#so if anything JASKIER would be the one who gets flustered | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undercoveravenger · 2 years

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Terms and Conditions

Pairing: Jaskier x GN!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “could you write a fic about an ace non binary/gender neutral reader meeting Jaskier and having adventures together + slow burn and best friends to lovers sorta thing? I think it’d be really cute if the reader was scared of telling Jaskier how they feel because they’ve never been in love/dated anyone before (speaking from experience lol) but when they finally confess Jaskier’s just like “why the fuck didn’t you say so sooner, I’ve been in love with you from day one” and he gets all flustered and cute when the reader flirts with him/shows him affection❤️”

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As a witcher, you were no stranger to late nights and early mornings, but that didn’t mean you’d ever really be accustomed to your best friend waking you up at some god-awful hour of the morning.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Jaskier exclaimed frantically as he burst into your room at the inn the two of you had chosen to stop at, hurriedly crossing the room to shove at your shoulder. “We need to leave immediately!”

He relented when a groggy groan escaped you and you sat up, moving instead to gather your things into your pack and bring your boots to your bedside for you.

“What’s wrong this time, Jask?” you asked blearily, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you pulled on your boots.

Jaskier looked up from where he was crouched by your bag, “You know that woman I was with last night?” When you nodded he continued with his story, “Well, her husband came back and, needless to say, he was less than pleased to see me. So we should go very quickly because he was right behind me.”

You huffed out a laugh, ignoring the sharp stab of hurt at the thought of Jaskier with someone else. “Have you ever considered that your life would be in substantially less danger if you chose to stop sleeping with married people and settled down with someone?”

He gave a sarcastic laugh, though he grinned a little when you pushed yourself to your feet and slung your bag over your shoulder anyway. “Yes, well, that would be far easier if the only person I’ve had genuine feelings for shared that interest.”

You raised an eyebrow curiously, though Jaskier ignored your probing questions as he led you cautiously down to the main floor of the inn to return your keys and then out to the stables for your horses. “Have you told this person how you feel about them?” “Of course not,” he said, finally giving in to your questioning. He gave you an odd look as he pulled himself up onto his horse. “I am… decidedly not their type.”

You remained quiet as you mounted your horse, lost in thought as you considered who exactly might be the unknowing bearer of your friend’s heart. Certainly none of the lords or ladies he’d fucked his way through throughout the time you’d been traveling together; he never spoke of any of them after spending the night with them and hardly ever remembered their names. Really, the only person he’d ever spoken fondly to you about had been…

Well now, that really made too much sense. You nodded to yourself, now certain that the bard was in love with his former traveling companion; a white-haired witcher by the name of Geralt. You’d heard the dozens of songs that Jaskier had written about the witcher and his adventures, and he’d told you enough stories that his fondness was easy to see. And with what you’d heard about Geralt’s exploits with a mage named Yennefer and the women of the towns they passed through, you could understand why Jaskier didn’t think he was the witcher’s type. With all that in mind, you understood why he wouldn’t want to say anything.

Hell, you couldn’t judge; it wasn’t like you were planning on saying anything to Jaskier about your own feelings anytime soon.

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Eventually you pulled your horse to a stop when you judged that the two of you were far enough from town to be safe from slighted husbands, and Jaskier followed suit. You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped when the faint sound of bells chiming caught your ears. Your brows furrowed and you slid down from your horse, tying off your reins to the branches of a nearby tree before turning and making your way into the treeline.

You could hear Jaskier scrambling noisily through the brush behind you, though your attention remained focused on the small figure sitting crouched at the bank of the murky lake ahead of you, partially obscured by the trees.Your hand fell to the hilt of your sword and you noiselessly drew it from its sheath as you approached the child.

“You’re quite far from home,” you said, eyes locked on the creature as you stopped, gaze not wavering even as Jaskier came crashing into the clearing behind you. “And I suspect you’ve caused a lot of trouble for a great many people.”

The young girl turned to look at you, blond curls tumbling over her shoulder with the movement. She cocked her head as she noticed the blade leveled on her, “I suppose you mean to make me go home?”

“I do,” you replied firmly, “Though I’d prefer it be by your choice rather than force.”

Jaskier puts a hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to speak softly to you, “She’s just a little girl, is the sword really necessary?”

A wry smile crossed your features and your grip tightened on the hilt of your sword until your knuckles went white, “Except it isn’t a little girl, is it?”

The creature let out a delighted laugh and its glamour fell away; fair skin fading to a dark ash gray and brilliant green eyes being consumed by the darkness of the pupils until there was nothing but black left. The curl of the hair straightened and silvered, falling as easily as snow on a winter’s morning. “You’ve good instincts, witcher. He’d have been dead without you,” it said, gesturing at Jaskier.

“You’ve a decent glamour, fae,” you acknowledged, sheathing your sword. It’s visible amusement had you convinced that you weren’t actively in danger. “However, I still cannot allow you to remain.”

It nodded thoughtfully, “I would not be opposed to returning to my court, though I will not do so without payment.”

“What would you deem adequate?” you asked, knowing you’d have to make an iron-clad agreement to lock in a faerie.

It made a thoughtful noise, tapping its too-long fingers together, “You’ve caught me in a good mood, so I will agree to return home to my court and leave this town undisturbed for the foreseeable future in exchange for some…” Its eyes flickered between you and Jaskier once more and a sly grin formed across its lips, “Entertainment. A secret will do.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief; everything you’d ever heard told you that the fae would rake you across the coals in any deal they made, but a secret? It sounded too easy. “Just a secret, huh?”

“Yes,” it confirmed with a nod, “I quite wonder what a witcher such as yourself might value as much as your most private secret.” Their eyes locked onto Jaskier once more, and their grin grew predatory, “Tell me, how do you truly feel about your companion?”

The faerie’s question had you blanching, tensing under the weight of Jaskier’s baffled stare. You were half tempted to lie, to say he meant nothing more to you than a brother might, but you knew that would void the terms of your deal. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes as you forced yourself to speak. “I’m in love with him.”

Jaskier’s shocked gasp echoed through the clearing behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look at him, instead keeping your gaze fixed on the faerie and its smug smile as it vanished into thin air.

Twigs and leaves crunched under Jaskier’s boots as he moved to stand in front of you. “You… love me?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, instead keeping your eyes fixed on the far bank of the lake as you nodded.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he said, not even giving you a chance to respond before he was taking your face in his hands and surging forward to kiss you. He pulled away after a moment, smiling brightly at you, “Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner? I’ve been in love with you since literally the first time I met you!”

For a long moment you struggled to process what you’d just heard, but as it set in an embarrassed flush spread over your cheeks, much to Jaskier’s amusement. “I didn’t think that- You seemed interested in anyone but me!”

“I didn’t want you to break my heart!” Jaskier huffed, stealing another quick kiss.

You rolled your eyes at the very thought, but you couldn’t help but smile at the thought that this would now be a regular occurrence. You supposed that every now and then a faerie’s deal could have good results.

#male!reader x jaskier #male reader x jaskier #jaskier x male!reader #jaskier x male reader #jaskier x gender neutral reader #jaskier x gender neutral!reader #jaskier x GN!reader #jaskier x asexual!reader #jaskier x ace!reader #the witcher x male reader #male reader x the witcher #the witcher x male!reader #the witcher reader insert #the witcher x reader #the witcher x gender neutral reader #the witcher x gender neutral!reader #the witcher x GN!reader

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samstree · 3 years

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A Study in Blushing

In which Jaskier makes a surprising discovery and decides to test it out.

(tooth rotting fluff, blushing geralt, soft jaskier, love confessions, kissing, winter at kaer morhen, rated teen, 3000 words)

Also, I know witchers can't blush in canon but seriously we should all know better.

read on AO3

“Gods damn it, bard! I know Geralt tolerates all your shit because he’s in love with you, but you gotta put things back where they belong!”

Lambert grumbles something more all the while putting the training swords back on the shelf, and Jaskier’s mind stops.

The world zeroes in on the words he’s in love with you and suddenly Jaskier can’t form words.

“W...What did you—”

“I said—” Lambert throws down the last one with a clunk. “—the swords go back on the shelf!”

“Geralt...is in love with me?” Jaskier breathes, unbelieving.

Lambert pauses, “Don’t you know?”

“No...?”

“Fuck. Pretty boy can’t get his head out of his ass and now I have to suffer.”

