causes a fire in my–,”
“Does she know your love isn’t black and white?”
“Yes! She does! And she is welcoming to my love.”
The witcher raised his brows. Jaskier let out a sigh, brushing his hair back.
“Geralt, please. She’s someone important to me. I love her and I trust her with my life. Yes, in the past she has hurt people…. But what matters is that she isn’t that anymore.”
Geralt shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flickering to the house.
He wanted to trust Jaskier, but sometimes the bard’s judgment could be distracted by the presence of an attractive being.
“The first time I feel that Ciri’s life is in danger, we are leaving.”
“Thank you, Geralt!” Jaskier embraced him in a tight hug. “And I will speak with Y/N about her…. Hospitality. Though I’m sure showing up on her doorstep was quite the surprise. Y/N isn’t keen on strangers, but she is a sweetheart once you get to know her.”
The witcher grumbled, disagreeing with his friend.
***
With two satchels over his shoulders, Geralt made his way into the house. His eyes flickered around the room in search of Ciri. He spotted his Child Surprise sitting at the table with you and Jaskier.
Jaskier’s chair was pulled rather close to yours, his arm wrapped around yours and your fingers laced together.
For a split second, Geralt saw you smiling as you spoke to Ciri. But then your eyes flickered over to the White Wolf and in the same instant, the smile fell from your lips.
“It’s getting late.” He spoke, placing the bags down beside the table. “Jaskier mentioned a guest room where Ciri could rest.”
“Just down the hall.” You nodded once.
Ciri’s stomach growled with hunger. She smiled sheepishly, bringing her hand up to her stomach.
You and the witcher were the only two to hear thanks to your enhanced hearing.
“My apologies, child. I wasn’t aware I’d be having company.” You frowned, feeling a bit guilty that you didn’t have the proper food for her.
“In the morning, I will go into town and gather what supplies we will need.” Jaskier volunteered.
You stood to your feet and moved around your home, picking up a netted bag.
“Where are you going, Y/N?” Jaskier’s eyes followed you.
“I can’t have her going to bed with an empty stomach.” You gestured to her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. For the meantime, start a fire in the hearth, please.”
As the front door closed behind you, Ciri looked at Geralt.
“I quite like her.”
He grunted and rolled his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to pass judgements.”
“Same could be said for you.”
Geralt turned his head to look at the bard, who moved away from the table to start a fire in the hearth.
***
After a small dinner consisting of fish cooked over the fire, you found yourself sitting alongside the young girl as she asked you questions.
“Are Nixes from a specific area?”
“We can inhabit any water source. Lakes, rivers, ponds, seas.”
“And swamps?”
You smiled a little, nodding your head.
“Yes, even swamps.”
“Where are you from?”
You looked over to her for a few moments, trying to think of a good answer.
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, child, you don’t keep track of something so trivial.”
She nodded her head and fell silent for a little while.
“I think it is a good time for bed.” Geralt stood to his feet.
“Y/N, have you got anything Ciri can change into?” Jaskier asked. “At least until her clothes can be washed tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. But I do think she could use a bath before changing into clean clothes, don’t you think so, dear?”
“A bath would be lovely.” Ciri nodded her head enthusiastically. The poor girl was smudge with dirt and grime. Her greasy hair was pulled back into a braid and she smelled less than pleasant. A bath would be the perfect way to finish the night.
“There’s a pool of water not too far away–,”
“It’s getting dark outside.” Geralt interjected, causing himself to be at the other end of your glare once more. “There are things outside that could harm Ciri.”
“I can keep her safe, witcher.”
Geralt locked his jaw.
“Geralt.” Jaskier said his name as if to encourage him to let you take the young girl out.
“Fine. Ten minutes.”
You nodded once, a wordless agreement.
***
You sat on the edge of the pool of water. One foot was dipped into the water. You leaned back on your hands, your eyes flickering around the edge of the woods.
While the princess bathed, you sat guard.
Crickets, cicadas, and frogs made a beautiful and tranquil sound that resonated through the woods. Every now and then, something would splash as it broke into the water on the other side of the pool. Ciri would jump and turn in the direction of the noise. You would tell her that it was a bullfrog or a fish breaching the surface, and you may have lied a little bit to her whenever the noise came from an alligator. The animals had no interest in coming close to you, so the girl was safe.
“Y/N? Can I ask you something?” Ciri brushed her wet hair over one shoulder. You gave her a nod in reply. “Geralt is usually a very good judge of character…. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so hostile towards someone within the first few moments of meeting them.”
You turned your head to watch a black and white ringed snake slither along the top of the water and away from yourself and Ciri.
“This isn’t my first encounter with him.” Your eyes flickered back to her. “The Continent is unfortunately far too small for those of us unfazed by time.”
“I take it you don’t like each other.”
There was a long pause as you gazed at her, tempted to tell her all the gory details of the first time you ran into the infamous Butcher himself.
“He killed my sister.” Your voice fell to a quiet murmur.
“I…. I’m sorry for your loss.
You sat up, brushing the dirt off of your palms.
“She was the reason for her own demise in the end. Witchers rarely give my kind a second chance. The White Haired One saw us as more than just beasts. He gave my sister and myself a second chance. She could not control her urges.”
“Urges?”
You nodded lightly, reaching your hand out to skim the surface of the water.
“Every monster craves something. Most act on their hunger, slaughtering entire villages to satisfy their cravings. Some act on the pain that rests inside them. They destroy whatever they can get their hands on in an effort to get others to feel the same pain they do.”
“And what is it you do?” Ciri tilted her head to the side just a little.
“Survive.”
#jaskier x reader#jaskier x siren!reader#jaskier x siren#jaskier fic#jaskier#dandelion#dandelion the Witcher#the Witcher 3#the Witcher netflix#Jaskier the witcher#julian alfred pankratz
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-Miscellaneous Masterslist-
Moodboards
Caregiver!Jack (Mary Poppins returns)
Blues Clues Moodboard
Regressor!Flora (Winx Club)
Regressor!Aisha (Winx Club)
Caregiver!Rick O'Connell, Caregiver!Evelyn O'Connell (The Mummy)
Regressor!Bloom (Winx Club)
Caregiver!Amity (The Owl House)
Regressor!Luz Noceda (The Owl House)
Caregiver!Egon Spengler (Ghostbusters)
Caregiver!Thomas Sharpe (Crimson Peak)
Caregiver!Legend of Zelda
Caregiver!Mario (The Super Mario Brothers)
(🌈) Moodboard
Caregiver!Agent Whiskey (Kingsman the golden circle)
Red Themed Cat Moodboard
(🩵⭐🌕🪐🌙🌠) Moodboard
(🫧) Moodboard
Caregiver!Reno Raines & Bobby Sixkiller (Renegade)
(🐋🐬🪼🦈) Moodboard
Caregiver!Marcus Moreno (We can be heroes)
Regressor!Tecna (Winx Club)
Regressor!Musa (Winx Club)
Regressor!Stella (Winx Club)
Bear in the big blue house Moodboard
Bluey Moodboard
Caregiver!Josh (Blues Clues)
Caregiver!Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)
Space Moodboard
Beach Moodboard
Dinosaur Moodboard
Leonardo Moodboard (Rottmnt)
Orange Stimboard
Blues Clues Stimboard
Caregiver!Josh (Blues Clues)
The Wizard of Oz Moodboard
(Birthday) Blues Clues Moodboard
Regressor!Oswald Cobblepot (Gotham)
Regressor!Cheryl Blossom (Riverdale)
Pumpkin Glow Build A Bear StimBoard
Regressor!Sebastian Mcclane (Law and Order)
Regressor!Oswald Cobblepot StimBoard (Gotham)
Regressor!Sebastian Mcclane StimBoard (Law and Order)
Caregiver!James Conrad StimBoard (Kong, Skull Island)
Caregiver!Adam Mintock + Caregiver!Jet Slootmaekers + Little!Sebastian Mcclane (Law and Order)
Regressor!King Clawthorne (The Owl House)
Regressor!Jake Peralta (Brooklyn 99)
Siren Themed StimBoard
Star Trek Themed Moodboard
Regressor!Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99)
Caregiver!Aethelwold (The Last Kingdom)
Caregiver!Edward Nygma (Gotham)
Regressor!Rowan Laslow (Wednesday)
Regressor!Oswald Cobblepot (Gotham)
Blue StimBoard (Blues Clues)
Regressor!10th Doctor (Doctor Who)
Regressor!Kenneth Hutch (StarSky and Hutch -2004)
Regressor!Peewee Herman
Regressor!11th Doctor (Doctor Who)
Caregiver!Arnold Rimmer + Regressor!Dave Lister (Red Dwarf)
Caregiver!Kryten (Red Dwarf)
Regressor!Charlie Hudson (Hudson & Rex)
Caregiver!Commander Mills (65)
Regressor!Wolf Pup Geralt Of Rivia + Caregiver!Jaskier (The Witcher)
Regressor!10th Doctor StimBoard (Doctor Who)
Caregiver!Commander Mills (65) (Fem Themes)
Caregiver!Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99)
Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven Themed
Caregiver!Albert Wesker StimBoard (Resident Evil)
Regressor!Arnold Rimmer (Red Dwarf)
FNAF animatronics (FNAF Movie)
Caregiver!William Tell (The Card Counter)
Blue Themed Moodboard
Caregiver!Jareth (Labyrinth)
Rumple Buttercup Moodboard
Wolf Themed StimBoard
My Favourite Activities Themed Moodboard
Flip!Christian (Moulin Rouge)
Caregiver!Indiana Jones (Indiana Jones)
Story/Fanfics
Caregiver!Platonic!Five Hargreaves x Little!Reader (Means the world to me..)
Headcannons
Playlists
Art
DNI Banner
Bingo, Bluey (bluey)
Dr Flug (villainous)
Bill Hazledine (suburban shootout)
Lloyd (lego ninjago)
Glam (metal family), Papa/Copia (ghost band)
Norman (my friendly neighborhood)
A bear
Dr Habit (smile for me)
Cuddle bear family (calico critters)
Paci Icon
Socks & Muffin (Bluey)
Ghoulia Yelps (Monster High)
Hello Kitty (Hello Kitty)
Italy (Hetalia)
Luigi (Super Mario Brothers)
Winx Club Main Six (Winx Club)
Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael & Mikey (TMNT Mutant Mayhem)
Simon Petrikov (Adventure Time)
11th Doctor (Doctor Who)
Diego Hargreaves (The Umbrella Academy)
#sfw agere#agere blog#sfw littlespace#little space#sfw little post#agere little#aewlittlerambles#fanfics#fanfiction#sfw little community#aewmasterlist#the umbrella academy agere#the hobbit agere#agere lucifer#lucifer agere#maze runner agere#creepypasta agere#winx club agere#the walking dead agere#twd agere#super mario brothers agere#agere super mario brothers#ghostbusters agere#twilight agere#horror agere#house md agere#the mandalorian agere#kingsman the golden circle agere#aewlittlemoodboards#renegade agere
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Collection of Collection of Henry Cavill and his characters
(mostly Geralt)
Originally Posted: 1/18/2023
Will be slowly updating from my likes
Masterlists
@syven-siren’s Fic Rec Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia
@underthe-northernlight’s Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia
@codenamewitcher’s Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia
@scarlettwitcher Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia and August Walker
@aestheticallywinchester’s Masterlist: Henry Cavill, Geralt and Walter Marshall
@queenxxxsupreme‘s Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia
@whitewolfandthefox’s Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia
@brightjimini’s Masterlist: Geralt of Rivia
Series Masterlists
Of Monsters and Men: Season 1 by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
The Thief and the Witcher: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve The Final Part
To Summon a Witcher: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 by @lokispettigerr: Geralt of Rivia
The Girl from the Prophecy by @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall
Is It Because I’m A Woman: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four by @lovingxreader: Geralt of Rivia
Yield: Part one by @rebelhan: Geralt of Rivia
Jaskier’s plan by @anna-pixie: Geralt of Rivia
Safe Passage part two part three part four by @anna-pixie: Geralt of Rivia
Darkness Before Dawn by @waiting4inspiration: Geralt of Rivia
The Last Dragon by @epiphany-of-a-madwoman: Geralt of Rivia
Single Fics
Full Moon on the Rise by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Bound By Blood Part 1 by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Bound By Blood Part 2 by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Curious Travels by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Drink Up by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
The Faun by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Strange Side Quests by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Your Traveling Circus by @falcor-thee-luck-dragon: Geralt of Rivia
Iridescent by @lokispettigerr: Henry Cavill
Wedding Night by @mrsaugustwalker: Geralt of Rivia
Dangerous by @certifiedskywalker: Geralt of Rivia
Jealous by @rebelhan: Geralt of Rivia
One bed by @rebelhan: Geralt of Rivia
Hunger by @anna-pixie: Geralt of Rivia
Stay with Me by @whitewolfandthefox: Geralt of Rivia
Practice Makes Perfect by @kittenofdoomage Geralt of Rivia
Shadow by @ fanficsforfun: Geralt of Rivia
Taking it Dry by @pinkandblueblurbs: Geralt of Rivia
Lust for Luxury by @thewritingdoll: Geralt of Rivia
Happy Anniversary by @foodieforthoughts: Walter Marshall
Charmed by a Witcher by @ladyfallonavenger: Geralt of Rivia
F + A: duke!sy x reader by @cruelfvkingsummer 𖥻 the events that place after finding out that the duke hadn't been faithful
F: his whole world by @shellbilee how baby harper was brought into the world
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The Witcher
Geralt x Reader
Siren’s lullaby - Summary: (Y/N) seeks the Witcher to help her capture the woman that shed the blood of her family. She may have the voice of an angel but her intentions are far from heavenly.