With that, Lambert tries to shoulder past Jaskier but the bard is having none of it. “No!” he puts a hand on Lambert’s chest. “Don’t even think about it. How? Since when? And how do you know?”

Lambert mumbles something unintelligible, before sighing long-sufferingly. “It’s too obvious, Buttercup.”

“How is it obvious? Does Geralt walk around with the words ‘I’m smitten with my bard and all the grumpy face is faked’ written on his forehead? How, pray tell, is it obvious?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Lambert, the bastard, raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Did you truly not know?”

“No!”

Jaskier is so close to grabbing Lambert by the collar just to shake some answers out of him, and finally, the youngest wolf takes pity on him.

“He looks at you differently when he thinks you are doing something cute. He trips over his words after you call him sweet names. The worst of it all—he blushes any time you are close. Blushes, like a fucking maiden. Urgh, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh,” Jaskier deflates, “Witchers blush?”

“See for yourself.” Lambert rolls his eyes, walking past Jaskier with a few long strides. “And put the swords back!”

Jaskier decides to test it out, because there’s no way Geralt is in love with him.

Loving him as a friend, sure, why not? Despite what ignorant folks claim about witchers, Jaskier knows by experience that Geralt has a heart bigger and more capable of love than most. But Geralt being in love with Jaskier? Like, he-wants-to-kiss-him in love with him? No way.

Blushing because of him? Ha! More like in Jaskier’s wildest dreams.

Although that would be really cute.

“Pass me the salt, honey?” Jaskier reaches out a hand to the other end of the table, and Geralt passes the salt without thinking.

Hmm.

No tripping over words.

“Thank you, dear heart.”

He’s putting as much sweetness in his voice as possible and Geralt is…normal. His eyebrows are raised to the roof, and there’s a faint smile by the corners of his eyes. But that’s just how Geralt is…right? He’s home and he’s relaxed, he smiles with his eyes rather than his lips, and it’s got nothing to do with Jaskier.

Jaskier chews, staring at Geralt subtly.

Not subtle enough.

“Something on my face?”

“No—” Jaskier chokes, hacking like a fool and tipping sideways. “Just—too much salt.”

Geralt scoffs, the faint smile turning into a brief grin, and hands over a cup of water.

Jaskier wants the ground to swallow him whole.

The snow is terrible.

The whole keep is freezing like an ice cube, and Jaskier has to blow on his hands from time to time just to function in the library. He’s the lucky one, in the grand scheme of things. The witchers still need to go outside to fix up the walls and tend to the animals.

Geralt hasn’t been back in a while.

Jaskier puts down the quill he’s been chewing anxiously and rushes out the door—

And bumps right into Geralt’s chest.

“Sweet Melitele, that’s a lot of snow!” Jaskier spits out the snow knocked into his mouth, before looking at Geralt properly. “Oh, you’re hurt.”

The cut on Geralt’s eyebrow is a small one, but Jaskier worries nonetheless. Geralt doesn’t look impressed, only walks straight towards the small medkit sitting on a shelf.

“Repairment has to wait. The wind is bad.” Geralt grunts, trying to touch the wound and missing by a mile.

“Here, let me.”

Jaskier takes the salve from Geralt’s slightly shaking hands and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. Geralt is frowning so hard he can crack a walnut with those eyebrows.

“Relax,” Jaskier murmurs, blowing gently at the cut while dabbing at the blood. Upon deeming it clean enough, he applies a scoop of the salve that smells of celandine and mint. “Don’t move. It’ll only hurt a bit.”

Geralt keeps shying away from Jaskier’s ministration so he has no choice but to wrap his other hand around Geralt’s jaw, which manages to still him instantly.

“There,” Jaskier smiles. “Shouldn’t need anything more. Your witcher healing will kick in soon.”

Geralt tilts his head with that soft look in his eyes. “My thanks. Wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“No shit! Who goes out in a storm like this one? If you ask me, Vesemir is too tough on you. Look at you…” Jaskier coos, taking Geralt’s hands. “You are like a popsicle, dear heart.”

He tries to rub some heat back into Geralt’s freezing hands, his skin dry and rough. There’s still some hand cream left in Jaskier’s room. Maybe he can fetch it later. Geralt needs to take care of his hands better when his living depends on them.

Geralt groans, looking away. The frames of his ears are beet red too; he must have been outside without a hat for all this time. Jaskier wants to cover them with his warm palms, only to have his hands batted away.

“No, there’s—I’m fine,” Geralt mumbles. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d think the way Geralt avoids his eyes is a result of shyness. The bard can snort at the ridiculous idea and stubbornly presses his hands over Geralt’s ears.

Oh.

His ears are red because they are so warm, not cold

Now that they are standing so close, only a hand’s breadth away, Geralt looks stunned, his eyes dilating, only leaving a ring of gold around those dark pupils. There’s even a layer of pink dusting over his pale cheeks.

A blushing witcher.

Oh, this is interesting.

“Geralt, sweetie?” Jaskier husks, lowering his voice especially on the pet name. “Are you warm enough?”

“Um, sure…not cold.”

And he watches as Geralt’s mind ceases to work in front of his eyes, the blush deepening. It’s still a subtle thing. No wonder Jaskier has missed it all this time. Calloused hands wrap around Jaskier’s wrists, and the bard finally relents, letting go.

If he spends the rest of the day sitting at the desk with a quill in hand, thinking about the way Geralt’s skin feels against his and the warmth of his cheeks, nobody needs to know.

Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with this piece of new information.

Geralt does blush.

Because of him.

He tries to repeat the experiment. Just to be sure, he tells himself. And every time it yields the same results. As soon as he gets into Geralt’s space, the witcher either stumbles through his words or gets all flustered all over. The fondness is there too, just in a very Geralt and very unnoticeable manner, soft and almost smiling.

Jaskier is so drunk on power.

The only thing left is to tell Geralt that he loves him too. That he’s also in love in love with him, as in an I-also-want-to-kiss-you kind of way, and then… they can finally kiss!

Oh, just inwardly rehearsing the scene makes Jaskier dizzy, and somehow he ends up smiling to himself when he’s so deep in thoughts planning the conversation, once even in front of company.

Lambert throws him a side-eye and a disgusted grunt, but Jaskier can’t care less.

He finds the perfect night, and even takes a sip of White Gull from Eskel’s cup just to calm his nerves.

And he realizes too late that, perhaps, the strongest witcher brew might be a mistake.

The effect is stronger than he anticipated, and Jaskier is giggling through the fog in his mind within mimutes, somehow ending up on Geralt’s lap, draped over his shoulder in a heap of soft, pliant mess.

He rests his temple against Geralt’s and nearly tips backward if not for the strong arm that catches him by the waist.

“Oops, thank the gods I have my big witcher here!” Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers across Geralt’s stubbles. It tickles, and the blush is back, unmistakably, since Geralt is as sober as the day. “I’d fall over on my butt without you! And falling over doesn’t look good before saying important things, does it?”

Huh, he’s said it out loud.

“Saying what things?”

Well, if it’s out there…

“Where do I start again? Right of course, with how beautiful you look when you’re like this!”

His fingers move to tuck the curtain of white hair behind Geralt’s ears. No matter how much Jaskier loves it when Geralt wears his hair down, he needs to look into those amber eyes without obstruction. The molten gold gleams with surprise and Jaskier wants to drown in it.

“I’m not…” Geralt splutters, before closing his mouth with a pop. The flush is stretching down his neck now, and Jaskier chases it with a hand.

“You are!” he insists petulantly. “You are blushing and it’s beautiful. Adorable too! I wouldn’t know if Lambert hadn’t told me—” he burps. “—um, everything.”

“Told you what?”

The alarm in Geralt’s voice should wake Jaskier up immediately, but alas, the White Gull is no joke.

“Shh!” he stage-whispers, “It’s a secret! Don’t tell Geralt! I need to do it right!”

Jaskier lets out a happy sound and leans into the comforting embrace that he loves so much. Under his fingers, he can feel heat still gather under Geralt’s skin, making him look equally annoyed and fond.

“You are not making sense, Jask.”

“Nothing about you makes sense either, but I’m here. And ready.” Jaskier smiles and presses a chaste kiss on Geralt’s cheekbone, humming another happy sound.

Kissing Geralt is nice, gives Jaskier all the fuzzy feelings.