Warnings: Blood, violence, murder, torture, language, nudity, discrimination, abuse/assault your media consumption is your own responsibility, you have been warned 18+
WC- 1.6K
I am hosting a competition to have you character be a part of this new series. fill out this form - HERE
I /
#geralt of rivia x reader#the witcher#jaskier#siren#henry cavill#baby daddy#smut#dark theme#medevial#geralt and roach#yennifer#whitches
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ok first of all you are absolutely brilliant at capturing jaskier!! every time you write him, it just screams canon jaskier. you are an amazing writer!! this is going to be an odd request, but i would adore an au of sorts where jaskier is a prince who falls for a siren?? honestly the siren could have good or horrible intentions. i just need some prince!jaskier in my life 😂 thank you for providing so much for the fandom!! seeing your imagines literally makes my day
Fandom: The Witcher
Pairing: Jaskier x Reader
Word Count: 1,910
Rating: T
Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @kemmastan @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddleston
a/n: I did a little twist but I promise Jaskier is still a prince and reader is still a siren. I hope you like it!
Jaskier sat on the algae covered rocks and closed his eyes, letting the crash of the waves and the briney scent wash over him and drown out his worries. Another day, another fight with his parents. He understood their frustration. He’d promised to take a wife when he returned from his travels with Geralt but he’d become a changed man since that trip. Changed in more ways than they could ever understand, should ever know. He knew his decision to spurn marriage meant the kingdom would fall to another House but it wasn’t worth the trade. He had never enjoyed being a Prince. Well, that was a lie. He enjoyed the parties and privilege and having a captive audience for his performances (though he’d had those when he was undercover with Geralt as well, he’d have you know). But the responsibility and the legacy and everything else was never of interest. He would rule after his father’s passing, unless his father made good on his threats to disinherit him which frankly at this point he’d welcome, but with Jaskier’s passing, so passed the Pankratz line of command.
“Oh lonely one, what brings you to the sea?”
The voice was clear and beautiful, unlike any he’d ever heard before, and Jaskier opened his eyes to look for who made it. The sea was calm and for a moment all he heard were gulls and waves and all he saw was water and rocks and he’d almost convinced himself it was a trick of the wind when he heard it again.
“Prince Julian Alfred Pankratz,” the voice came again. Jaskier climbed to his feet to get a better look but the rock was slippery and he fell. Growing up by the sea had made him a strong swimmer and he was quickly able to reorient himself and began to rise towards the surface again. When his head broke through the water, a woman sat on the rock, smiling at him strangely.
“Where did you come from?” Jaskier asked, climbing onto another rock nearby. He took off the soaking doublet and let it fall with a wet thwack onto the rock. His undershirt clung to him and the woman eyed him appreciatively for a moment before speaking again.
“You are so filled with sorrow, young prince,” you said.
“Well right now I’m filled with saltwater and questions,” he replied. You blinked in confusion and cocked your head as you considered him, trying to puzzle something out. He began to feel nervous under your scrutiny and was about to ask why you were staring at him like that when you laughed.
“What?”
“You’re not human, are you?” you said, but it wasn’t really a question. Jaskier’s heartrate began to quicken. He’d never shared what had happened with anyone but Geralt.
“Are you?” he retorted.
“No,” you said simply. Now it was Jaskier’s turn to be in shock. He didn’t doubt that you were telling the truth but he’d never known someone to be so open about not being what they seemed.
“What are you?” he asked.
“A siren,” you said, extending your arm across the rocks towards him. He eyed you hand skeptically.
“If I were going to drown you I would’ve done it already,” you assured him, but he still kept his hands to himself. “So, what are you?”
“Are you going to try and kill me?” he asked.
“No, you’re far too interesting,” you answered with an enigmatic smile that to any other would have been irresistible. He nodded and then climbed off the rock. You watched silently as he made his way back towards the village, not looking away until he’d gone out of sight.
-----
The next time the two of you met it was him who sought you out. He couldn’t get you out of his head. He’d heard all about sirens. They were the monsters of his childhood stories, compelled by the need to murder unsuspecting men. But you hadn’t murdered him and you’d had more than enough chances. He knew that Geralt would’ve wrung his neck for seeking you out like this, but he didn’t care. He had questions.
He found you where he knew you’d be, hanging around the rocks. He saw you wearing a familiar doublet over your flowing dress and when he got close enough he knew you could tell he was there (though you kept your gaze on the horizon), he propped his hands on his hips and fixed you with a censuring expression.
“I’d wondered where that doublet had gone,” he said. You finally looked his way, a coy smile on your lips.
“You left it behind when you so rudely walked away mid-conversation. It seemed a waste to let the gulls take it away for their nesting,” you said. He smiled and moved closer, perching on the rock he had a few evenings past.
“How do I know you won’t tell someone,” he asked. He’d held the secret for so long, the idea of sharing it with someone and unburdening himself was more than tempting.
“Did you tell anyone you’d met a siren?” you asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, they wouldn’t believe me for one thing. And for another, it felt wrong,” he replied. You smiled at him in a way that told him he’d provided his own answer. No one would believe you, and it felt wrong.
“I’m an incubus,” he said finally. You opened your mouth to accuse him of lying but when you looked into his pale, sky-blue eyes you knew that they held nothing but truth. He watched and waited for your response, more nervous than he’d expected that you’d spurn him or tell him he was a monster.
“I suppose that explains why my abilities don’t work on you,” you said instead, “But… how? Where you born this way?”
“No, I was born a normal human. I left with a friend on a journey, there was a whole situation involving someone who was possessed, I don’t really remember all the particulars but the end result is that I am an incubus. A demon of seduction,” he explained, reciting the story like it was a jaunt to the market instead of a lifechanging paranormal incident.
“Well that must be… odd,” you said, not sure of what else to say, “Bet it makes parties more fun.”
“Quite the contrary,” Jaskier said ruefully.
“But all of the women at court must already be interested, what with your station and your handsomeness,” you argued.
“I haven’t been with anyone since before this happened and I will not be with anyone again,” he said, his tone solemn, “I can’t trust that they’d be acting of their own accord and I won’t place anyone in the position of being coerced.”
“That’s very noble of you but what of the necessary heirs?” you asked.
“There will be no heirs.”
Jaskier felt as though he were back with his parents and you saw the heaviness of his decision weighing on him. You said nothing for a bit, letting the sea’s crashing and the gulls squalling fill the air.
“You’re not what most would expect, Julian,” you said, a newfound respect in your voice. He smiled softly and turned his gaze back to you again and you noticed how his eyes and the water around you shared the same hue, and much of the same depth.
“Jaskier,” he said, “My friends call me Jaskier.”
You smiled and he noted the way the sunlight caught in your hair and freckles from the sun around your nose and cheeks. Softly fading, but still there when the light was just right.
“Jaskier,” you echoed, “You can call me Y/N.”
-----
You spent quite a few evenings like that whenever he could get away. He convinced you to go with him to town a few times. You usually avoided it, not liking the effect you could have on people if you weren’t focused on preventing it, but for him it was worth it. People perked up and showed interest but Jaskier’s attention was soon the only kind you sought. You knew he wasn’t beguiled by your ways, just by you. It was a feeling unlike any you’d ever felt before. Jaskier felt himself grow closer to you. If a day passed where for some reason the two of you couldn’t be together it felt wrong, like something was missing. It wasn’t just that he could talk about his strange new identity, it was that he didn’t have to wonder if the way you glanced at his mouth or the soft press of your hand against his was because of something beyond his control. You were always in control of what you did and said and felt and it gave him a feeling of relief and freedom that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
One evening the two of you were watching the sun set on what had started out terrible and ended wonderfully. Jaskier had gotten into a horrible fight with his parents and been given news. His father’s health was failing. The one thing his father wanted before he passed was to ensure that his line was secured and it was the one thing Jaskier couldn’t give him. He’d cried to you about his guilt and his anger and you’d held him as he cried, stroking his chestnut hair and when he moved to look back up at you, your lips had accidentally brushed. The next time they touched was intentional as Jaskier and you moved in tandem towards each other to bring your lips together again, and again, and again. Now you lay together and though there was still hell waiting him back home, he felt there could be no sweeter heaven than lying here in your arms by the sea.
“What if you did take a queen?” you asked, voicing the thoughts you’d been pondering for some time.
“You know why I can’t, my powers…”
“What if you took a queen who wasn’t affected by your powers?”
You shifted to look at him, your eyes meeting and helping to communicate what you were trying to say. He considered your words for a moment and then the confusion cleared from his face, replaced by hopeful excitement.
“Would you… would you really?” he asked breathlessly.
“Of course I would,” you said, “I love you, Jaskier. I’ve never loved someone as I love you and I don’t think I ever could.”
“Are you sure you want to be queen?” he asked, “I don’t want to thrust any responsibilities on you that you don’t want. I want nothing more but only if you want it just as much. All of it.”
You sat up and moved to sit in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned your face closer to him, your eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Oh darling,” you purred, “I was born to rule.”
-----
The wedding of Prince Julian to an unknown commoner was a matter of great scandal and surprise but his parents had been so relieved that he’d agreed to take a wife and continue the line they didn’t fuss. All other concerns were forgotten as more and more people met the couple. Their parties were legendary and their rulings were fair, aided by their choice to have two advisors, one witcher and one mage. The kingdom was able to rest peacefully as led by their strikingly charming new King
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Sunshine Smile
(i found these pictures on Pinterest, don't own any of these pictures)
SUMMARY: You catch a certain someone's eye at a festival in your village
PAIRING: Geralt x reader (2nd person POV /3 person POV)
WARNINGS: none, pure fluff, maybe a tiiiny pinch of angst?
A/N: neither beta'd or proofread, typos we're going down swingin'! This little drabble was inspired by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and the picture she sent me of Geralt. Little note about the moodboard: it's only to give you an idea of the setting and overall mood, the reader is not described in my story.
WORD COUNT: no idea
TITLE: Sunshine Smile
Writers live off validation. If you liked it please like, comment and reblog 💕 thank you for reading 💖
*~*~*~*
The village square was bustling with life, already this early in the morning. The decorations had been already but up yesterday, children had watched the men work with wide eyes, asking their mothers how long now. "One more sleep," they had said, as you listened from your seat on the windowsill, a basket full of flowers next to you as you crafted your headpiece for the festival.
You had heard the excited talk of some girls too, as they went home from the tavern last night. "A bard! And he'll stay for tomorrow!" You were sure the whole village would dance until their feet were sore far into the next week.
As if suddenly waking from a trance, you push yourself up from the windowsill, where you watched the lively morning bustle, and rush over to your small closet, your dress for today already hanging on the door. The nicest dress you own, reserved for only weddings and well, village festivals. The shimmery skirt would catch the sunlight beautifully, you smile to yourself.
Not much later, you find yourself in the village square, browsing the stalls for a nice breakfast, a hard choice; the baker had gone overboard creating the most delicious pastries for today.
You keep on exploring, looking for your friends, a dance in your step, twirling from time to time to the song of the musicians playing at every corner. And then your hear him, the bard those girls had been gushing about last night. His voice luring you across the square towards the small makeshift but decorated stage like a siren song. You gaze up at him in awe, never had you heard a more beautiful voice.
You only snap out of your staring when you're rudely poked in the ribs.
"We've been looking for you everywhere!" your friend squeals and grabs you by the wrist. "Come on, let's go to the others! Let's dance!" She pulls you away, giggling.
The other girls shriek and hug when you reach them, before pulling you to dance. And you dance, twirling around to the bard's tunes with no care in the world.
- Third Person POV -
He doesn't know why she caught his eye the way she did. Maybe it was her dress, the shimmery skirt catching in the bright spring sun. Maybe it were the flowers weaved into her hair and into an intricate crown on her head. Or maybe it was her bright smile, the joy on her face and in her voice as she talked to the girls around her. He didn't know, but what he knew was that by merely watching her, his mood had lifted by a lot. She was sunshine incarnate.
When the bard told him about the festival in the village they'd pass, he was sceptical. He had no desire of staying at a place for longer than necessary. But he changed his mind so suddenly. When he saw her dancing, he was glad Jaskier somehow managed to talk him into staying.
This girl... A warm feeling bloomed in his chest and a small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her dance like only a careless girl from a village could. She doesn't know about the horrors of the wild and... At this moment, he was almost relieved. He doesn't know her. He probably wouldn't even talk to her for the duration of his stay, but he wanted to preserve her light at all costs. He wanted to protect her, care for her. Twirl her around the village square.
"No!" he scolded himself. Introducing himself to her would corrupt her innocence. She was the sun and he... he was a large dark cloud. His mere presence was a bad omen. His presence meant death, pain and violence. "To protect her, he must stay far away," he told himself. Even if it meant never seeing your beautiful smile again, which he found himself addicted to all of the sudden.
A small voice ripped him out of his thoughts.
"If that isn't the famous White Wolf!" she said. "I thought witchers were supposed to have no feelings, then why are you standing here with that smile on your face? I must say, it suits you."
His golden eyes focus on her, an inviting smile painted on her lips. He wants to respond, but nothing comes to mind.
"I figured you might be thirsty." She smiles up at the white haired witcher, and lifts her hand that holds a big tankard of ale.
"Thank you," he mutters, taking it from her. From you.
Shit! You weren't supposed to go to him. But maybe... Maybe he can have you and your light.
#The witcher#the witcher fanfiction#The witcher fanfic#geralt of rivia#geralt of rivia fanfiction#Geralt of rivia fanfic#geralt of rivia fluff#geralt of rivia headcanon#Geralt of rivia drabble#geralt of rivia imagine#geralt of rivia smut#geralt of rivia x reader#geralt of rivia x you#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill fluff#henry cavill headcanon#henry cavill drabble#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill smut#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x you
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Kelpie
A series of drownings bring Geralt, Jaskier, and Y/N to small river town. While Geralt is set to kill the beast, Jaskier and Y/N have other plans to fix the problem.
Basically, Geralt trying to do a job while you and Jaskier mess it up.
Jaskier x F!reader
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You and Jaskier trailed behind Roach as Geralt and his steed led the way. The path you all were on was parallel to a river and there was beautiful greenery all over.