But somehow, that was also the wrong thing to do, because Geralt has gone stiff under Jaskier’s body. The next thing he knows, the witcher is struggling to untangle their limbs and leaving him empty and cold.

“Don’t…do this,” he murmurs, upset. “Just…don’t.”

The anguish the seeps through Geralt’s voice somehow manages to get through the muddy cloud in Jaskier’s mind.

“Wait, what?” Jaskier rights himself on unsteady feet, but his witcher is long gone. Eskel and Lambert are still nursing their tankards by the fire, and Jaskier wobbles past them without a care. He needs to find Geralt, who apparently charged right out of the great hall and into the cold night.

The heavy wooden doors open and Jaskier is hit with the unrelenting wind. The snow has stopped and partially melted, and frozen all over again. It’s the worst kind. Jaskier takes his steps with caution but still, it’s too slippery.

Okay. Mind. Clear. He needs it to be.

“Geralt?” he calls out, churning with anxiety. “Geralt, where are you?”

Damn his witcher speed. Now Jaskier is walking in the dark and freezing his balls off without an ounce of idea where Geralt might be. Oh, the stalls. Roach must be the first thought Geralt has when he needs to talk. Jaskier shudders, hugging his doublet tighter to fend off the wind and searches for the stalls blindly.

“Geralt, are you—ow!”

He walks right into a pillar and falls on his butt. Before Jaskier can register the pain, a pair of hands are picking him up by the armpits and he stumbles into Geralt’s embrace.

There’s a familiar sizzle of Igni, and the torch by the stalls is roaring with life.

“What are you doing out here?” A coat is tossed over Jaskier’s shoulders and he’s ushered back towards the building.

“Looking for you, you idiot!” Jaskier squawks, albeit grateful for the thick fur coat. A few more minutes he would lose all feelings in his toes. “Running into the night like this, who knows what can happen to you!”

“So you followed me out drunk and with no coat and I’m the idiot? Gods, I don’t know why I even…”

The doors creak open and there’s light and warmth and the smell of mead, but Jaskier’s heart sinks.

“I don’t know why you even bother too,” Jaskier muses, suddenly feeling like a scolded child.

Geralt steers Jaskier past the other wolf witchers and straight into his room, where the heat feels like a furnace on Jaskier’s frozen fingers—Geralt has been secretly tending to Jaskier’s fire for weeks after the human came down with a cold upon arrival at the keep. He’s too good to Jaskier.

“You are too good to me.”

“And you are a pain in the ass.”

Geralt sits Jaskier down in front of the fire rather grumpily, before joining him and pulling the coat even tighter. He’s still mad, just a smidge, but the droop of his eyes speaks more of sadness.

“Hey, talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, squeezing Geralt’s knee in reassurance. Whatever argument coming their way, he can’t stand Geralt being sad.

“How drunk are you?”

“Not very.” If Geralt walking out hadn’t put Jaskier out of his daze, the wind sure finished the job. “White gull passes quickly. Hmm, who would have thought…”

“I need to tell you something.”

“But I need to tell you something too! It’s important.”

“Let me go first?”

The plead comes out in a whisper, and who is Jaskier to reject Geralt like this, wide-eyed and earnest?

“I never meant for you to know, and certainly not on a night like this, but Jaskier…” Geralt heaves out a breath, determined and so so brave. Jaskier is drawn closer to Geralt’s body like a magnet, ready to soothe, to meet him halfway. “I am in love with you.”

“Geralt.”

“I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s okay. You make a living singing about loving. Hell, you make a living simply by loving. Music, adventures, people, so many people. It’s okay that your heart is too big for me. But, Jask, I can’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t…not…”

“You flirt with people. You…touch them and kiss them and praise them. It’s okay. It’s the way you are. I understand that when you do the same with me it doesn’t mean anything more, but, Jaskier, I need you to stop.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Do you hate it? I thought…differently.”

The smile that tugs at Geralt’s lips can only be described as crestfallen.

“The opposite. I love it too much. I’ll always want more. Always. I’m greedy like this.”

The guilt weighing down on Geralt’s shoulders is not a good sight, a personal offense to Jaskier. His hand reaches out on its own volition, tilting Geralt’s chin up so their gazes meet. The blush is back.

What did Jaskier do in his past life to deserve this man?

“That’s what I was going to say.”

“That you are greedy?”

The frown remains on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier smooths it with the pad of his thumb.

“No. That I am in love with you. Gods, for someone who’s not a bard, you sure know how to steal someone’s line from the beginning,” Jaskier chuckles. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I return your feelings. But alas, you know the coward that I am.”

“You are…not,” he protests, blinking.

The way Geralt defends him on instinct only makes Jaskier’s insides melt into a pool of fuzziness.

“In this, yes. How I fucked up so bad is a mystery. That’s just me I guess, trying to love you but ending up hurting you, making you feel like I’m stringing you along like anyone else.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you oaf.” Jaskier bops his nose. “You are the most important person in the world for me. This is the most important thing in the world to me! I love you and I love it when you blush. Also, I’d very much like to kiss you, if you want it too.”

Jaskier bites into his lips and watches as Geralt’s gaze drops to them, the pink of his cheeks spreading into the most gorgeous crimson. “I want to. Kiss you, that is.”

“Good.”

Jaskier wets his lips with a peak of the tongue and watches the same gesture returned. Even if the alcohol has left his system, the intoxication remains, only this time because of Geralt’s slightly dilated pupils and quickened breathing. He leans in, not being able to resist—

“Did you say ‘return my feelings’?” Geralt dodges away, looking incredulous. “Jaskier, did you know? And what was that about blushing?”

“Um…” Now Jaskier is the one to splutter. Luckily, he has a trick up his sleeves or two that can make sure Geralt forgets about every last thought there is.

Jaskier lunges forward and tackles his witcher onto the soft rug and kisses him within an inch of his life, deepening it like there’s no tomorrow. Judging by the dazed look on Geralt’s face as he comes up for air, the method is working.

Cupping Geralt’s rosy cheeks, Jaskier croaks proudly, “Tell you later?”

“We have all the later we need.” Geralt’s smile is blinding, and equally mischievous. Without a moment of pause, Jaskier ends up the one flipped onto his back and being kissed until he shudders with pleasure.

Jaskier has to thank Lambert properly one day, considering Geralt will certainly go after him with a vengeance.

For now, having Geralt on top of him and slowly melting into a contented mess should be enough. If he’s allowed, Jaskier vows silently, he would really like to make Geralt blush for him for the rest of his life.

Jaskier will totally make it his life's mission to tease Geralt endlessly and see his beautiful blush. 🥰🥰

On another note, I challenged myself to write 2000 words exactly, and this ended up, um, 3000 words exactly. I’ll count it as a win anyway ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #getting together #requited love #kissing #hand holding #winter at kaer morhen #soft jaskier #geralt of rivia blushes

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jaskierswolf · 2 years

Note

Hello dear! May I ask for some aro Valdo going to Jaskier for sex when he needs it? 💟

One of Those Days

Valskier!

Aro/Demisexual Valskier and very bi Jaskier

CW: Horny and fade to black smut.

Contrary to popular belief, not all bards were hardcore romantics with insatiable libidos. In fact, Valdo Marx was neither of these things. Whilst his best friend and most fearsome rival seemed to be all of them. Valdo had sat with Jaskier through the breakups, running his fingers through Jaskier’s messy brown locks whilst the idiot cried in his laps, drunk off his head and far too emotional. Or even worse, the days after the fight where Jaskier seemed to be just… empty. It was as if all life drained from his friend and he was but a shell, no personality, no spark, like a mage had cursed his soul to the deepest parts of hell.

To someone who had never truly fallen in love or committed himself to anyone in any way… it was incredibly hard to watch, and he simply didn’t understand.

What made slightly more sense was the sex. Jaskier chased after any beautiful person he could, charming anyone and everyone to his bed, with a frequency that seemed quite alarming to Valdo. Not that he would judge, if anything, Valdo appeared to be the odd one out in their peer group. It wasn’t that he hated sex, more like he didn’t particularly need it, finding more comfort in the erotic novels he wrote to help fund his studies.

He certainly could never fall into bed with a stranger. The very thought had his skin crawling, but after getting to know his idiot roommate, the idea wasn’t quite as repulsive. In fact, some days he really did feel the pull, the allure from his best friend. Aesthetically, Valdo knew that Jaskier was attractive, it was just that he wasn’t always attracted to him.

It was, however, one of those days. All morning Valdo had felt restless, easily flustered, arousal settling in the pit of his stomach and not even his morning wank had eased the sensation. When Jaskier sauntered into their shared room after class, all unkept and barely dressed… Valdo knew that night would be one spent together.

He could feel his eyes lingering on Jaskier’s collar bone, the urge to run his fingers through the mat of hair that covered Jaskier’s chest. Heat prickled over his skin and his cock started to harden in his breeches.

Fuck.

He was so engrossed in the way his friend looked, that he didn’t register a word he was saying, until Jaskier’s fingers snapped in front of his face.

“Marx! Are you even listening to me?”

Valdo’s mouth was dry and he didn’t quite trust himself to answer, too distracted by the way Jaskier’s tongue flicked out to lick along his lips.

Urgh. It was incredibly frustrating. Valdo just wasn’t sure how people coped with having to deal with these urges all the fucking time. How in gods hell did people get anything done when they just wanted to jump on the nearest cock until they were so fucked out they couldn’t remember their damned name?

For a brief, barely there moment, Valdo wondered if love was just as staggering, taking over all thoughts until there was nothing else left. But before he could properly consider it, Jaskier’s fingers were on his cheek and he could no longer form any sort of coherent thought that wasn’t just begging his fellow bard to ruin him.

“Are you okay, darling?” Jaskier’s voice was warm like honey, washing over him like a mage’s spell.

“Uh huh,” he replied as eloquently as he could.

And then Jaskier was in his space, the heat of his breath tingling against Valdo’s skin, their lips mere centimetres apart. Valdo shuddered as Jaskier’s fingers brushed down to his neck, leaving a trail of fire in their path.

“Stop me if you don’t want this.” The words were barely a whisper, breathed into his ear like a secret never to be told again.

Instead of replying, Valdo just groaned quietly, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and pulling him into a kiss. Dizzy and unreasonably turned on, they stumbled towards the bed, their lips never quite parting, even as Jaskier began to pull at Valdo’s emerald doublet, Valdo’s hands wandering to grope at his friend’s arse. There was no stopping now, he knew that, and he didn’t want to. The rare moments where he felt that spark of lust were spine-tingling, addictive, like fisstech coursing through his veins. Every touch was fire, every kiss, stealing the air from his lungs.

He hadn’t always been so lucky, but with Jaskier it was simple. They fucked once in a while, and then the next day they were back to their usual routine. He never had to worry about his friend falling in love with him, or the fall out that came with that. It was sex, pure and simple, no strings attached.

As Valdo pushed Jaskier back onto the bed, straddling his friend’s waist as he tore Jaskier’s shirt off over his head. The bastard just laughed, resting his hands on Valdo’s hips, his fingers dancing over the skin under his shirt.

“Impatient,” Jaskier teased, a smug smile on his stupid face.

“Shut up and fuck me already.”

“I need to prep you first, darling.”

Rolling his eyes, Valdo scoffed. “I’m no blushing virgin, Julian. Don’t let my libido fool you. Just hurry up about it, I don’t want to change my mind.”

“You’re mean when you’re horny,” Jaskier pouted, but managed to hook his leg up behind Valdo and flip them over. When he wanted to be, Jaskier was deceptively strong, and that was just even more frustrating when Valdo just wanted to be railed into the next week.

“I’m always mean to you, Julian. It’s why you like me,” he countered, but laid back with a sigh as Jaskier set to work on removing his breeches and smalls. Tossing a vial of oil to his friend, Valdo smirked. “Now get to work.”

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @slythnerd

#the witcher #valskier #valdskier #valdo/jaskier #valdo marx #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #aro week 2022

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dapandapod · 3 years

Text

You know something?

@bananapeel5127 asked: For the hug prompts. Could you please do 36 with geraskier? 💚💚💚 36. I thought you were dead hug. And I’m sorry, this is the third time I’m trying to post this, Tumbl keeps eating them?!

Yes I absolutely can! I know I have done this prompt before but I do like the challenge of looking at it another way. Thank you as always @kuripon for betareading, you are a right darling! Please enjoy!

Send me a hug prompt? On Ao3 Hug collection here

Some nights are a little weirder than others.

That is something Jaskier learned rather early in his travels with the witcher. Part of the fun, he tells his friends and colleagues in Oxenfurt as he retells a story about that time Geralt had a contract on a giant duck.

This night is not...strange per se. It just so happens that Geralt has had a bit more to drink than he usually allows himself, and Jaskier has the honor of depositing him back to his room. Again, not all that strange, were it not for the way Geralt had been clinging to him all night.

“Alright big guy, time to get you upstairs.”

“You know something? I’ll tell, I’ll tell you something. You remind me of a bard, you know?”

“Do I really?” Jaskier asks, smirking as he tries to get Geralt on his feet. The witcher isn’t being all too helpful, leaning on him heavily instead of getting off the blasted chair.

“You really do! But you couldn't be him, you know?”

“Why couldn’t I?” Fuck, Geralt is heavy, but Jaskier realizes that if he allows the hug and just slowly backs up, Geralt will follow. Success.

“‘Cuz I can’t touch him, you know?”

Jaskier stops.

Looks up at the witcher, who looks down at him, his arms slung over Jaskier’s shoulders. Drunkards and their confessions.

“You can’t?” Jaskier asks, a heavy feeling settling in his gut.

“Nope!” Geralt says, popping the 'p' and gifting Jaskier’s face with hot breath that smells like cheap beer and white gull. Ugh.

“Why?” Jaskier prods but Geralt shakes his head violently.

“Secret! A witcher never tells!”

Jaskier huffs goodnaturedly and Geralt clings to him a little closer. Upstairs it is.

“You know something?” Geralt says again as they climb the stairs towards their rooms.

“Probably not, go ahead and tell me.”

“You are really cute.”

Jaskier snorts, catching Geralt as he stumbles on a step.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I see.”

Silly witcher. Jaskier manhandles him the rest of the way, leaning him against the wall as he fumbles with the key. Geralt has gotten to the stage of hiccuping, and if Jaskier’s experience of drunk witcher is anything to go by, they are closing in on the emotional state, which is closely followed by the blackout.

With some effort, Jaskier manages to get Geralt to sit on the bed and instructs him to take his boots off. That should distract him long enough, so that Jaskier can go fetch some water for the morning, find his doublet again, and mend his fractured heart.

Hearing your best friend and secret love interest say they can’t touch you because you are you, well. It’s not all that fun.

“You know something?” Geralt asks again from the bed, struggling with clasps and leather cords and who knows what else.

“What?” Jaskier smiles at his drunk witcher, waiting with a hand on the handle for Geralt to say what’s on his mind.

“You really are very cute, and were it not for my bard, I would bed you.”

The sound that Jaskier makes is not a word. It is literally a sound, garbled and strangled and all kinds of flustered and confused.

“Water,” he croaks, and then straight up flees.

What. What? What???

In a haze, Jaskier walks down the stairs, picks up his forgotten doublet, asks for water, and then stops outside the door to Geralt’s room. From inside, he can hear muffled shuffling, and then something falling to the floor heavily. Probably one of the boots.

And then a small, broken sound, and no matter how confused Jaskier is, he can’t let Geralt make those noises, especially not alone.

The door swings open, revealing Geralt staring forlornly at the one boot he managed to get off, his tunic discarded on the floor. Jaskier just about manages to put the pitcher of water down before Geralt notices him, and pounces.

“Jaskier!” he says, voice a bit breathy and upset. On his way forward, he stumbles over the discarded clothes and he catches himself on his knees and then flings himself the rest of the way towards Jaskier. Arms outstretched, he manages to grab Jaskier’s waist but as he pulls him closer, Jaskier loses his balance and they fall over each other to the floor.

“Jaskier!” Geralt repeats, and this time it almost sounds like a sniffle. Ah, here comes the emotional part. “I thought you were dead!”

Smushed under a half naked witcher, Jaskier wheezes for breath.

“Why would you think I’m dead?” he asks, pushing against Geralt’s bare arms to get his breath back.

“You disappeared! Gone! I was alone with this really kind man, he looked, he looked a lot like you. But you smell better. And he wanted to bed me, but I said no!”