Geralt had found a contract that mentioned a bunch of victims who had drowned in the river. The witcher suspected something was afoot and decided to head the village to investigate.
That’s where you all were headed now.
Upon reaching your destination, you noticed the relived looks of the villagers. They welcomed Geralt like a hero, even though the problem hasn’t been solved yet.
“Now this is the welcome we deserve.” Jaskier said while folding his arms with a grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and smiled.
“Yes, because you and Geralt are the package deal they were desperately waiting for.” You laughed. He joined your laughter, wrapped an arm around your shoulder and said, “Can’t forget about you.”
You both snickered quietly when Geralt glared at you both like a disappointed father. Then he turned his attention back to the ealdorman, who began to describe the phenomenon.
“It’s as simple as this witcher, one by one folk have been disappearing.” He explained as Geralt nodded to show he was listening.
“The contract said they drowned?” The witcher asked. A woman nodded.
“No bodies were ever found, and last we saw of ‘em was near the river.” She explained.
“When did the last victim disappear?” Geralt asked while folding his arms.
“A couple nights ago. Young girl, around eleven, she went to clean her clothes by the river. She never returned.” Another man said.
“I’ll take a look.” The witcher said. There were sighs of relief and many “thanks” and “praise be” were heard. With that, Geralt headed towards the river with his friends (followers) tailing behind him. The witcher stopped at the bank of the river and looked for any signs of a struggle: blood, prints, anything.
It was astounding that he found nothing.
“So Geralt, what do we have? Drowners? Foglets? Sirens? Some other angry water spirit?” You asked with a cheerful smile.
“I don’t know.” The witcher said while walking further down the bank. Soon, his eyes did find something. Hoof prints followed the river bank until they suddenly vanished.
“You know, my mother used to tell me stories of kelpies.” You told Jaskier. Both of you decided to rest under a tree while Geralt did his witchering.
“Those fairy horses?” Jaskier asked. You nodded, explaining how you found the stories creepy and it definitely kept you away from any body of water until you were older.
“That’s it.” Geralt said, getting your guys’ attention.
‘What’s it?” Jaskier asked, exceptionally confused.
“A kelpie.” He said while walking back to the village.
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“Any strange equine sightings?” Geralt asked the ealdorman upon returning to the village.
“That’s quite specific?” Was the response.
“Just answer the question.” The witcher demanded.
“Well, nothing strange about a wild horse roaming about.” He said with a slight laugh.
“Wrong.” Geralt deadpanned. People began to listen in and the ealdorman gave him a confused look.
“The monster who’s killed your people is a kelpie.” The witcher explained. “It usually takes the form of a horse and bewitches people onto its back, where they can’t get off. Then the kelpie lunges back into the body of water it came from, and drowns their victims.”
“How do you get rid of it?” A villager asked.
“It’s your typical specter, so don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it.” Geralt said and everyone looked relieved. While Geralt was preparing for his fight with the kelpie, you and Jaskier were making your own plans.
“You know, Jaskier, there is another way to get rid of the kelpie.” You said with a cunning smile, finger to your chin.
“Oh really?” Jaskier asked in the same mischievous tone. You told him about how you could tame a kelpie with a golden bridle. Then you could sit on its back without dying and it would be yours until you set it free.
“Interesting.” Jaskier said. “Now wait, won’t this make Geralt mad?”
You shrugged, smirked, and walked over to the stables where a man was cleaning the stalls. You grabbed a bridle that was hanging on the wall and asked with a smile, “Can I borrow this?”
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Geralt sat quietly by the river bank, eyes closed in deep meditation. His silver sword, doused in specter oil, sitting on his lap.
Meanwhile, you and Jaskier were hiding in some bushes with a cheaply painted ‘golden’ bridle.
As the moon rose to its peak, a gentle fog settled over the river. Geralt opened his eyes just to come face to face with the kelpie. His eyes darted over the ghostly horse: long black mane that was dripping wet, pale glowing white eyes, long skinny face, and a pitch black body. The witcher quickly got to his feet and grabbed his sword. The kelpie reared on its hind legs and let out a ghostly whinny. The kelpie charged at Geralt in an spiritual sprint.
It was at this point, that you leapt on its back.
“Y/N!” Geralt yelled in shock.
You didn’t acknowledge him as you quickly tied on the bridle.
“You’re mine now, Roach!” You shouted.
It was then that Jaskier went to Geralt, who looked so confused and angry at the same time.
“What is she doing?!” The witcher growled at the bard while angrily gesturing with his sword.
“Is it the name?” Jaskier asked innocently. Geralt could strangle him.
“It’s not the bloody name, Jaskier!” He shouted. “You can’t ride a kelpie!”
“Relax,” the bard said calmly, “a golden bridle can tame a kelpie...right?”
“Oh bloody hell...” Geralt hissed while putting a hand to his face, rubbing it down his nose. “a bridle made of ACTUAL gold, maybe, not some cheap knock off!”
The kelpie whinnied angrily, seeing right through the devious trick, and began to sprint towards the river. You were clung to its back, quite literally.
“Fuck!” Geralt shouted while sprinting after it with Jaskier not far behind. The kelpie was nearing the river, and you were suddenly scared all over again. The water, drowning, all those stories...
Suddenly, the kelpie tumbled down, its corpse lying still by the edge of the river. A silver sword was lodged in its belly and a weird black smoke was draining out of it. You slipped off the kelpie’s back and came face to face with an angry witcher.
“You really are an idiot, aren’t you!”
You knew by the tone of his voice that it wasn’t a question, so you stayed quiet before squeaking out a small ‘sorry’.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time!” He growled. You nodded and said that you both were ready or the consequences. The sudden smirk on Geralt’s face made you scared.
Once you returned to the village, Geralt was praised as a hero.
His punishment for you guys,
cleaning out the WHOLE stables by yourselves.
#the witcher x reader#the witcher#the witcher imagine#jaskier x reader#Jaskier#jaskier imagine#jaskier and geralt
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Masterlist
started: 12/17/21
Updated 1/4/22
AO3
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Taglist request form
Criminal Minds:
Spencer Reid:
Run to You : (Angst, Hurt/comfort) Spencer and Reader are separated when her father falls ill (she/her fem!readerxSpencer) tw:death funerals
His Favorite Christmas Story: Spencer meets Reader, but never catches her name. (Spencer x reader)
Shoot Your Shot: Reader thinks she has the perfect opportunity to tell Spencer her true feelings, but her childhood best friend gets in the way. Coming Soon NSFW
Harry Potter:
White Christmas: reader copes with the loss of a loved one during the holidays (Fred Weasley x Reader)
Twilight:
Coming soon: Roses and Irises (EmmettxRosaliexReader)
Harry Potter
Honey Badger (DracoxReader): Draco finally sees the one whose been waiting for him all these years. (TW, Torture, violence, more tags in posts)
Part I ////// Part II ///// Part III (NSFW)///// Part IV ///// Part V
If We Were A Movie (DracoxFem!OC) [Triggers Listed on Doc. inspired by the Sleeping with Sirens Album of the same name]
Scene One:James Dean and Audrey Hepburn ////// Scene Two: Roger Rabbit //// Scene Three: Stomach Tied In Knots ///// Scene Four: Don't You Ever Forget About Me ////// Scene Five: With Eyes and Ears to See
Criminal Minds:
Dreamland: Based on the Glass Animal album
Aria Donovan spends Quarantine in isolation on the small Island home she hoped to share with Dr. Spencer Reid. This is the reflection of her life (SpencerxFem!OC) Tw: domestic violence, physical abuse
Dreamland ////// Domestic Bliss
The Witcher
Jaskier: Love Run //// The Horror and The Wild
Untitled Novel: (WIP)
Untitled Snippet
Beginings :
#masterlist#reader insert#fem reader#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds#originalwork#scifinovel#scifiworld#fanfiction#hp fanfiction#twilight
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Give Me Peace (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]
I always had a vision of the witcher where reader is a siren (alternative, land walking type that can still enthrall ppl with her beauty) and her and Geralt always bump into each other over the years. Ppl are always hunting her since sirens are worth a lot of money so he decides to help her. Geralt refuses to admit his feelings are real for her until he figures out that witchers are immune to siren songs. Basically, lots of angst but a fluffy ending! — Requested by anon
I know this was supposed to have a fluffy ending, but it turned into something else, and I couldn’t bear to change it.
Tagged: @bichibibi
Warnings: death
Gif Source: august-walker
Over the span of five decades, you and Geralt crossed paths more times than he had ever crossed anyone’s, Jaskier and Yennefer included. The hand of destiny seemed to be at work, nudging you both into each other’s path every ten years or so.
It started first by the ocean. You had spent much time there in that first decade, drawn to the sea and your marine cousins, the sirens of the water. You were a siren of the land, beautiful beyond measure but lacking the enchanting voice of your sea cousins. You did not call men to their deaths as they did. Instead, your beauty drove men to madness.
Perhaps you were the more dangerous breed.
For the first few years, your beauty kept you safe, as no man who laid eyes on you and met your gaze was safe from your spell. You could topple kingdoms if you so felt with that kind of power.
But there came men and women who coveted the prize of a slain siren, especially one poisoning the minds and hearts of their very best.
Thus came your first encounter with the witcher, Geralt. Hired by the townsfolk, he sought you out on the shores of the sea, where you sat on the rocks in low tide and gazed out over the choppy waters. Careful to avoid your gaze, he drew near, armed not with his sword but with his wits, ready to be enthralled.
Hearing his step on the sand, you glanced at him and paused, stricken by his rugged beauty. Never had you seen a man whose looks could entice you as you enticed others. Though he averted his eyes, you saw their vivid yellow irises glinting in the setting sun.
“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”
He grunted.
“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”
“You’re driving the town mad.”
“They are driven mad by their own desire. I can’t hide myself.”
“They don’t see it that way.”
“How do you see it?”
He cleared his throat, glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the townsfolk had followed him.
Slipping down off the rock, you approached him. He took a step back, shifting into a defensive stance. You ceased, bare feet digging into the cooling sand.
“If I paid you more than they did to protect me, would you?”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Only if you leave.”
With a sigh, you looked back over the ocean. You would miss it, but forests and mountains were your home; to them you would return.
~~
The following decade, Geralt heard news of a beautiful woman bewitching men near Brokilon. At first he thought she belonged to the druids that populated the dangerous forest, but as he heard report after report of men driven to madness, raving of beauty and unearthly eyes, he knew the woman to be a siren.
He knew it had to be you.
The villagers sent him forth to kill you. Traveling through the forest on the outskirts of Brokilon, careful not to trespass, he found a small hut near the road, partially obscured by the trees but by no means invisible.
Through a half-shuttered window, he glimpsed you brushing your hair. In the light from the fire burning within the hearth, he glimpsed the faint lines of sealed gills. He had heard that land sirens had come from the sea centuries before, but nothing had offered so much proof as the vestigial, malformed organs on your neck.
“Witcher,” you called, seeing him through the window, “have you come for me?”
He grunted.
“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”
“The villagers don’t see it that way.”
“What am I to do? I can’t hide myself.”
“You could do a better job.”
“Come into my home, witcher, and warm yourself.”
Shaking his head, he unsheathed his sword.
“If I pay you double what the villagers are paying, will you spare me again?”
He considered for a long moment. You stared at his face, but he refused to meet your gaze. Out of his peripherals, he saw something of your beauty. It was stellar, he would agree, but it stirred nothing more within him than he expected when seeing a beautiful woman.
It almost made him want to meet your enchanting gaze.
Discipline and strength won out, but not entirely.
“Yes,” he answered. “Just leave.”
Sighing, you put out the fire and gathered your things, amounting to nothing more than a small sack over one shoulder.
“Witcher,” you called, “I have been attacked twice now.”
He nearly met your eyes, so sharply did he turn back to you.
“Men shot arrows through my window, tried to set fire to my home.”
“You are a monster to them.”
“So are you, but you are allowed some peace.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Few men think they can kill you. Every man thinks they can kill me. There is peace in the former.”
Shouldering your sack, you struck off down the road, fixing your gaze on the mountains.
Geralt watched you go until even his enhanced vision no longer saw your figure, your words echoing in his mind.
~~
In the third decade, Geralt came upon you by chance. He passed a hunting party made of hardscrabble men practically frothing at the mouth with anticipation. They rained arrows down into the ravine from their position on the mountain face, arrows with fire burning at the ends. Geralt would have walked on if one of them had not cried, “Burn, enchantress!”
Geralt paused to look down into the ravine. A small shack leaned against the wall, situated by a thin stream. You stood in stark relief among the basalt, knocking away the arrows with a poor shield. One arrow caught in your thatch roof, caught fire.
Geralt hauled the nearest archer off his feet, slamming him against the cliff face. The other men spun, glimpsed his white hair and murderous glare. They fled, screaming obscenities in your direction.
“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”
He didn’t answer, unsure how to.
Running into the burning shack, you stumbled out with your bag and watched the rest of your ramshackle home burn. By the time it had been reduced to a pile of ash and cinders, Geralt had made his way down into the ravine. He avoided your gaze but stared at the curve of your neck.
“They grow bolder every year,” you informed him. “See?” Slipping off the shoulder of your tunic, you presented a livid scar not many months old. “They will be the death of me—and I have not driven any of them mad.”
“Sirens have gone up in price.”
“I have no money to pay you, witcher, to spare me.”
He grunted. “I wasn’t hired to kill you. This time.”
“Until next time, then.”
“Wait.”
You obliged, dropping your gaze slightly so he could look on your face. Wary, he only glimpsed it before averting his eyes.
“They’ll keep coming,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What…will you do?”
“Nothing. We all die at the hands of men.”
Geralt felt something strange constrict his chest. “You can go to the Edge of the World.”
“The elves have no love for my kind. We are as dangerous to them as we are to humans. But thank you for the advice.”
Geralt watched you follow the river through the ravine and wondered why he wanted to tell you to stay.
~~
The fourth decade, he was hired yet again—by you. You tracked him for miles, following instructions given to you by a man in the town. No one had been bewitched therein, for you had bound your eyes with cloth, preventing them from being enthralled.
Only as you navigated the unused road did you remove the cloth. After a day of unceasing travel by foot, you approached Geralt’s campsite. Roach whinnied as you drew near, but she did not rear or cry out in alarm. Geralt sprang to his feet.
Having blinded yourself again with the cloth, you stood at the edge of his campsite.
“Witcher,” you called, “I have come for you.”
“Why?”
“I am being pursued.”
“By?”
“A group of armed men. They seek me out especially, not solely because I am a siren, but because I am the siren.”
Looking on your face, he saw weariness and fear lining your features. The tops of your eyebrows were drawn together, indicative of your distress.
“I have no coin,” you told him.
“You have to pay me.”
“I feared as much.” Pulling tight your threadbare coat, you asked, “May I at least share your fire? I have a penny to pay you for some food.”
Geralt hesitated. As much as he wished to help, felt compelled to—a feeling that worried him—he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trap. A slip of his guard would be all you needed for you to enthrall him and make him do as you wished.
“I will wear the blindfold,” you assured him. “You won’t be afflicted.”
Grunting reluctantly, he tossed you a hank of meat from the spit roasting over the fire. You ate ravenously with less grace than he expected. Only then did he notice how frail you seemed beneath your coat, how few plentiful days you had seen since he last crossed your path.
A surge of feeling coursed through him, one he identified with an urge to protect. Protection wasn’t strictly in his purview, as he was more of an offensive weapon than a defensive one. Yet the urge remained as he watched you warm yourself in front of the fire, eerie with the blindfold covering nearly half your face.
“Have you found your peace?” you asked in the quiet.
“No.”
“A pity. But neither have I.”
“You don’t actually expect to find peace.”
You smiled thinly. “Surely I do. In death.”
Geralt nodded.
“There is a madness in driving men mad,” you said. “I can find no solace among people, and so, living alone in the most terrible of ways—among others—I know what it feels like to be driven mad.”
Geralt watched you as you spoke. The firelight flickered shadows across your beautiful face.
“Few sirens know it themselves. They live free in their youth, reveling in their power. Few make it beyond that. But those that do begin to run, and that marks their end.” You shook your head. “None of us choose this.”
Geralt tried to quell the emotions rising within him. He hadn’t chosen his path either, his life. Destiny had worked hard to bring him here, with all of life’s misery and suffering multiplied tenfold for his status as a witcher. If only the rumors of the elixirs and Grasses were true, that they could make him an emotionless monster.
Instead, he silently suffered beside a land siren who knew suffering intimately.
You disappeared by morning. The band of men pursuing you crossed paths with Geralt a few hours later. Choice words and a rough scuffle sent them back home.
~~
In the fifth decade, Geralt felt drawn to the sea. There was no work there by the ocean, but he drifted there anyway, away from the turmoil of the interior. Two miles away from a fishing port, the beach was unblemished, free of humans.
Only you were there, seated upon a rock at low tide, overlooking the serene waters.
“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”
“I have.”
Geralt mounted the rock beside you, sat down on the rough and slimy surface. You stared out at the horizon, knees held against your chest.
He dutifully avoided your gaze.
“Witcher,” you said, “you shouldn’t fear me.”
He grunted.
“I do not affect your kind.”
Frowning, he glanced up, found himself staring directly into your eyes. They were gorgeous, truly enthralling—but though his heart rate spiked at being exposed to your naked gaze, he felt no different than he had upon arriving at the beach: pained and joyous. He couldn’t believe it.
“See? You are unaffected.”
“I…why didn’t you tell me?”
“What good would it have done? You needed something to fear to still consider me a monster.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re not a monster.”
“Neither are you.”
He wanted to say otherwise, but you were staring at him again. Fighting the feelings in his chest, he reached up and brushed away the hair from your eyes, curling the strands around your ear. The faint gills on your neck revealed themselves.
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back gently. You tasted salty, much to his surprise.
When he pulled back, he discovered it was because of the tears streaming down your face. He brushed them away, but you shook your head, holding his hand.
“Give me peace,” you whispered, “and return me to the sea. I was never meant for the land.”
Geralt avoided the ocean for five decades after, but the salty taste of your kiss never left him.
#Geralt of Rivia x Reader#Geralt of Rivia#Geralt of Rivia imagine#Geralt x Reader#Geralt#Geralt imagine#Witcher imagine#Henry Cavill x Reader#Henry Cavill#Henry Cavill imagine#The Witcher#requests
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I Love You, Don’t Say Anything
Jaskier x Reader
Word Count: 6,047
Summary: Healing from your wounds is a trying experience. Even if it comes with new friends.
A/N: Ha. Remember me? Yeah, me neither. Mental Health is... a bitch.
Here’s part three tho!
Part One Part Two
You’re dead. At least, you think you are. The dull, throbbing pain in your neck means you must be, surely. If this is death, though, you expected worse. Hellfire and sulphur, or angelic chorus and white clouds, or the white void of purgatory, but no. There’s none of that at all. Nothing but the pain in your neck, nowhere near as painful as it had been earlier but its still there, aching and sending occasional rushes of pain down your arm.
It’s dark. Pitch black, permeating and seeping into anything and everything, with nothing at all to break the darkness. No moon, no stars, no flickering candlelight; nothing at all. It ought to be frightening, but really it isn’t- it’s familiar. You feel like you know it, know it well at that, but you don’t really know how you do.
You have your eyes closed. That’s what it is. It’s not dark like night, no it’s dark like when you've woken from a sleep that is so overwhelming that you cannot bring yourself to open your eyes. Sleep, oh heavenly beautiful sleep, you long for it but that pain in your neck will not allow for anything like that, so instead you just lay there, eyes closed and just living in this moment. It's nice. Warm even. Like being held.
There’s a warmth across your waist that only gets warmer on your stomach, your back feels like it’s facing a fire, but there’s none of that residual pain. It’s like being held; reminds you of your childhood. When your father passed, you had been no older than six, and spent every night for a year sleeping in your mother's bed, her vice-like grip keeping you in place, held to her bosom the way a new mother would her babe to their breast. It was a hard year. Your mother had become so engulfed by her sadness that she had become almost a stranger, never smiling or laughing, not able to cook or clean or even collect fire wood; you had grown up too quickly then, having to take care of yourself and your mother until she finally found herself once more. She was so wrapped in her grief that you had spent every moment by her side- to assure her she was not alone- but it had grown into something else entirely. The house you had known as warm and sweet smelling became cold and foreign to you, and it never quite recovered even after she had. The songs came back, but sadder, the bread never as good, the honey never as sweet. Innocence lost; you suppose the childish wonderment buried in a fisherman’s watery grave along with your father. The memory makes you stiffen a little, but it’s what it reminds you of that really makes your breath catch in your throat. Your father. You haven’t given him a thought since you were eleven, and now you can’t even remember his face, it’s little more than a hazy blur in your mind. His voice, a gruff but cheerful thing, only exists in shallow memories of him singing along with your mother, whispering bedtime tales of princesses and knights. Pain pricks behind your eyes, and so you try desperately to distract yourself, focusing on the heat behind you. Familiar warmth.
It reminds you of the autumn too, when the days grow shorter and the nights colder and more likely to be filled with rain. On those colder, wetter nights something changes; boundaries disappear and you can indulge in the sweetness of not sleeping alone as you normally do. Those special, sacred nights when Jaskier, Geralt and yourself have to squish close together in a cave for warmth, pressed between the bard and Witcher so you can stay warm and protected. Geralt is always somewhat cold like a corpse, silent as the dead, but Jaskier is a different story entirely. Even when you fall into sleep on your back, you wake with him pressed into your back, face in the tangles of your hair and murmuring nonsense that must mean something in his dreams. He’s warm, like a bed warmer that can cling to you and occasionally hums lullabies when you startle awake in the night.
The flat of your hand pushes down in front of you but sinks down into comfortable fabric. Not the ground. Not the ground at all. You swear you were on the ground when you fell onto Jaskier's lap, right in front of the fire but this isn’t where you fell asleep.
You wonder, still half asleep if Geralt had managed to talk some poor inn-keep into letting you rest in their home while you heal. Unlikely. But this definitely is not camp. No, this is somewhere else entirely, somewhere with a bed- somewhere blissfully warm.
Just blissful heat. After a second or two, you realise you are being held, but only when the hot burst of breath spreads across the back of your neck and though it takes more effort than it should, your eyes creak open. You’re in a room, dark save for the glowing of a fire in a small archway across from you, with dark velvet curtains covering the windows. It’s comfortable, far more expensive than any inn you could ever afford, and in your tired daze you can’t string together anything more coherent than that. It’s comfortable.
“You’re awake. That’s good.” A voice says from by the fireplace, smooth and feminine, and your blurry eyes catch sight of a woman who you're sure wasn’t there a second before. She’s gorgeous. Intimidatingly so: tall, with black curls that frame a flawless beautiful face, corners of deep pink lips turned up into a smile. Never, in your entire life, have you seen a woman so beautiful: and you recall a story from your mother about a woman with hair like coal and skin as white as fresh fallen snow and eyes the colour of honey, but hers are not. No, they’re purple. Like amethyst, amethyst that is watching you intently.
“Am I dead?” The question escapes you before you can realise how silly it is. The voice that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable as your own. It sounds like you’ve been gargling shattered glass and assorted rocks since birth, and this woman chuckles slightly at your words. For some strange reason, the sound puts you at ease; even though you don’t know this woman, she makes you feel safe enough to not want to deal out your sword and ask how you got here.
“Dead to the world for a few days, but no. You’re still alive. Lucky to be so, too. Especially with the wound you had. Nasty thing, it was.” She steps towards you, head tilting to the left as you try and push yourself onto your elbow only to fumble. “Oh, don’t. You'll hurt yourself. It doesn’t hurt any more does it?” qqq
It doesn’t. Well, not as badly as it did before, just a dull ache rather than excruciating pain, and you allow yourself a deep inhale. Bearable, and the smile that overtakes your face is undeniable.
“...Thank you, miss...”
“No miss. Just Yennefer.” She says as she moves towards you, pushing a flute of something red into your hands. “Drink. You'll feel better.” You eye it suspiciously, holding it in both trembling hands.
“What is it?”
“It'll make you feel better.” It isn’t much by means of explanation, but it’s enough, so you tip the glass back and gulp down the fed liquid within. It tastes like liquorice and vinegar, bitter and tangy in such a way that your nose crinkles in disgust and Yennefer laughs once more. A pretty sound from a pretty woman, like tinkling bells. You wonder if she’s some sort of siren, but sirens are hardly known for their willingness to heal people. You feel drunk but the pain is lessened even still, drawing a little sigh from you, and she takes the glass. “It tastes horrible, but you feel better, right?”
You do feel better, so you let her take the glass from you when you catch sight of your arm. It’s covered, but by blue velvet, not the blouse you were wearing earlier. It’s a familiar blue velvet at that, the colour of a stream and embroidered in gold. Jaskier. It’s one of his doublets, your favourite of his doublets at that, but you have no clue how you’ve found yourself wearing it, you've never worn any article of his clothing before-
“He put it on you.” She says airily, gesturing behind you with a vague wave, which has you assuming that the confusion must be written across your face. “You gave the poor idiot a real fright, Little Miss.” The pet name comes playfully from her, but you stiffen at it until a quiet groan comes from behind you and that warmth on your stomach turns into a fist that you realise is on exposed flesh. “Geralt too, I cannot remember a time he looked so worried. The Bard hasn’t left your side though. I think he may have been worried you...”
Would die. She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for you to know what she means. You don’t want to think about that, want to focus on something- anything- else.
“You know Geralt?”
“That... is one way of putting it, yes.”
“You could say she's a heartless witch who insists on toying with Geralt.” Jaskier grumbles tiredly behind you and Yennefer rolls her eyes. For the first time since opening your eyes a coldness settles over her features, no less pretty but harder. Firmer. Women don’t normally turn cold at Jaskier, but Jaskier doesn’t normally insult women either. This dynamic is new, uncomfortable to be between, and you can see her trying to bite back words, presumably for the sake of your weak self.
“I'll take my leave, then. Try to rest, Little Miss.” Yennefer says simply, brushing the back of her knuckles across the underside of your jaw as she heads towards the door, sauntering out and closing the door behind her.
“Cow.” Jaskier huffs against your neck, tickling the skin as he lets his hand relax and flatten against your stomach once more. Unclothed stomach. You realise, a little belatedly, that you don’t have your corset on; someone has removed your corset, and you’ve been laid here, chest exposed with Jaskier around you for days. You could have died, bled to death in a wood far from home with no one to mourn you but a Witcher and his Bard, but all you can understand is that Jaskier has been lying beside you in this state of undress, and that you feel... ashamed, somehow. There's not even a reason why, but almost bare, save for his jacket you feel shame gather in your throat like vomit. You almost died. You worried him so much he hasn’t left your side, cleaned you up and put you in his clothing, but all your mind can focus on is that he must have seen you bare and you didn’t even know, couldn’t even see how he had reacted.
Your body is a body to you. It’s not something you attribute any great importance to; you've never considered yourself some buxom beauty, some sultry siren or dainty darling. Your body is just that, or was before you started your travels. Now it's a weapon, of sorts, marred by swords and scratches and bites, thighs thickened by travel, fists scarred and bruised. Insecurity is not a concept you think of in conjunction to yourself but you think of yourself and your body as different beings entirely- it’s nigh on impossible to not be insecure about the criss-cross of scars that span the plains of your belly, the raised skin below the hollow of your throat, healed over incision just to the side of your breast beneath the collar bone. He’s seen it all now, and without you seeing his response. It should be enlightening that after seeing these marks he remains still, but it isn’t. No, no, your mind is not put at ease by the hand resting over your navel, touching your battle-worn skin like it gives him comfort; it instead is overwrought by the thought he's stayed because he thinks he ought to. Feels sorry for you, has remained by your side because he wasn’t there when you were attacked, and now he has seen all he can of you has decided to wait for you to wake to inform you that he has no interest in you. He beds queens and ladies of status and not scarred wretches who almost had their throats ripped from their necks.