As Geralt rambles, he climbs over Jaskier, completely covering him, and by the time he says ‘no!”, he emphasizes it by putting his open hand right in front of Jaskier’s nose.

“There is only one I want!” Geralt continues, all serious. “Even when I thought you were dead.”

Geralt is now leaning over him, his white hair a little messy and falling over his shoulder. He looks rather out of it and absolutely stunning. Jaskier’s heart is beating like crazy, and he really has to restrain himself not to do something stupid.

Geralt is drunk. He doesn’t know what he is saying. Or doing, apparently, because next he knows Geralt is touching his cheek, his thumb touching his lower lip.

Fuck. Fuck.

“I love the sound of your heart,” Geralt mumbles, his eyes getting droopy.

Oh no, they are closing in on the blackout stage. Fuck! If Geralt falls asleep now, Jaskier will be trapped on the floor for the rest of the night. And that sucks.

“Do you want to listen to it?” Jaskier offers, and hoping that that means relocating to the bed.

“I do. All the time,” Geralt whispers, his head falling towards Jaskier’s shoulder. Nononono, as cute and creepy as that is, Jaskier can’t focus on that right now.

“Bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says loudly, pulling at Geralt’s hair. That gets his attention. Geralt gets up on all fours over Jaskier with a sound that reminds Jaskier of a snore, and then scoops him up like he weighs fucking nothing. Jaskier yelps, and then he is thrown on the bed, with a witcher following shortly thereafter.

Jaskier finds himself properly cuddled with no chance of escape. Geralt is resting his head on Jaskier’s chest, snuggling in and rearranging his limbs so that Jaskier is hugging him back. And in all honesty, Jaskier doesn’t mind. He loves those few precious moments he is allowed near, allowed to care, allowed to show it.

But he has a feeling that things will be a bit different from now on. At least, because he is going to make hungover Geralt say all the things drunk Geralt did.

And possibly kiss him.

#geraskier #the witcher #silly drunk witcher #geralt x jaskier #hug prompts 2021 #pining!geralt #pining jaskier #im writing the tags for at least the third time #this feels fake #im not sure i will be allowed to keep them #anyway #dapanda writes

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ruffboijuliaburnsides · 3 years

Text

Female Geralt AU

So I wanted to clean up this AU meme response for reasons, including the fact that I really like it but I churned out the original in like 15 minutes and needed more than 5 bullet points lbr. So until this actually gets turned into the fic I want it to be, here it is, a little nicer than it was before. 💜

1. No one ever tells Geralt he doesn’t have to be 100% exactly what people expect. He lives for years just… responding. He’s a monster because people expect a monster. He’s a tool because people expect a tool. He’s emotionless because people expect him to be emotionless. He’s a man because people expect him to be a man. It's not much of a life, perhaps, but he gets by, and he doesn't get killed by an angry mob or a monster, and that's the most a witcher can hope for

1a. Until he meets a bard in Posada

2. Jaskier is a bubbly, busty, ridiculous breath of fresh air. She's technically the daughter of an earl, but not set to inherit; Kerack is so picky about it being the eldest son who inherits, and she's never been anyone's son, so she’s not a viscountess, just the daughter of some nobleman who thinks himself far more important than fourth generation nobility from a tiny backwater kingdom could ever be. But she plays the lute like a dream, and her voice is sweet and chiming and clear when she sings, and her laugh is bold and loud and could make your ears ring, and her smile is infectious and wide. Geralt can’t let her travel alone, she’s too soft, too vulnerable, too easy a target when she always wears such pretty frocks and braids flowers in her hair.

2a. He can't let her swan into his life like sunshine and safe harbor and then just leave again, not that he'll admit it.

3. From that first day she fawns over Geralt in a way he understands means flirting, means fondness, means attraction, but he can’t imagine sullying her with his hands, his mouth, his co– his body. So he says and does nothing, just lets her write songs about his heroism and bravery, lets the slow shift of opinion catch him by surprise, lets her put a hand on his chest and push him back down into his seat with a vicious smile when someone accuses her of being a witcher’s whore, at which point she generally tends to grab a bottle or a metal serving tray or a chair and absolutely go to town on the person in question.

3a. Jaskier was never soft and vulnerable when faced with people who were a threat. She always seemed to be soft and vulnerable around Geralt. He decides very firmly that he won't think about it. (He fails.)

4. They go along quite happily for years, surviving all sorts of trouble, shockingly little of it actually caused by Jaskier herself. Eventually, of course, Geralt gets cursed, because it's sort of inevitable it would happen eventually. It’s supposed to be humiliating, being turned into a woman, meant to drive him to misery and shame, but it’s not. It’s strange, but comfortable. He's still himself, just with leaner muscles, softer features. His voice is still low and gravely, yet higher and softer than it had been before. His angles are still sharp and hard, but with just the tiniest bit of softness. Just a bit.

5. Jaskier fusses initially, and Geralt can’t understand why her heart is pounding so hard until he smells a familiar sort of sweetness on the air and realizes that the bard is flustered. She's actually attracted to the woman’s form he’s currently filling, in a way she never quite is for his usual form. He should be worried about getting the curse broken, but instead he finds himself wondering if the curse may be permanent.

6. Jaskier asks if he’s all right, in a soft, worried voice, if he’s upset or needs to talk or needs anything. Geralt doesn’t answer for nearly three hours, simply lets Jaskier's nervous chatter wash over him as they find a good campsite and set about getting settled. He knows he's worrying her, not saying anything, but she clearly thinks he's forgotten the questions until he asks, so fucking carefully and uncertainly, if she minds him being shaped this way. And Jaskier frowns, and Geralt thinks that maybe it was a horrible mistake to ask, but then Jaskier's expression clears with realization, and she smiles as bright as the sun and says, “Whatever form you want to come in, you are still my Geralt, and still my witcher. I will always adore you.”

6a. (they’ve never said love, can't quite admit to loving each other in such a way, but adore is fine, somehow. Adore could be something less and different than love, could be an aesthetic, could be the drive for adventure, could be desperate friendship. It is love, of course, but they don’t have to acknowledge it just yet.)

7. They find a witch, just to make sure there's no other parts of the curse they haven't run into yet. Instead of any of the increasingly unlikely outcomes Jaskier's come up with as they traveled, the mage verifies that there are no traps or hidden triggers she can find. Then she tells them it’s permanent unless removed, and says she can do it for very little fee.

7a. Geralt looks down at Jaskier, the bright ember of sunlight who's made her home in Geralt's heart, who is beaming up at him encouragingly. Geralt smiles; Jaskier's own grin always had been infectious.

7b. “No,” he– she tells the witch, lacing her fingers together with Jaskier’s, reveling in the startled and blindingly brilliant smile the little bard gives her. “I think I’ll keep it.”

8. She remains the most fearsome Wolf in the world, of course. She grows her hair out further. Jaskier braids it down her back - generally utilitarian and secure - but always always always tucks at least one flower into it.

9. They don't live happily ever after, but they do live happily most of the time.

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #fem geralt #trans geralt #fem jaskier #my fic

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Curious Travels - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

- reader is part of my Of Monsters and Men series

Summary: Yet again has your humble bard dragged you and Geralt to another kingdom for whatever reason, though as the snow falls outside, you know just how to keep warm.

Warning: fluff, SMUT, some actual plot

Masterlist

Jumping off of your own horse you’re immediately greeted with the soft crunch of snow under your boots. Your pack of three mighty adventures have traveled all this way to the wintery mountainside kingdom of Turga for, as Jaskier would say, “food, festivities, and fun times to be had”. Not being one to ever walk away from such intriguing tidings, you’ve made it a point to accompany Jaskier on his trek to the kingdom.

Geralt on the other hand could absolutely not be bothered in the slightest to come for such “fun times to be had” but he loves you and begrudgingly decided to follow the two of you anyways.

The whole ordeal of traveling had taken about a week, through forest and fields, streams to pass and bridges to cross, until finally at last your horses had reached snow. And more importantly the wooden post naming the direction of said mountain kingdom, causing your bard to become even more chipper and talkative then usual.

Much to your amusement and Geralt’s silent moody frustration, though he would have liked to smack the bard across his head or quite possibly snap that lute in two. Watching your face light up at Jaskier’s jokes and stories from before he met both you and Geralt, so far has kept the grumbly Witcher to himself, just being able to see your beaming face is enough to make this trip all the better.