He’s not said a word of the sort, but this invented rebuffing of your feelings has your eyes watering and body curling in on itself, away from him. He notices immediately and curls closer around you without a word, just smoothing your hair away from your neck to press a kiss to it.
“I know you’re awake.” In spite of yourself, you smile at the sing-song lilt of his voice.
“No, I’m not.” You mumble, childishly, and the bard chuckles warmly across the back of your neck. It’s enough to make you roll onto your side to face him.
Gods, he looks tired. You’ve seen him muddied and rained on and smeared with gore, but he’s so tired it almost breaks your heart. The bags beneath his eyes are so dark you think them bruises at first, deep purple and blue, stark against his skin and almost merging into the mussed-up mess of his hair that hangs like curtains curling into his eyes. He’s no longer in your dress, but instead a chemise crumpled beyond compare and trousers to match the doublet currently covering you. Dead to the world for a few days, Yennefer had said, and you believe from the state of his clothes that he's been mourning the same amount of time. Memories of the-thing-that-wasn't-Jaskier flash before your eyes, but he smiles, your fingers slide up to rest on his chin. Even sleep deprived and bleary eyed, he’s gorgeous, smiling at you like you're the gift that he's begged for on his birthday, some prized possession. He’s stayed beside you.
“There's my love.” He says gently, thumb rubbing circles into the skin of your stomach. It’s the simplest thing he could have said, but it’s reaffirming and sweet. “You frightened me, Little Miss.”
“Force of habit at this point, Dandy.” You say, fingers straying from the rough stubble of his chin to his lips, tracing his cupid's bow with your fingertips, feeling his smile before you see it.
“I'd prefer you leave it for a while. I don’t think my heart could take that again any time soon.”
“I doubt I could survive anything like that again.” You try to laugh but the pained look he shoots you makes you still again. Joking about almost dying is nothing new, and still he’s looking at you like your mortality is something he had never considered at all before all this.
“I could have lost you.”
“Takes more than some monster in your skin to kill me off, Bard.” You smirk and lean in to peck his lips but he leans back to stare at you like you've two heads.
“What do you mean, in my skin?”
“It. It made me see things, while it... did that. To my neck.”
“See things?” He asks timidly.
“See you.” It comes out like a confession and you can’t even meet his eyes as you say it. “Doing things.”
“What things, Darling?” He presses, thumb stilling and your own fingers fall from his mouth to the pillow. “Please, Lovely, what things?”
“Jask-"
“Missy, please. I need to know, you looked so afraid, I don’t want you to-"
“You had your fingers in me.” You cut him off, and he blinks at you in shock. “Pinned to a wall, with your fingers inside me.”
“It didn’t-" It's obvious as to the destination that his thoughts have arrived at.
“It was a dream.” You try desperately to reassure him and he heaves out a sigh of relief, tugging you to his chest while his face buries into your hair. His heart pounds against your ear and you can hear him breathe in deeply as he holds you tight. “It didn’t touch me. Not like that, anyway.”
“No, it just almost killed you.”
“Like I said, Dandelion, I'm fine.”
You aren’t fine though; not really. Memory of the thing that looked like him touching you, kissing you, haunts you- especially with Jaskier holding you tight. It shouldn’t affect you in such a way, but your heart is racing and your core throbs with each breath. You aren’t afraid. Not at all, and that’s all the more worrying. No, you feel desperate; desperate to know if his fingers would actually feel that good curling within you, filling and spreading your most private of areas.
“It made you see me. Touching you.” His tone is almost unreadable, not quite disappointed but instead like he doesn’t understand even though he wants to. That’s not the issue. The thing you disliked had nothing to do with the fingers inside you, instead that you knew it wasn’t him and there’s no way to explain that to him without sounding like some kind of wanton whore.
“It. Must have seen us together in the woods.” You offer and he flinches, grip on you weakening.
“It hurt you because I was thinking with my cock and not about what was going on.” He says coldly, but that bitter chill doesn’t quite reach you, no, the cold is aimed internally. You know this blame, know it well from nights when Jaskier has fallen asleep early and Geralt will allow you a few stories of his own. Hunts gone bad. People he couldn’t save, sparce words but the meaning is there all the same. You don’t understand it from the Witcher and understand it even less from the bard.
“Jaskier-" You start to argue but he shakes his head.
“I wanted to fuck you.” He says it so forcefully, a term you’ve never heard come from him in regards to you, but it makes you still. He wanted to Fuck you, not progress, not move forward. Fuck you. Spear you on his cock ‘til you weep for him. “And because I wanted to, it could hurt you. Knew how to hurt you."
“Stop with the self-loathing, if I wanted that I'd seek Geralt out." You try to joke, but the pain in his eyes is enough to silence you. Eyes like those shouldn’t look so pained.
“You undressed me.” You whisper into the newly created silence and he nods softly.
“You were covered in blood. I... I couldn’t bear to see you like that. Besides, the jacket rather suits you.”
“It’s yours.”
“I’m aware, Little Miss.” He chuckles weakly, smoothing your hair away from your eyes. “Makes us quite fair now, Darling, don’t you think? I’ve wore your dress and now you've worn my jacket.”
Fair. Nothing about this is fair, there is nothing fair about the hurt written plainly across the Bard's face, how tired he is, how he is blaming himself. Nothing fair or right about how his trembling bottom lip has you thinking about nothing but trapping it between your teeth and sucking on it until he whimpers. But you sigh softly and lean in close to gently kiss his forehead.
“I think you need to sleep.” You whisper, watching as he smiles and squeezes your hip gently.
“You sound like my mother.” He says, tone somewhere between humour and blankness.
“Oh?”
“She loved to tell me what to do too.” It’s a joke, but your throat constricts painfully at the word mother.
“Yes, well. You remind me of my mother sometimes too.”
“Was she devilishly handsome too?” He raises an eyebrow, a smile toying at the corners of his lips.
“No. She blamed herself for my father's death.” You say concisely before rolling away from him and shutting your eyes, ending the conversation.
She used to sing too. Once upon a time.
/////////
“There are men that that wound would have killed, kotku. I’m impressed you’re so well so soon.” The brush runs through your hair, a little rougher than you expect and you’re barely able to choke back the quiet whimper of pain. You've not had a proper chance to brush your hair since the attack, and when Yennefer had offered to help with it you took the opportunity with both hands, mostly so you didn’t have to concern yourself with the matted locks of hair and blood. She had taken the job in stride too, never complaining, just moving forwards with a quiet little hum. You sit there, hands resting on your knees and twisting the fabric of a borrowed nightgown, while her soft hands manoeuvre around your head and shifting your hair away from the healing wound on your throat.
Yennefer is a breath of fresh air. Not just because she’s another woman, though that fact doesn’t lessen your enjoyment of her presence: Yennefer is wonderful and so far from any other woman you've known, strange and dark in ways that would never have been tolerated in your home, gentle but with something just below the surface which has yet to rise for you. Any other person would be far more annoyed by the presence of an injured stranger in their home, but she’s taken you being here in good stride; Geralt and Jaskier though, less so. You’re a welcome guest, they are treated more as inconvenience. There is baggage here, that no one is willing to talk about, and you are unwilling to breach this unspoken conflict. It truly isn’t your place.
That, and you don’t want that sort of coldness to be fixed on you. The woman's haughty annoyance is easily ignored, and you really don’t want to be on the receiving end of it- there’s a deeply childish part of your soul that is desperate to have her be your friend. You’re rather lacking in the friend department at the moment, and completely without any female friends. Yen seems a good friend to have.
“I like to think I’m better than any man.” You reply playfully, trying as hard as you can to keep still. How her hair looks so shiny and fine if she brushes her own hair as aggressively as she’s brushing your own is a mystery. It’s like she’s trying to scalp you.
“Two weeks for a wound like that.” She hums appreciatively, leaving you all but preening under the praise. Yes. Yen is a good friend to have, you decide, especially when her words of affirmation have you desperate for more.
When you were young, you were the same. Following the older girls about the village, desperate to be involved, to be friends- to feel older than your age, they had humoured you at the time. Braiding your hair and singing you silly songs that you’re old enough now to realise were truly kind gestures, but gestures non-the-less. They weren’t your friends, no more than you were friends with the stray cat that used to yowl at the turnips that grew in your garden; you were a pet. A sweet little thing to keep about for fun, and send away once they had outstayed their welcome and the noise was no longer endearing but annoying instead. You can’t help but hope that it isn’t like that with Yennefer. You want to be her friend.
“I'll be fighting again in no time.” You laugh, Yen’s brushing stopping entirely and she pats your shoulder.
“Not today. Bath and some clothes, then we'll see how you are just using that arm.” She gestures towards the steaming tub in the other room. “I’ll leave you something. It might not fit right but it’s better than nothing.”
Everything that the raven-haired woman has worn has been expensive looking and beautiful, but she is most definitely not the same size as you. Yennefer is slight and slender, and her deep skin looks beautiful against the fabric, even during that one winter you ate nothing but cabbage stew you weren’t as slim as her. “Stop it. In the water.” Yen chides, and you feel like a child. She has a strange sort of way of knowing how you think which you’re trying not to question. Mostly, because it feels like it would be impertinent to ask. So, you do as she asks and pad into the adjacent room, shutting the door before stripping down to nothing and climbing into the tub.
The water is almost blisteringly hot. You’d wince, if it wasn’t exactly what you need. The heat feels like it’s stripping away all dirt and sweat that has ever been on your flesh; wiping away the touch of the phantasmal Jaskier. Your thoughts return to him again. In inns, when you can find them, Jaskier always orders you a bath, slipping a bottle of scented oils into your hand before you can argue about him wasting coin on you. It’s always sweet and floral and light, almost definitely more money than it’s worth, and beautiful. There’s a collection of oil vials in your bag that you would never admit to, a few containing flowers he’s picked for you during your travels. Sentimental as it is, you’re a realist. One day all of this will end, and they’ll be all you have to remember him by- oh Gods, you want to remember him always, stupid jokes and bad puns and all. You haven’t seen him in a week.
Yennefer has insisted Geralt and Jaskier give you space to heal, you think she meant for them to go about Witchering and she would send you to find them when healed, but they’ve stayed. Some days you can hear them, arguing about something or other, sometimes playing Gwent. It’s bittersweet to have them so close but not speak to them. For a while, they’ve been the only consistency in your life, so not having them is... strange. You’re trying to readjust to sleeping alone. It isn’t easy.
Your hands sink into the water and you scoop it about your body and begin scrubbing, trying desperately to distract yourself from Jaskier. It’s sort of silly just how much you miss him. He’s just A Bard. A silly, wonderful, handsome bard. It’s ridiculous how someone like him could so simply work his way into your heart.
The world feels a smaller place without him.
You stay in the water until it chills, and would have stayed longer were it not for the numbing of your rear and thighs. When you finally make your way back into your bedchambers, Yen is long gone, and in her place is a dress. It’s very much what you expect from her, black velvet with hints of red running through the fabric, a deep plunging neckline and a cinched waist. Even with a corset tied as tightly as possible, you doubt it will fit but try and stay upbeat about it. It was nice of Yen to even lend it to you in the first place without your being moody, so you retrieve your undergarments and pull them back in place, tying your corset tightly. It takes a second or so to convince yourself to even touch the dress, never mind try on. It’s soft to the touch, far too rich for your blood, making you feel like some sort of maid who ought be bringing this garment to a queen or countess, not putting it on. You do put it on though, afraid that it will be much too small, only to be pleasantly surprised once you lace it and turn to the mirror. It fits, comfortably too, hugging your frame in a way that makes you feel attractive. Beneath the mirror, which you try not to look at, you find a small number of cosmetics, you assume courtesy of Yen, and smile. You barely ever wear such things but putting it on surely couldn’t hurt. A little bit of powder, a smudge of kohl about the eyes and rouge to the lips, it takes very little time, but you barely recognise the woman staring back at you. She’s familiar, like a relative you seldom see, but you wouldn’t assume it to be you. Her hair is a little wild, but the face is one of a dark sort of elegance, simple but enough to make a difference to you especially when combined with the dress. You had miscalculated the neckline, assuming it to be a deep plunge but instead it is far less severe and hangs off of the shoulders to form puffy sleeves that taper in at the elbow to tight cuffs. It's gorgeous and you feel beautiful but its not right. You feel like a child playing dress up. You breathe in shallowly and turn towards the door.
“I’ll not let you keep her from me a minute longer!” You hear shouted through the door. Jaskier. His voice rings clear as a bell.
“She's bathing.” Yen says simply. Her voice is passive, even bored, and you can tell she's only doing it to upset him.
“Alone! After being injured! She could have drowned or-"
“Have you always been a mother hen? Or is this some sort of way of trying to get into her bed?”
“How dare you!”
“I know how you act, Dandelion. I’ve seen you around women. Bedding them, leaving. Your little miss deserves better than that.”
“You act like I don’t know that!” He snaps back at her and you step out of the bedroom, following their squabbling until you’re stood in the doorway watching them. Yennefer has a finger thrust into Jaskier's chest, pointed black nail leaving an indent in his clothing as he bares his teeth at her, like an animal raring to attack. It’s like watching day meet night, blue boy scowling at a woman shrouded in black.
Your blue boy.
It’s been a week, you’ve gone longer without seeing rain, but the sight of Jaskier lifts a weight off of you that you hadn’t even known was there. He looks better rested, if a little strange glaring, hair still dishevelled. The fact that you had heard the two of them all the way to the door is the only way you know that the two of them hadn’t been in a physical fight before you got there. You know the sound of skin on skin too well to have missed it. One might break out still if the tension in the air is anything to go by. You’ve broken up drunken scraps over less, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Some part of you wants to see how this plays out before you intervene. A sick part of you wants to know if they will fight, over you at that. Dandelion is hardly the kind of man to start a brawl with a woman, but Yen most definitely seems like the sort of woman who would start a fight with a man. Truly, she seems like the sort of woman who would win a fight against a man, or ten.
“She almost died-"
“And you’re leaving her alone in a bath where anything could happen! She could fall asleep and drown. Could trip and hurt herself more! I have put up with this for a week, Witch, and I won’t be putting up with it for a moment longer. I was willing to be quiet for Geralt’s sake, but he isn’t here now.” His voice is venomous, cold enough to make you shiver. Jaskier isn’t cold. He’s all sunlight and summer, like coming home to a lit hearth in the depth of winter; this is new. You’ve never been the subject of his ire, but every time you have seen it, its been. Different. Angry Jaskier is smug, self-aggrandising and sure, this is almost afraid. Like you being without him might cause you to be lost to him. Has that happened with others, you wonder, time ripping people from his grip?
“You’re being an arse! Making her sleep alone in a stranger’s home-"
“She’s a fucking grown woman, she can sleep without you lingering about her like a fart in a crowded room!”
“Do the two of you always argue like this?” You ask lightly, leaning against the door frame for stability. Both turn quickly, startled by your voice seemingly coming out of nowhere.
Normally, when you walk it’s with a purpose, in sturdy boots and belts that clink together, there is no way to be silent, so the gown has given you a silent presence that is impossible to achieve normally. Geralt is always silent, appearing and disappearing like a phantom. Must be fun, you think to yourself, to linger in the background just listening to how other people interact with each other. So much gossip to hear, arguments to silently choose a side in. You almost wish this would be a regular occurrence, even if you can’t help but miss that sound of chinking metal on metal from buckles and blades.
As much as you know that the difference in your appearance is drastic, you aren’t expecting the response that you get. Jaskier gawks at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, while Yennefer smiles at you, nodding with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Well. Look who didn’t die in the bath.” She says, voice all light and playful- a world away from the cruel tone she had used for Jaskier. It feels a little patronising, like she’s speaking to a child or a pet, but you smile all the same. She's been so kind to you, and you know better than to bite the hand that feeds. “You look pretty without all the mud and blood.”
“I feel pretty.” You admit, tripping a little over the words. “I'm surprised the dress even fits.”
“Of course it does.” She replies with such finality as she sidles to your side, brushing down the fabric at your hips. There are no wrinkles there, you’re quite sure, but the act makes you blush- barely anyone touches your hips, so the feeling of hands on them, even through the clothing, is enough to make your mouth go dry. Violet eyes focus on you like you’re the only person in the room and you almost feel like it. It’s like you’ve been bewitched, and you only return to reality when a choked-out noise across from you brings you out of your own head.
Jaskier is still gaping, staring at you like a stranger, and your blush only intensifies under his eyes. The stare is almost hungry, and you recognise it from that night when your neck had been ripped open- but not from that dream. No, from when he had laid you down in front of the fire and slotted himself between your legs, member thick against your thigh. You feel like a slab of meat in front of a hungry animal, like at a second’s notice he will pounce on you and sink his teeth into you. A vein in his throat bulges as he breathes in before Yennefer steps away from you.
“Jask?” You ask, and his only response is an exhale that verges on a pained moan. You move toward him worriedly. “Jaskier?”
“Gods, Little Miss. Look at you.” He whispers.
“What’s wrong with me?” You ask quickly, afraid all at once that you don’t look as pretty as you had initially thought. Too pale, eyes too dark, lips too much like blood.
“Absolutely nothing.” Yennefer intervenes sharply, hand resting on your shoulder in a manner that is both reassuring and restrictive.
“You. You.” He stammers out, looking you up and down, which you mirror. “You... You look like...” He stumbles over the words forming in his throat and just reaches for you instead, hands finding yours and tugging you into a possessive grasp, body melting around yours. “Gods, I don’t even know.”
You want to ask if that is a bad thing, but you know it isn’t. The knowledge makes you feel powerful.
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fics rec / june 2020
We’ve officially finally passed the halfway mark of 2020! Every month so far has felt like an entire year itself, but reading these wonderful works has been a great way to pass the time! Hope you all enjoy them as much as I did!
(* is smut)
*let me show you by @moteldwelling
Bucky gives reader a “redo” on her first time, and takes her virginity.
*Sleep and Other Things by @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch
When sleep evades you for the third night in a row, you try to find comfort in a late night snack. As it turns out, you weren’t the only insomniac in the compound...
Dear Lover by @feliciahardyn
You dance with Bucky in the obscurity of your room as you recalled the first time you met and how three years later you ended up tangled in each other’s arms.
Other People Suck by @schmuckyschmarnes
You’re tired of socialising, all you want to do is go home and eat your pizza. Bucky fluff ensues.
Acts of Intimacy by @the-unspoken-rule
Small acts, like longing glances and holding hands, are normal and simple to some people. Not to Bucky Barnes.
*One for the History Books (series) by @cametobuyplums
Chubby Professor!Bucky x reader: 36 years old, divorced, and soft around the middle. Bucky Barnes is your History professor. You’re just his student. Why ever would you want him?
*Pretty Face on a Pretty Neck by @whistlingwillows
Non-Avenger!Bucky x reader: They aren’t fucking dating. Not fucking friends, either. No, Bucky just fucks Romanoff’s best friend until she’s fucking stupid, begging for it, and leaves in the morning because that’s how the universe fucking works. And sometimes, he wishes it didn’t work that way.
*Headcannon: Sebastian calls you a good girl for the first time and finds out you have a praise kink by @sinner-as-saint
Honourable mention - this absolute panty-melter of a headcannon by @greenorangevioletgrass
tale as old as time (series) by @spacelabrathor
Beast!Thor x reader: Thor is a beast, prowling the halls of an empty castle alone, living a life of cold, barren solitude. Villagers visit once yearly to bring him gifts he does not seek, piling valueless trinkets at his gate they feel will keep him appeased. They hate Thor and Thor knows, someday, that they will breach his gates and come for his head. He wonders to himself, often, if he will try to stop them when they do.This year, though, the offering has changed. Thor finds not trinkets at his front gate, but a girl, and then everything begins to change.
*After the End by @occasionalfics
Post Infinity War!Thor x reader:The thing about rebuilding a civilization with less than half the population is that no one feels as though they can grieve what they’ve lost because everyone is grieving. No one speaks of the dead and no one speaks to the King. Until you are hired by the Valkyrie as his maid...
headcannon: lighthouse keeper!thor x siren!reader by @spacelabrathor
*headcannon: thor using his powers on you by @thorsthot
*headcannon: cuddling with thor by @thorsthot
Pillow Talk by @pedrothirst
Javier Peña x reader: In the privacy of their respective bedrooms, they fucked. They got along and they had sex but they didn't mix those things up. As long as they kept the connection they had emotionally apart from the physical one, all of that was fine with her. But now that he stayed longer after sex than usual, she worried that the lines might blur.
*Ring My Bell by @queenbvtch
Javier Peña x reader: You and your “boyfriend” Javier decide to spend an entire afternoon skating and teasing the living hell out of one another at the local roller rink. Luckily you don’t have to go very far to get the satisfaction you both so desperately need once the teasing proves to be too much for the both of you...
*Insatiable by @damndamer0n
Din Djarin x reader: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it.
*Gut Wrenching by @absurdthirst
Din Djarin x reader: After Y/N is exposed to a significant amount of the pheromone Bakaram Candy, a tentative Mando must decide whether he should help you out or not.
Lights by @sweetlangdon
You’re well aware of who and what Michael is. Two days after you’d found him wandering around Los Angeles starving and exhausted—broken, you thought at first, beyond repair—the truth had come tumbling out. The truth should’ve changed your thoughts about him, should’ve made you toss him back out into the streets for fear of your life. But here you are, months later, the two of you coexisting in your tiny apartment because you couldn’t see past that sad, lost look in those bright blue eyes.
*Worship by @justawitchbitch
The reader is Michael’s wife and worships him so hard after his sojourn that he just becomes a whimpering mess under her touch
*Kindness (series) by @vivodinson
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Geralt x witch!Reader: Every summer since he was fresh out of the School of the Wolf in Kaer Morhen, a seasonal funk seemed to come over Geralt, and this particular summer is no different. But when he passes through a lush green valley filled with peach trees, memories of his first summer out of Kaer Morhen resurface...
*long on the road by @limerental
Trucker!Geralt x Hitchhiker!Jaskier: Geralt is a long-haul trucker who has recently broken it off (again) with his ex-wife. Jaskier is a free spirit musician hitchhiking across the country while grappling with a sudden reminder of his mortality. Geralt really, really regrets picking him up at the last rest area. Until, he doesn’t.
Home by @ffangirlingsince2001
Geralt x reader: Coming home to you was Geralt’s favourite thing in the entire world.
Peaches by @moonanonwriting
Jim Mason x reader: The taste of peaches reminds Jim of something else just as sweet.
*Go to Town by @damndamer0n
Poe Dameron x reader: Poe makes you a proposition after you call his skills into question.
#fics rec#masterlist#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#Sebastian Stan#marvel masterlist#thor odinson#thor smut#thor x reader#geralt smut#geralt x reader#michael langdon#michael langdon smut#smut#mandalorian smut#mando x reader#the mandalorian#javier pena#javier pena smut#javier pena x reader#poe dameron smut#poe dameron x reader#jim mason x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#fic recs
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Brontide
noun. the low rumble of distant thunder.
Fandom: The Witcher
Pairing: Jaskier x Reader
Word Count: 3633
Rating: E
ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245866
a/n: so once again, this ran away with me. this wasn’t a prompt, just an idea from my brain.
Warnings: filthy smut, oral sex, penetrative sex, female reader
A storm is raging, Jaskier and Reader confess their feelings for one another and have an exciting night
The sudden crack of thunder shoots you back to reality. It’s late, and you’re huddled up in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. Geralt has long since retired to bed, but both you and Jaskier are still lingering among the empty tables and abandoned tankards. You know that Geralt trusts the bard to take care of himself, but you just can’t bring yourself to leave him after one too many incidents involving a scorned spouse and a very sharp blade. So, you’ve resigned yourself to keeping guard from a dark corner with a little window, listening to the most ancient song of rain nourishing the earth.
You’ve been alone for at least an hour, the barkeep shoving the last dawdling drunk out of the doors and bolting the doors behind him. He gave you both a kind smile and retreated to his own dwelling above the tavern, leaving you alone with the bard.
Jaskier has been strumming quietly across the room, apparently working on a new composition. Every now and then you’ll hear him mutter a curse under his breath and scribble on his parchment, but otherwise he’s not said a word since the last patron left. You’re thankful for this, for even though the bard’s voice is one that rivals that of a most holy angel, you sometimes long to just listen to him play his lute. The sounds are made ever sweeter by the music of the rain and the all-encompassing scent accompanying it, something earthy and old, older than time itself. You rest your head against the windowsill, drifting into daydreams about roaring waves, wood creaking under long, calloused fingers, wet rivulets of rain dripping down collars, and blue eyes that snatch your breath without care of you needing it back.
Alas, you were not allowed long to lose yourself in this dream, the thunder cracking and rumbling across the sky, echoing through the little tavern and sending your mind darting back to your body in an electric jolt. Jaskier notices you start, and moves to gather his journal, tucking it and his lute into his case.. Slinging it across his back in a well-rehearsed move, he moves towards your table where your heart is still beating a bit quicker than normal.
“You know, you don’t have to stay down here with me,” the bard says with a small smile. “I can take care of myself.”
“Well, while Geralt may let you roam into any royal pantry you please, I’d like to make sure you keep your head attached to your shoulders,” you quip back, earning a small chuckle in return. You tuck these little moments away, when you both can allow yourselves the luxury of laughter and peace instead of the relentless march of death and misery and heroics that Geralt follows. You’d never admit it, but you’ve found that the only thing that keeps you remotely sane these days is the lively man in front of you, surprising you at every turn.
What always surprises you most is how freely he gives his affections. Every kind person that he meets gets his light touches, his honeyed words, and his smile that could make even the most crotchety Witcher’s lips turn up at the edges. You’ve gotten all of this, but you’re so hungry for more. You’ve had a taste of his allure, and you’re addicted. He is your weakness, and you are terrified of him ever finding out. He could have just about any person on the Continent, why would he ever give you more than what he already gives so easily.
Jaskier holds out a hand, which you accept, rising to your feet. Your foot catches on the edge of the table though, and you tumble forward. Jaskier gracefully catches your fall, his hands steady around your waist and your hands latching onto his doublet and you never want to let him go. You’re close enough to be sharing the same breath, and Jaskier whispers your name with a reverence usually only employed for prayers to the gods.
“Are you alright?” His voice has shifted, rumbling through you like the thunder, untamed and powerful. You bring your eyes to his, intent on answering that you’re absolutely fine, thank you very much. But when your gazes lock, it is like all of the world is holding its breath, with only the rain pattering on the windows to signal that the continuation of time. Jaskier’s hands around you tighten, and you settle into them, regaining your footing but not stepping away. Your hands slowly move up his shoulders, catching on the little threads and seams. When your fingers ghost onto his exposed collar, you feel rather than hear his breath hitch and he gently pulls your body tighter to his. You’re both moving as if pulled by a siren song, one that you’ve never heard or sang but know the words to nonetheless. Jaskier rests his forehead against yours, tenderly brushing his nose with yours. Your eyes flutter closed, not believing what they’re seeing as though your dream from earlier never actually ended.
“May I kiss you?” you hear him whisper, and you can almost feel his lips move against yours as he says it. You smile to yourself, moving ever so slightly to tilt your head up to meet him.