Though he’s still doubtful anything fantastic will actually come out of this journey in any way, considering most travels with the two of you end rather poorly.

You’re eyes grew big once they spotted the snowy glowing city of Turga sitting comfortably atop a silver hill in all her beautiful glory. Jaskier wasn’t fooling, this place is absolutely magnificent, it’s like a true winter wonderland.

Great evergreens stand tall at the large wooden gates of the town, two guards dressed in silver armor and a red sash over their breast greet you three with generous smiles of welcome tidings that take you more off center then you’d ever expected. How strange it is not to be looked down upon, or scrutinized by people who always tend to think the worst.

Jaskier simply grins, clearly knowing something you and your grouchy Witcher do not, but what could that possibly be, then again it isn’t exactly abnormal. Following closely behind, you and Geralt lead your horses along the snow covered streets as Jaskier leads the way to the stables.

The whole time your eyes have been wide in awe at the beautiful surroundings of the town, lanterns held up by steel chains hang in a line above your heads. Dashing evergreens keep watch from their various positions in the square. Oddly enough the stables look cozy, decorative pines are hung at the front doors, and from the opened windows you can see on the inside that there are rafters kept along with ornamental little flags of a hundred colors.

Soon enough the face of a dirt smudge stable boy races out of the wooden door, a wreath on the back of it jostles at the quick unexpected movement. Although on further inspection you realize he is a sylvan once you notice the two hooves peaking out from under his oversized cloak, he smiles brightly at the three of you while his big shimmering eyes shine a soft pink as he shuffles through the snow to Jaskier’s steed.

“Vallo Vaskier! Hove yuv bveen!” Exclaims the boy in a peculiar accent with a smile that could light up a room.

“Oh you know..” Shrugs the bard, “A bit of this a bit of that. But here’s something....I have made some loyal companions on my travels, they’re a real time, it’s been great honestly...although a tad bit dangerous at times but eh I’m still breathing.” He laughs, “So anyways, when’s the grand feast at the lady of winters hall?”

The boys face turns into a thrilled grin, “Are you performing?”

Jaskier glances to you before turning back to the kid, “Of course I am. Didn’t just travel all the way up here for nothing. So uh, when’s the feast?”

“Oh, right the veast. You hev to be invited first. But I vouldn’t vorry to vuch, vord alveys spreads vhen you’re here Vaskier.” States the stable boy with a curt nod.

“Boy you got any taverns close?” He snaps his head up to you, curls bouncing in the process as he gives a shy smile before nodding.

“Of course mviss. Vaskier knows ver they are.”

A smirk plays at your lips as you find the bards gaze, “I should have know.” You mutter, turning your head to find Geralt, “Now to find that tavern.” You add suggestively with a quick wink. Causing your man to hand you the smallest of smiles in knowing acknowledgment.

“Alright, Finn. Take this pretty lady to her home for the night. You’ve got two others who’ll need a stall.” States Jaskier as he nods to his horse, “And uh, the one with the scary face and white hair, be good to his mare. She’s very special to him, more then the half-vampire that rides with us and..Oh! Oww! Y/N don’t hit me woman!” Stammers the bard as you fold your arms across your chest.

A smirk upon your lips at his flustered reaction, “What was that about Roach being more special then me? You didn’t finish what you where going to say.”

“Well I would have if I wasn’t assaulted first.” Assures Jaskier, turning back to the kid, “Anyways, we’re ready to find our stead’s a place for the night. Well perhaps a couple nights, we may be here for a few days give or take.”

“A few days? He never said anything about that?” Grumbles Geralt in that familiar gravelly voice of his, “Y/N did he mention a few days?”

Grasping your horses leather reigns in one hand, you rest the other on Geralt’s broad cloaked shoulder, “Oh where’s your festive spirit? Come on love this is gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

Turning to follow Jaskier and the stable boy into the barn, Geralt tugs for Roach to start walking, rolling his golden eyes as he watches you swagger into the large pine rimmed entrance. Though a small tinge of excitement rushes throughout his body when remembering that subtle wink you shared with him only moments ago.

Your crimson irises light up at the colorful flags and cozy barn atmosphere, perfect for the tired horses that so desperately could use a good rest. You’re never this impressed by such festive decorations most times, but it’s been a long while since you’ve bared witness to such things. It feels rather nice, and anyways, another adventure with your boys is always welcomed.

The stable boy quickly takes Jaskier’s horse to get settled for the night, leaving yourself to find your own stable and Geralt to do the same. You turn, leading your own mare into a hay covered stall and doing what you can to help her feel more comfortable.

Taking off her saddle, you lay it off to the side, going now to brush her brown back, smoothing her fur down as you do. While so lost in your own little world you can’t help but begin rambling about your thoughts to the patient horse.

“Now since it’s come to mind...I think this place isn’t too bad, ya know? I haven’t really met any of the townsfolk so my true impression of the people here have yet to be determined. Although I’m not really getting a hostile feeling coming from this place so that’s good.” The mare snorts in reply, or at least you think she does, causing you to chuckle at the horses timely reaction, “Yes, my friend that’s exactly what I was thinking but you already new that and now I am talking to a horse.....and Geralt is standing right over there isn’t he.” You rush, whispering the last part to your horse.

Geralt leans his large frame against the wooden stalls door, a small amused smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you brush the mare. “Not strange at all. I think they understand, in their own way.”

“Maybe it’s because I travel with you too much, look at me, I’m talking to a horse.” You mutter with a small laugh, “Though I guess their company can be better then an actual persons. I have a feeling you know my meaning.”

He smiles again, looking around the barn until his golden eyes find yours once more, “Better then most.”

You gently tilt your head in a small nod, brushing the last of the mares ruffled hide before setting the brush down. Then reaching for your belongings that are hanging from a metal hook inches from Geralt.

He politely steps to the side as you take your cloak and sheathed silver dagger from off of the hook, bundling them under your arm you take a step forward past him, stopping for a moment to not-so-subtly trail your eyes up to his handsome face.

“See something interesting?” He muses, eyeing you up just the same causing a swarm of butterflies to make themselves know in your stomach.

Biting your lip you refrain from pushing him against the wooden wall and kissing him like your life depends on it, deciding to instead hug your things tighter and give him a small fangy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Is all you can whisper out as you swiftly turn on your heel to go and find Jaskier before you change your mind and pounce on your Witcher like a cat to her prey.

It doesn’t take long to find him, the bard is casually seated on some blocks of hay as he gently strums on his lute while the stable boy brushes his horse for him. Jaskier is so caught up in his own world of playing that he neglects to notice when you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Jask!” You vocalize loudly, causing the entranced bard to jump and just about drop his prized lute if not for the strap.

“My gods Y/N, warn a man would you.” He sputters, setting himself a bit straighter once again as he gathers his bearings, “I could have dropped my dear lady just now.”

Taking a couple steps backwards towards Geralt, you chuckle, “In that case, I’ll try harder next time.”

Jaskier sends you a silent dirty look, causing Geralt to slip a couple hushed snickers out from behind you. “Alright bard..” Starts your Witcher, “where’s the nearest tavern? Considering it’s late and we’re all hungry.”

Jumping to his feet, Jaskier nods, “Right. Right. Of course, a tavern would be nice. Well my friend...and Y/N...let’s go find one.”

“Yes let’s.” Mutters Geralt, annoyance lacing his voice as Jaskier practically swaggers past the two of you, lute tightly in hand.

You turn to follow, nudging Geralt’s shoulder as you step past him, “Come on my White Wolf, let’s find that tavern. I could use a good rest, how about you?” The wink you send him is all but enough to fill his mind with wondrous thoughts for how his evening may truly end.

His heart admittedly fills with warmth and excitement as he watches you trail Jaskier out of the barn and into the wintery night air. Soft cool snowflakes kiss your warm skin as you stand in the silver wonderland, waiting for your Witcher to catch up.

A pleased smirk shows itself upon your face as you turn your head up to the dark clouds, enjoying the feeling of the small ice crystals as they float all around you. The night is absolutely divine, as you enjoy the small white puffs of air leaving forth from out of your mouth and nostrils.

You feel no chill from the harsh winter air, though you’re surprised when a certain someone unexpectedly attempts to throw a snowball at your back. Hearing the ball of ice swishing in the crisp air, you step inhumanly quick to the side.