“I would be quite disappointed if you didn’t,” you murmur, and before you can take another breath his lips have captured yours for just a moment, still hesitant and careful. He pulls back, worried that he’s pushed too far, but your lips chase and meet his once more. It’s as if all of the stars in the sky have aligned as you melt into his embrace. Your fingers thread into his hair, earning a sound born of pure sin deep in the bard’s chest. You suckle on his lip, licking into his mouth as he grants you further access. He tastes of sage and citrus, painting pure sunshine in the torrential downpour on the other side of the doors. A groan is pulled from your chest, a question and a promise in the sound.
You pull back from each other, still holding fast and sharing the same space. One of Jaskier’s hands cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as you catch your breath.
“Jaskier,” his name spilling from your mouth like pebbles along the bottom of a rushing river, “stay with me tonight.”
His mouth turns up into a smile, one filled with more hope and pleasure than you’ve ever had the good fortune of witnessing. He gently grasps your hands, leading you backwards to the little room you’re taking refuge from the storm in.
You tumble across the threshold, lips never parting, Jaskier’s foot kicking the door closed as he pushes you further into the room. You feel the bed at the back of your legs, and you push your hands under his open doublet, sliding it off of his shoulders. The garment hits the floor, and with his hands freed, Jaskier grasps the sides of your face, pulling back only enough to get air. You move your hands to his, grateful for any piece of him you can grasp.
“I am afraid I am a fool, love,” he says, gently lacing his fingers through your hair, releasing it from its simple tie at the back of your head. Your hair flutters down like letting out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and you peer at Jaskier hoping that he’ll elaborate without you prompting. Ever predictable, he continues, his whispers warming your cheeks with every word. Less predictable, however, are the words he says.
“I feel as though I’ve loved you since the moment you entered my life,” he murmurs. “You filled a hole in my life that I didn’t know was empty, and I am terrified of finding it hollow once more.”
You feel your eyes start to glisten, holding Jaskier impossibly tight. You gather every bit of courage that you carry, and say, barely louder than a whisper, “Then I too am a fool, for I have been trying to win your heart not knowing that it was already mine.”
You bring your mouth back to his, rekindling the heat with your confession. Your hands travel back to his chest, the fabric of his chemise soft and worn with time. You pull the hem of the shirt from where it is tucked in and Jaskier lifts his arms, breaking your kiss only for the time it takes for the shirt to join the doublet on the ground. His arms wrap around your waist, lips meeting yours once more, firm and persistent. Your nails scratch lightly through the hair on his chest as his fingers move to the laces at the front of your blouse. You notice he’s quite good at multi-tasking, unlacing your shirt while also kicking off his boots, making you a little jealous since it feels like you wouldn’t be able to form two coherent thoughts while in his arms.
Jaskier’s hands push your blouse down your arms, his mouth moving to any newly exposed skin, kissing and suckling every place he can reach. His hands, calloused and rough from years of music and travel, leave goosebumps in their wake as they travel to your back, intent on unlacing your corset. Your hands travel down, down his chest to his waist, finding him warm and wanting. You palm him through his light trousers, and you feel his fingers lose their place, lost to his own pleasure. He regains himself quickly though and practically tears the damned thing off of you, discarding it with the rest of your clothing.
His hands find purchase on your hips and he pushes you backwards, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed. Jaskier moves to his knees, pulling your boots off and chucking them dramatically over his shoulder. You chuckle lightly, pushing back a stray piece of hair from his forehead, cradling his face in your palm. He sighs and leans into your touch, content with this moment of tenderness amidst the desire.
“This is how I feel every time you grace me with your smile or your laugh, sweeter than any song I could ever dream of writing, drawn to my knees to worship you without a second thought,” Jaskier utters, running his hands up your thighs. Your eyes prickle at the honesty, the overwhelming joy of caring and being cared for in return. Your hands find his and you stand, leaving him kneeling before you. You bring his hands to the laces on your trousers, with an unspoken request. Jaskier sits up, leaving hot kisses along your stomach while he deftly unties the laces. He hooks his fingers into the waist of the pants and pulls them, along with your smallclothes, to the floor, where you carefully step out of them. He moves to stand, hands sliding up your legs and under your chemise. You’re not sure you’ve ever been touched quite like this before, as if he is feeling skin for the first and last time. Your skin is kissed by the cool air in the room as it is exposed, Jaskier standing to his full height and lifting the undershirt over your head. It soon joins everything else on the floor, and you are finally blissfully bare before him.
He hums appreciatively before taking your hands in his and takes a few steps back, resting his weight against the wall behind him. He plants a lingering kiss to your fingertips before lowering them to his trousers. Your hands tremble, not something born of anxiety, but of impatience. We should really wear fewer layers you think to yourself as you untangle the knot that secures the band of his pants. Your hands slide along his hips, and you move them downward, bringing the trousers and underclothes with you. You wind up kneeling with one knee on the floor, and you help Jaskier step out of the clothes. You lift your gaze, and are met with the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen. His cock is standing proud, flushed and straining with arousal. You flick your eyes back to his, silently asking permission. He lets out a trembling breath and nods, never breaking your gaze. You settle between his legs, gently running your nails up his legs, scratching the hairs and feeling the muscles that twitch beneath your touch.
You let out a hum and wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the passion and power and heat. Jaskier’s head is thrown back against the wall with a thunk, gasping out a string of disjointed syllables. His name falls from your lips, and you lean forward, trailing the flat of your tongue from your hand up his length, circling the tip before pulling him into your mouth. He still tastes of sage and citrus, but there’s something else, something distinctly Jaskier, and it’s intoxicating. You moan around him, pulling him in further and his knees buckle, his fingers threading through your hair and settling at the crown of your head. You move slowly, sliding your lips up and down, giving little twists of your wrist around the base of him. His breath is short and ragged, a gale of wind carrying leaves and flowers and promises. Your free hand glides up to his chest and back down his leg and back up again, this time roving to his backside and giving a little squeeze. His cock twitches in your mouth and you taste the salt of his arousal, just barely pearling at his tip. You suck in your cheeks and release him, the pop echoing in the little room. Your hand still works itself along the length of his cock, twisting at the end, then suddenly Jaskier stutters out your name. You release him, sitting back on your heels and looking up at him, quirking an eyebrow.
He is so beautiful like this, chest heaving and flushed, hair pointing every direction, putty beneath your fingers. He’s fucked out on the feeling of you, and you can’t help the little swell of pride that washed through you. Jaskier holds out a hand, just as he did earlier in the evening, and you rest your hand in his. He pulls you up lightly, kissing you until you see stars, his arousal still pressed between your bodies. “Fuck,” he exhales, pulling back to regain some sort of composure. After a heartbeat, his eyes open, glinting with more than a little mischief. He leans down so that his mouth is at your ear, and he whispers, “go lay on the bed, love.”
You pull out of his grip, lingering at his hands, gently pulling him with you towards the bed. You lay back, sinking down into the pillows’ soft embrace. Jaskier climbs after you, settling himself so he is straddling over you. He settles back onto his heels, looming over you. He reminds you of old tales of the gods walking among humans, and in this moment, you can believe them all. He reaches to you, his hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you into a searing kiss. His other hand moves to your breast, kneading the soft flesh until you arch further into him with a gasp. The hand behind your head pulls you to the side, exposing your neck for his attention. He leaves little kisses along your jaw as he moves, finding a spot just under your ear that makes you whine with the barest touch. He deepens the kiss there, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin. Both of his hands are on your breasts now, and it is all you can do to run your hands along whatever skin of his you can find. Jaskier pushes you back so that you are laying once more, and he takes each of the raised peaks of your breasts in his mouth before moving to settle between your thighs.
“May I?” He asks, and you gulp, nodding feverishly. You’re sure that even if you had tried to answer with words, they wouldn’t have made any sense with how mindless in arousal you are. He pushes your knees up and apart, laying on his stomach so that he is level with your sex. Jaskier’s hands run up your legs, meeting at the apex of your thighs, and he spreads his thumbs to meet at your center. He parts you, fully invested in his inquiry into your pleasure. His tongue runs along the length of your cunt, suckling at the bundle of nerves at the top. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, every muscle seizes, everything outside of this little room ceases to exist. Your hands fly to his hair, hips rocking like a ship in a storm against his mouth, your head falling back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut. Jaskier drinks you like a man who has never known water, or ale, or apple juice, and now never wants to know. He swirls his tongue around your clit, humming at the taste of your pleasure. Words are tumbling from your mouth like the rain against the windows, constant and indistinguishable noises of gratitude, prayer, and pleas for more, more.
Jaskier shifts so that he has one arm draped across your hips, holding you down, and with his other hand he thrusts two fingers inside of you, intent on learning you as well as he’s learned his instruments, for he’s sure that you would make the most beautiful music. As he withdraws them only to thrust them back in and again and again, you lift your head to look down at him only to find his piercing blue eyes already on you. Your hands tighten in the priceless silk of his hair, causing him to suckle, thrust, and moan against you all at the same time, and the relentless storm is suddenly inside of the room. Every color you’ve ever seen flashes behind your eyes, there is a dull roar of thunder in your ears, and every wall you’ve ever built in yourself cracks and shatters under his watchful eye. In that moment, there is everything, and nothing.
Jaskier brings you back to yourself, his attentions never wavering. He coaxes you back down and kisses the inside of your thigh as he climbs to hover over you once more. You pull him down, tasting yourself on his mouth, dragging a gravelly moan from your chest at the feel of his cock, still warm and weighty and wanting against your stomach. You hook your legs up and around his hips, trying to pull him ever closer to you. His forehead rests against yours as he looks down, lining himself at your entrance. Jaskier brings his eyes back to you as he pushes forward, slowly sheathing himself in one smooth motion. He stills, letting you adjust to him. You feel so wonderfully full, and you gently clench yourself around him. His head falls to your shoulder, his lips against your neck.
“Fuck,” he grits, his voice marbles on cobblestone, “do that again.”
You squeeze once more, and Jaskier only growls, low and long. He pushes himself up to rest on his hands before he moves his hips, pulling almost fully out of you. You whine at the loss of touch, only for the sound to puncture itself as he drives so impossibly deep within you. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, grasping for some semblance of reality in this world of bliss. He sets a steady pace, but it is too soon not nearly enough. One of your hands falls to knead your breast, looking for any friction to bring you further. With a deep, guttural sound, Jaskier loops his arm under your waist and shifts his weight so that he pulls you so you’re sitting in his lap.
He fucks up into you, hard, spearing up into you, finding the spot within you that makes you feel like you could devastate planets from existence. The sound that spills from you is a mix between a gasp and a prayer, trying so desperately to hold onto something anything in this moment. You feel Jaskier everywhere, every angle inside of you, every touch, every kiss, every huff of breath along your skin. Outside, lightning strikes to ground and your own lightning flies up your spine, a strangled cry falling from your lips as your storm washes away the rest of the world. Your cunt clenches Jaskier like a vice, and his teeth sink into your neck as his pleasure overtakes him. You’re oversensitive, but you gently rock against him, coaxing every last moment of euphoria from him.
As he comes back to himself, you stroke your hand along his face and pull him into a kiss, still passionate but now sated. Jaskier pulls himself out of you and you feel his spend trail down your thigh. He lays you back down onto the bed and stands, moving to the little dresser to retrieve a small damp cloth. When he returns, he leans in for another kiss, gently moving the cloth along your body to get you clean. He throws the cloth over his shoulder with the same ridiculous bravado as earlier when he finishes and climbs back into the bed, pulling you to lay against his side with your head against his chest. You feel his thumb brush along your arm, and as you rest a hand on his chest, you find comfort in the sound of his heart, strong and steady, lulling you to sleep.
*Geralt loves the sound of rain, but Gods does he wish it was a little bit louder so he didn’t have to hear everything from the next room over.
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Cloud 9
Jaskier x fem reader
Warnings: none, other than maybe a little angst?
I do not own the song or the show, but I wanted to try my hand at something new! :) please pardon any grammatical or spelling errors. Enjoy!
Key: Italics means the reader is singing.
You sat in a deeper part of the woods, sitting by the coursing river that flowed over a bed of river rock. You sat by yourself, picking flowers, your body resting against a tree, taking purchase in it's shade from the harsh sun. You had stepped away from your camp as Geralt went out to hunt for a monster that the locals paid him to get rid of. Jaskier was off gathering wood for the fire, taking forever, likely having gotten lost or found someone along the way back. The idea made your chest ache. Why did you leave when you were already alone at the camp? Well, because you wanted to make sure you would be truly alone, and away from them both as you indulged in your moment of unbridled emotion. Your moment of self realisation that was rather hard for you to wrap your head around. You were in love. Madly at that.
*"I don't wanna seem the way I do'*
*"But I'm confident when I'm with you"*
*"Lately all I feel is bad and bruised"*
*"Tired of tripping on my shoes"*
You started to sing as you looked at your reflection off the beautifully clear water. Catching yourself for a moment in a day dream of him next to you. You both sitting like this, only in your dreams, you weren't alone by the water's edge. In your dreams, his arm was draped around you, holding you close, sharing in each other's body heat as you spoke of nonsensical things. Your feet dipped into the water together. In your dreams, you were the subject of his songs like he is in yours. In your dreams, he was yours.
*"But when he loves me I feel like I'm floating"*
*"When he calls me pretty I feel like somebody"*
*"Even when we fade eventually to nothing"*
*"You will always be my favorite form of loving"*
You sang as you held a flower in your hands that you had picked from beside you, leaning your head back against the tree behind you as you continued to daydream. The white flower seemed to shine in the light. It was so pure, so pretty. You dreamt of the time he placed a similar looking flower in your hair, proud that he had found you your favorite flower on a trip you all shared some time ago.
Deep in the woods, Jaskier gathered a pile of sticks, twigs, pinecones and any other things that he could think of that could keep a fire kindled through the night. He was on the hunt for more, for bigger and better options, when he heard a voice in the heart of the woods he was searching in. He was weary at first, unsure of whether to approach the voice or not. He knew better than anyone else, after traveling with the witcher, that not everything is always as they seem. He was weary of possibly walking into a trap, but he couldn't help but to feel entranced by the voice. Pulled towards it even. It wasn't until he drew close did he realise it was someone singing. A woman singing at that.