A burst of laughter falls forth from your lips when the snow crashes into the shoulder of Jaskier as he looks from house to house trying to remember where the tavern is. He jumps back, his blue eyes wide as he snaps his jostled attention over to you, and the snowy haired man smirking from behind you.

“That was—was....Y/N!” Grumbles the bard with an angry pout before he begins to smile and eventually shake with laughter as well.

Chuckling still, you turn a raised brow to Geralt as he simply shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah okay, Sir. I-Didn’t-Even-Want-To-Come...” Suddenly your eyes narrow causing Geralt to loose his amusement, “You tried to hit me with a snowball, you fucker.”

Geralt takes a cautious step closer to you, a pleading look crossing his features, “And now I know how well your reflexes are.”

“You already know how well my reflexes are.”

“Yes. But...” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to say next as you await an answer, finally he takes another step closer, bringing his hand to tilt your head up with the tips of his fingers. His face so close now you can feel his hot breath against your skin, “I’ll deal with your wrath all night long if that’s what you’d wish.”

Gently removing his hand away from your face, you lean in even closer, your lips practically brushing past his own, “I think that is a deliciously appealing proposition, my love.”

Geralt has no time to answer before you swiftly shift away from him, leaving the man with his thoughts and slightly tighter pants as he watches you walk over to Jaskier once again, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

It took about a good fifteen minutes to actually track down the tavern of Jaskier’s choice, an admittedly large and homey hall appropriately called The Silver Faun Inn. Quite the name for quite the tavern, as per usual when walking into anywhere on the continent in a place like this.

Your marry band of three was immediately greeted with a multitude of cautious glares and many other intrigued excited glances. Though to your relief, no one dares bother either of you while you make to find a quiet corner for the late hour of the darkening evening.

Soon fresh food and tasteful ale is to be had, filling the three of you up just enough to be satisfied for the night, but not too much, you’ve got plans for later. Plans that are so obviously unnoticed by the titular bard who’s now decided the tavern is in desperate need of entertainment.

Leaning into Geralt’s strong side, a lazy smirk upon your face, you watch in amusement as Jaskier joyously strums his favorite lute. “Don’t think I’ve heard that ballot before.” You whisper.

Your quiet Witcher hums in reply, earning him a light friendly squeeze to his forearm that rests on the table next to yours, “The enthusiasm radiating off of you is just, astounding.” You chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder.

Geralt smiles affectionately at your adorable reaction to his less then impressive one, his heart swells with more silent joy when you pull away once again. Only to stop yourself from speaking, your scarlet irises so caught up in your lovers humored face.

You remain quiet for a moment, your face stoic though your eyes crinkle with mischief before you finally break out into a large beaming grin. Without a second thought, Geralt leans in to gently press his plush inviting lips against yours for a beautiful moment of love and lust.

He feels so lovely, you can tell just how much he truly wants you, but all to soon does he pull away, “I think we should find that room, what do you say Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you stare longingly into his golden eyes, “Fantastic idea. I got the keys so let’s get outta here.”

In a heartbeat do the two of you slip from the taverns quiet corner to wander past your oblivious bard as he belts out another marvelous tune that sends the crowd into fits of song and laughter. Soon all is forgotten and left to the back of your minds as you lead your Witcher up the steps and down to the end of the hallway where your room just so happens to be.

Quickly going to unlock it, you’re bewildered when the little metal key won’t turn left, huffing in frustration you try and force it as gently as you can muster. Geralt leans an arm against the doorframe doing nothing to help you focus on your new task at hand.

“Y/N just turn it left.”

“I am turning it left.”

“More gently.”

“I am turning it gently.”

“How much did you drink?” He chuckles.

Snapping your head to him you playfully make a face, “Same as you idiot, now if only I could fucking get this bitch open then we could...” Errreck. Crack. “Oh fuck me.” You deadpan.

“I’m trying.” Muses Geralt.

Smacking Geralt against his arm you take a step away from the broken lock, “Dammit. I broke the fucking key....and I think the lock too.”

“Can you open it now?”

Sighing in annoyance you raise a brow at your man, “Well uh, guess we’ll find out.”

Turning towards the thick wooden mahogany door with its freshly broken lock, you nervously reach a hand up to turn the golden door handle, sucking in a breath you twist the knob only to be met with resistance.

Pursing your lips together you lean your head against the door, “Whoever made these shit locks I’ll fucking cut their hands off cause apparently they don’t need them anymore with whatever kinda fuckery this is.” You growl.

All you wanna do is get it on with Geralt, this is not helping.

“You could just force the door.” Suggests Geralt.

“I’m not forcing the door love, I really don’t need a bounty on me for breaking a knob.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to sleep in Jaskier’s room tonight then.” Replies your Witcher with a shit eating grin, he knows just how much you want him right now. And so help you god if you don’t get what you want when it comes to a night with Geralt of Rivia.

“No! No! I can handle the fucking door!” You sass.

Taking a step back into the hallway, he folds his arms over his chest, “Alright then. Open the door Y/N.” Smirks Geralt, urging you to create some chaos.

Huffing, you take a step back, readying yourself to charge the grand mahogany door. The smirk on your Witcher’s face is admittedly smackable or kissable, you just can’t bring it in you to focus on anything else but opening this door. He watches in anticipation as you charge, hands out and ready to force open the closed entrance as you make hasty steps for the tavern room.

Without warning the giant door swings opens, taking you off guard as you fly through the new opening and into the grand room before falling to the hard floor with a grunt. Your chin smacks the wooden floorboards with a thwack sound, your opened palms doing just the same when you land.

“Ouch.” You mutter, lifting yourself up from the ground, turning when your nose catches the scent of someone new.

Snapping to your right, you’re caught with big brown fearful eyes of a young maid, “Oh, uh....your room is ready miss.”

Not aware of the less then friendly grimace adorning your face, Geralt steps into the room before you decide to shove the girl out yourself, “Sorry. The lock wasn’t working, I think we may have broken it.”

Quickly snapping out of her frightened trance, the girl turns a nervous eye to your Witcher, “Um, that key you have there...it’s not the right one. I’ll just uh....leave then.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving yours as she hastily slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Geralt gently closes the door, shoving a chair under the handle to create a makeshift lock while you take a couple steps forward over to the large mattress, resting a hand on the bed. He turns to you, “Well that was...”

“Entertaining much?” You scoff, rubbing your split chin, “I think I’m bleeding....no yeah, I’m definitely bleeding.”

Geralt hums, nodding before walking over to find a small spare cloth on the nearby table, “Sit on the bed I’ll clean you up.”

Doing just as directed you sit, watching as your silver haired lover walks across the room to seat himself next to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rolling your eyes you pout, “Funny is it? The things I do for you, and now my fucking chin hurts.”

Suddenly his eyes go soft, though there still remains a tinge of humor in them, “Y/N, you’ve already healed and the pain will die soon enough....here, let me just clean the blood away.” He mutters, reaching his arm up to press the pale cloth against your blood smudged skin.

Fine, ignore my pain you ass.

Though you’re still annoyed, the feeling of being tended to by Geralt is enough to dissipate away all your recent frustrations and brewing anger. Sending you into a blissful minute of staring lazily into your mans pretty golden eyes like a dazed lover.

Once he’s confident all the blood is gone, he sets the pink cloth in his lap, saying nothing as the two of you stare deeply into the eyes of one another, the sexual tension of the room rising by the second. You slip out a soft breath, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

“This is the part where you kiss my pain away. Right here.” You point at your chin, just below your lips. His golden eyes dart down, following your directions.

Ever so meticulously slowly does he lean in closer, the blood smudged cloth left and forgotten as it falls to the floor when his large hands go to touch your face. His lips press softly onto your chin, then cheek, then the other, and another two over your jawline. Earning a satisfied hum of approval from you, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your own hands grasp onto his thick forearms, the rest of yourself feeling rather warm all over as Geralt kisses all over your face, slowly as ever.

“You know..” Kiss, “Geralt, mhmm....my lips are right here...” You mutter, just as he presses a heated one onto the preferred area you’ve asked. He tastes so sweet, like the ale he drank earlier in the evening, but this is admittedly much better then any ale you’ve ever drank.

Soon his hands fall to your waist and arm, then to many other places as he decides to explore your body with his calloused hands. Not being one to hold back, you do just the same, earning a low husky moan from deep within his throat when you palm him just to see what’s going on down there.