*"When I start to tumble from the sky"*
*"You remind me how to fly"*
*"Lately, I've been feeling un-alive"*
*"But you bring me back to life"*
You continue to sing, your emotions taking over you like a giant wave crashing along the shore. Your heart clenched in it's place in your chest, a tightness growing from it as you began to wonder if he could ever feel the same for you as you did for him. Time and time again he was called the fool. A, seemingly shameless, fool who carelessly falls in love with women on a whim, only for it to pass like the seasons do. Perhaps you were the fool. A fool for thinking someone like him could love someone like you. Someone who yearns for stability and life long love. Someone to be there for you as much as you for them. Your heart told you it was possible, yet that voice in the back of your head, was ever present, spouting tales of the opposite. For just a moment you wished to shut it out, to drown in the possibility of reciprocated love. For now, it was nothing more than a possibility.
Little did you know, you were no longer alone. Jaskier approached the voice that seemed to call out to him. He creeped behind the trees and hid behind the shrubs, trying to keep his distance, not wanting to stumble across something that could cause trouble, but also not wanting to disturb or disrupt the alluring voice. Their song was beautiful, and he found himself wanting it to never end. He found himself wanting to sit there all day long, just listening to them sing. He'd never heard someone with as beautiful a voice as this mysterious woman had. He had to get closer. See who this woman was.
*"But when he loves me, I feel like I'm floating"*
*"When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody"*
*"Even when we fade eventually, to nothing"*
*"You will always be my favorite form of loving"*
You sang, putting your all into it, your emotions getting the better of you as tears began to well to your eyes. You closed your eyes as you sang, a tear or two rolling down your soft cheeks, landing on the petals of the beautiful flower you had in hand. Tears brought about by sorrow filled thoughts of a love that would likely never be. You were so new to these feelings, to these desires, all of it. You were never one to see what was so appealing about the romances they spesk of in story books. They were all so unrealistic and filled with false hopes. How could you when the world around you told you it could never happen? Nobody truly ever had a happily ever after. Did they..? At least, you wondered if you ever could.
Jaskier quietly moved closer, finally catching sight of the woman that dat under the tree. The sight shocked him. It was you. That gorgeous voice, that entrancing song, it was coming from you. Your eyes were closed as you seemed to pour your all into the song that tugged at his heart strings. He'd never seen you so full of emotion before, so enveloped into something. He had no idea you even knew how to sing, let alone that you sounded this good. It made him wish you would do it more often around him. Sadly, he found your song coming to an end, watching as small tears ran down your cheeks. The sunlight caught them perfectly from this angle, making them seem to sparkle in the light. You were beautiful even when you cried. You looked no less than a river goddess sitting by her river, singing a siren's song as she ran her hands through the flowers. You were always beautiful in his eyes, but like this? You were truly otherworldly.
*"But when he loves me, I feel like I'm floating"*
*"When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody"*
*"Even when we fade eventually, to nothing"*
*"You will always be my favorite form of loving"*
You finished, the lyrics softer this time, a little more drawn out than the previous verse. You opened your eyes to look at the sky, your eyes scanning the fluffy clouds that seemed to hold no distinguishable shape as they traveled across the sky. The bright blue sky. It's hue reminded you of his eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that could hold you as if you were casted under a spell. Those eyes that held concern for you when you were hurt. Eyes that would light up at a joke, a compliment, or a story told by the fire. Eyes that would tear up and cry when he was overcome with sorrow. You could stare into them all day long and never grow tired of it. They told a story, a almost never ending story of love, lust, pain, and adventure. If only he knew. If only he knew how you wished you could be special in his eyes.
He sat there, beyond words at your performance. You were blissfully unaware of his presence, yet he couldn't be more honored that you had graced him with such a show. Nothing is more beautiful than a song from the heart, and this one sounded full of it. He wondered who the subject of your song was, wondered who it was that claimed your loving heart and kind soul to the point you could only admit it through a ballad deep in the woods. Was it someone from your past? Someone you haven't spoken of before that you still harbored feelings for? Or perhaps was it Geralt? The strong and brooding witcher that could draw in any woman with his skills, looks, and guarded personality? He hoped to himself, however greedy it may sound, that your song was about him. That you held him so close to your heart that you would create such a song just about your adoration. He would be honored if that was the case, but he wondered if a fool like him could pull someone as wonderful as you. Someone so happy, so caring, so full of life. Someone who loves with all of their heart, mind, and soul. You offer something no one else ever has. Stability. It scared him. In a life filled with adventure and curiosity that was too often over taken by his sexual desires. You were the first of anyone to make him consider spending the rest of his life with one person. The first to show him so much care through everything you all had been through. You weren't merely a fling like the rest, you were someone he wanted to pour all his time into. Someone he wanted to overcome his fear with. He wished he could know if he was special in your eyes as you are in his. If only you knew. If only you knew how much he truly longed for you.
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Weekend Reading | August 14, 2020
Hello, happy peppy people! Another weekend reading! I am so far ahead on writing that I am trying my best to use some of this breathing room to read more fic! So here we go!
Urges by @villainousshakespeare Jack Linden x OFC- This is so HOT!! And rough and wanton and delicious. This is the kind of smut that causes panties to burst into flames. A must read!!!
Elixir by @yespolkadotkitty Javier Pena x Reader- So this has popped up on my blog for a bit but I need to rec it here. I am apparently a hoe for sex pollen. This was amazing! And I am not a Pedro fan. Get ye away, Pedro sirens! But seriously read the fic.
Beside Us When Beauty Brightens by @myoxisbroken William Buxton x OFC- Ah William, one of the lesser known but no less adorable. This story is what I am hoping will be the happy ending and satisfying love life William deserves. This is the first chapter. Can’t wait for more!
A Certain Type by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Dark! Steve x Reader- So non-con but so hot. Read the warnings and don’t at me if you don’t. This was smutty and delicious. If you like dark, highly recommend.
All Reason Flown by @grufflepuff-writes-stuff Loki x Reader- So much fluff! I love a protective (not possessive) Loki. My heart went all marshmallowy. So sweet!! LOVE!
Imprint by @awstark Geralt & Jaskier- This little fluffy and funny drabble is everything. Cute and funny and LOVE IT!! I think I may have a things for ducks in fics. Read it and giggle.
Until next week!!
#weekend reading#the night manager#narcos#cranford#jack linden#javier pena#william buxton#steve rogers#loki#geralt#jaskier#jack linden smut#javier pena smut#william buxton fanfiction#steve rogers smut#loki fluff#geralt fluff#jaskier fluff#witcher fanfiction#loki fanfiction#steve rogers fanfiction#geralt fanfiction#javier pena fanfiction#jack linden fanfiction
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What about a typical "I'm in a scary situation so I just grabbed your hand without thinking but you didnt let go so now we're holding hands" with Jaskier?
Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 520Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent a/n: Just a little snack of a fluff fic. This is one of my favorite cliché/trope/etc. Enjoy!
The cave was deeper than any of you realized it would be. And darker. And scarier.
You weren’t new to adventuring. Even before you’d met up with Geralt and Jaskier you’d been traveling for some time on your own. There was something about the witcher that seemed to attract the exceptionally heinous, though, and even the simplest job somehow took on a more menacing edge. You were trying very hard not to seem afraid, always worried that admitting your fear would make you seem weak. Jaskier had no such reservations, however.
“Geralt I just stepped on something and it stepped back Geralt stop walking Geralt listen to me something is down here with us!”
His words tumbled out frantically, giving you an idea of where he stood. It was too dark to see but you walked into something solid and cedar scented.
“GERALT!”
“It’s just me, Jaskier!” you cried, scared that Geralt would move to behead whatever was attacking the bard. You heard Geralt mutter something under his breath, some displeased grunt that was swallowed up by the inky darkness around you. Jaskier turned around, hands running over your arms and (accidentally) your chest and finally your face and shoulders as he tried to make out where you were, and what you were.
“Oh gods, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a monster,” he said, relief in his voice.
“Don’t worry, I get that all the time,” you joked.
“Well you can hardly blame them. Sirens are quite lovely, after all,” he countered. Even scared out of his wits and totally blind he found a way to push through and try to charm you. It helped to ease your fear and the pair of you laughed.
A low, haunting moan filled the cave, growing louder as it progressed up the tunnel towards you. You found Jaskier’s hand and pulled him close as the noise washed over you and he wrapped his free arm protectively around your head, trying to shield your body with his. The noise passed by you and the pair of you stood that way still, uneven breathing and racing heartbeats the only sounds left in the silence until you heard footsteps move closer.
“Stay back!” Jaskier cried, trying to sound braver than he felt and nearly succeeding.
“Jaskier, is Y/N with you?” Geralt asked.
“I’m here Geralt,” you said, peeking out from under Jaskier’s arm. He moved to let you address Geralt easier but his hand stayed wrapped around yours.
“Good,” Geralt said from somewhere close by, “That was a wraith. We’re getting close.”
You heard him march off and Jaskier scoffed.
“Oh fantastic, a wraith, brilliant!” he said sardonically.
“I mean, it is why we’re here,” you reminded him.
“Doesn’t mean he has to sound so damn casual about it,” Jaskier grumbled. You chuckled and the pair of you began to walk after your friend. When you felt Jaskier moving his hand your heart dropped a little, already missing the comforting warmth. But then you felt him thread his fingers through yours, holding your hand even tighter as you walked towards the danger together.
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Of Scars and Art
Pairing: Geralt x reader
Song: Work Song -Hozier
Warnings: A lot of angst. Some swearing.
An:This was meant to be something else entirely lol. I hope y'all enjoy!
Would you laugh at me if I called you my guiding light?
Because it scares me that you might.
That you'd sooner call me a fool than accept the fact that I trust you with my life.
With my heart in your hands.
Then again.
I have seen the way you look at her. You look at her as if she carries the sun itself in her hands.
And when I look down into mine all I can see is the way they tremble. The smattering of scars kissing my knuckles. The twisted turns of my right pinky from a punch thrown wrong back when I was just a child.
It hurts. Just a little. Or at least that's what I told Jaskier. There's nothing that I can hide from him at this point.
But what else was I to tell him? That every time I see Geralt my heart pounds it's lovesick tune within my chest? Or that he is the first man that I found myself turning back to time and time again.
That just the thought of him keeps me up late at night when I'm so desperate for sleep.
Because how else am I to explain the fire that shoots across my skin with every passing touch. His hand on my shoulder as he gives me his praise makes my heart soar.
God. When had I become so desperate for another person's approval. How had I become so hungry for attention from another when all I had needed was myself.
When my own company was enough to keep myself complacent in a world so fucking huge that it left me feeling so small.
When I look at her I can see what he sees. Yennefer is the type of woman to drive any artist mad.
If I hadn't known better I would have called her a siren. With the bewitching tune her voice sings and the soft earthy kiss of her skin.
She seemed unblemished. With hardly a hair out of place.
And me.
Well.
I did my best. I was comfortable in my skin. That much I was proud of. But even the most confident could grow sick of the scars that spread across ones hips. Over the soft curves of thighs.
Even those won not from growing. The gashes across my back and the nick above my lip when I so foolishly ate with a knife absolutely drunk.
I hated the way my voice wavers when I'm scared. The blotchy red that stains my cheeks when I'm nervous or laugh just that little bit to hard.
I can see why he chose her rather than me.
Everyone would rather choose a work of art unspoiled rather than a broken bit of nothing.
Even when I told myself that it's ok. Sometimes it happens. That you don't need anyone besides yourself to make you happy.
It still hurt me when I found them together.
I didn't even do it on purpose.
It was my room after all.
Lips locked and bodies twined together. His hand in her hair as she cried out into the night.
Those were my sheets on that bed.
My bag by the nightstand.
My heart on the ground.
I left everything then.
My entire life in one worn bag left behind in favor of walking out into the dying light of the sun.
I had nothing but the sword on my hip and the few coins clashing together in my to large a pocket.
How...
Just.
Why?
In my room.
On my bed.
I told Jaskier not to tell Geralt or Yennefer that I had left. Or that I wasn't coming back.
All the work I had was left behind. The research I had done for them. For him.
Oh God how I had played the fool. Oh I had played him well enough.
They could face this beast alone. I knew when I was no longer needed.
I had made it to the stables when I heard him crying out. Yelling my name.
No doubt leaving the room soon after I had slammed the door closed.
"Y/n!" My name on his lips.
It no longer sounded sweet.
My feet settled into the stir-rups.
"Y/n! Wait dammit!" I scowled and pushed my horse forward. The old girl throwing her head back seeming to sense my displeasure. I barely managed to make it passed Geralt before he grabbed ahold of my arm almost wrenching me off of my horse.
"Wait!" At one point in time his touch would have sent sparks along my spine. Now.
Now it just makes me pissed.
"Why? So you can tell me that you're going to fuck Yennefer on my bed? Oh. Wait. You already fucking did!" He scowled. Those amber eyes swirling with an emotion I had no words to describe. I swallowed thickly.
"Fuck." I jerked my hand back as if it were touching fire. I was absolutely seething at this point.
"Fuck is all you have to say? Maybe you really are as heartless as they say Geralt. Most people wouldn't say 'fuck' if they saw their so called friend fucking in their bed." He stepped back. Running his hands through his hair. It was now I noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. Just his pants and boots both loosely laced up.
"I." He swallowed. I tapped my heals against my horse. Clicking my tongue as I urged her forward. Once again I was stopped.
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
I was scars to her art.
An artists sketch before the final product.
No one ever looks twice at the first draft.
I was a fool to think he'd look at me.
I'd be damned if we met again.
#geralt x you#geralt fanfic#geralt of rivia#geralt x reader#witcher geralt#the witcher netflix#the witcher fanfiction#the witcher
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