Fortunately he’s decently hard, the fabric of his dark pants are nicely stretched out from what pleasantries await you soon enough. Leaving him be for the moment, you gently break away from his sweet lips.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You chuckle at the annoyed expression adorning his handsome features, “I’m just, rather wet down here and I’d like to get things rolling. Though don’t get me wrong I could kiss those lips of yours all fucking day.” You add, deliberately doing your best to give him your bedroom eyes.

He pauses for a second, his eyes trailing from your clothed nether regions all the way up to your shimmering lust filled gaze, “You’re already wet?”

Rolling your eyes you reach out to pull him further up the bed, “Oh fuck off, you’re already harder then a frozen ice cycle and that was before we even got into this room so shut uh uhh mhmm...” Is all you’re able to ramble out before he’s attacked your neck again with those beautifully plush lips of his, the rest of his body hovering just above you as he rests a knee between your parted thighs.

His lips leave a wet trail all the way down your throat until they reach the edge of your tops laced fabric, where a clear V is had that reaches down to the area between your breasts. He kisses once on the lace and exposed skin on your sternum, then another further down.

He’s just about driving you wild with the frustratingly grand lack of friction in certain areas that are so desperately craving such attention. Done with his teasing you lightly tug at his long white hair.

“Geralt just fuck me already.” You mumble, sucking in a quick breath when he gently squeezes your breast without warning.

Kissing your cheek, his face remains mere inches from your own as he stares mischievously into your crimson eyes, “We may need to take some clothes off first.” He chuckles, planting a quick kiss to your lips before sitting back on the bed.

Laying there, body hot and pulsing with pleasure unreleased, you hastily sit up and fumble as fast as you can to remove your grey top. Flinging it to the floor as your eyes find Geralt’s once again, though this time he’s completely shirtless.

Drinking up every last little piece of your muscular Witcher, you bite your lip as he smiles at you, “And that’s a sight I could look at everyday.” You just about swoon at his quick witted words, no doubt feeling a bit heated the longer he stares at you.

Winking at him, you swiftly shed the thin dark material calling itself an undershirt, a playful gleam in your eye as you watch Geralt quickly find your two exposed breasts. Beautiful and soft, your nibbles perked at the arousal coursing throughout your entire vessel.

Wanting to be bold, you wiggle a brow at him before confidently standing, your eyes never leaving his. He watches with an intrigued curious gaze before you begin unbuttoning your black trousers, earning another blissful smirk across the mans face.

Soon enough are all the buttons finally undone, with a spectacular dramatic bow do you then go to shimmy out of your pants, kicking them to the wooden floor in a rush as you’re now left in nothing but your small whole filled and slightly ripped underwear.

As to be expected, Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your exposed legs, getting nothing but a quick playful kick to his hands as you hum in disapproval. Instead you go to set a hand on your hip, nodding your head for him to remove his own concealing attire.

He hums in reply, standing to his full height as you unabashedly watch him fully undress himself, tossing his pants and undergarments to the floor ever so dramatically. He stares you down with those big beautiful golden eyes of his, you keep your sights locked onto them and painfully ignore his now exposed member that’s hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Biting your lip, you try your absolute best to keep from smiling, “Fuck me I love you so much.” You speak breathlessly, your eyes turning more serious again, “Now sit, please.”

Geralt hums, seating himself upon the soft billowy mattress just as directed, deciding to lean back on his arms and let his body lay open and ready for you. Blinking slowly you finally reveal a pleased smile down at him, just about mirroring the same one that he’s handing you so freely, just like his body.

Slowly you walk forward on the bed, your legs held firmly to either side of his lower waist as you kneel down, hovering your soaked womanhood right above his glistening member. You let out a breathy chuckle, resting your palms against his broad shoulders as he does the same action but with your bare hips.

“May I?” You politely ask, leaning your head against his as he gently squeezes the flesh of your hips in reply.

“Of course.” He mutters, low and gravelly in your ear as he patiently awaits your body, his very heart about to explode with how much he loves you right now.

Parting your legs wider, you remove one hand from his shoulder to quickly grasp his thick cock, “Alright let me just...” Bringing it to your dripping entrance you line it up perfectly, “I’m coming in..” You laugh, “literally.”

“Y/N you don’t have to say it...”

Digging your fingers into the side of his shoulder you quickly tilt your head to shut him up with a kiss, “Yes, but you laughed.” Pulling back to look at your face, Geralt’s mouth opens to reply, though his words are left on the wind when you slowly slide yourself onto him.

The new welcoming warmth of your core sending his mind swirling with nothing but a colorful bliss. Yours about the same, he’s big as he sinks deeper and deeper into your body until finally he’s completely filled you up.

Closing your eyes, your face scrunches up in slight discomfort at the new thrilling contact, this feeling isn’t anything new it’s just he’s quite large and you need a couple moments to adjust before the real fun begins. Sensing your slight displeasure, he keeps still inside you, trailing a comforting hand over your cheek as he watches your brows furrow together as you adjust.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Worries your beautiful Witcher as you open your glistening scarlet irises to find his concerned face.

Shaking your head you slowly roll your hips into his, “Never. Apologize for a big dick Geralt....you’re honestly about to work wonders so keep that pretty mouth shut and make me scream.”

Holding in his laughter, he decides to do just as you’ve asked, a second later do you gasp in surprise when both his hands dig into your hips. Pushing you down onto him even more as he pulls you with each roll of your hips against his. Creating a blissful synced rhythm that begins to bring a low pleasurable build into your soaked core.

He suddenly thrusts up into you as you bounce down on him over and over again, your chests rubbing against one another as you both attempt to hold each other’s gazes for as long as you can try. The room feels hot and sticky, the smells of sex, sweat, and Geralt filling into your sensitive nostrils that drives you mad with lust.

All that can be heard is the familiar slapping of skin on skin as you both move against one another in quick passionate motions. Without warning Geralt thrusts deeply into your sweet spot sending you into a flurry of moaned curses as he thrusts his strong hips into you over and over again.

Your body falls flush against his as you whimper and moan into his shoulder from the intense buildup of pure pleasure that he’s slowly filling you with by the second. He can tell you’re close and with that thought in mind you’re pleasantly surprised when he abruptly holds your back, keeping you against him as he quickly lays you onto the soft mattress.

You audibly moan at the new positioning, not being able to hold back any more whimpers of pleasure as he fucks you into the comfortable bedding like his life depends on it. You’re visibility sweaty now, the slickness of yourself and Geralt doing everything to increase your growing pleasure as he slides in and out of you like a crazed man gone years without a proper fucking.

Another moan escapes from your lips as Geralt bounds you into the mattress, hitting you with deep precise thrusts each and every time, leaving you with nothing to keep you steady but his bare back that no doubt is covered in fresh pink scratch marks.

He keeps flush against your body, his manhood buried deep within your parted thighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours, his lips so soft and inviting as they press against your neck and jaw. You can’t remember if you’re ever felt such pleasure from this man as he pulls you to the edge of oblivion.

He suddenly moans against your ear sending new waves of bliss deep into your core and just like that do you come, moaning his name over and over again as he relentlessly thrusts into you with all that he has left.

He grips your hands tight, his warm seed spilling into you a second later, causing you to squeeze your legs tighter against his, “Ugh fuck Geralt.” You moan, your lips brushing past his as he pumps into you for a few more blissful moments before he falls limp against your body.

Utterly spent with your heated love making session, you chuckle at his honestly adorable actions as he lays flush with you, his cock still buried deep inside. He may be a large heavy man, but you’re no common human woman who lays underneath this handsome Witcher.

It’s plain as anyone could see, though you’d cut the throats of anyone bold enough to take a peek at your secretive actions.

Humming in content, Geralt moves to lay at your side, bringing you along with him so that he can stay inside you for a bit longer. You smirk, holding him close as he does the same, “A little needy tonight are we?” You muse, placing a chaste kiss against his puffy red lips.

“Maybe I missed you in more ways then one.” He replies, his golden eyes finding your crimson ones, “It certainly doesn’t help that Jaskier is always with us when we set up camp. I never get a true moment to myself with you.”

Trailing a hand down his scar covered back, you smile once again, “Well you’re about to get a whole week with me if you’re lucky. And I’m looking forward to every single second of it.”

The way you make him feel cannot ever truly be expressed in Geralt’s mind, though you can tell he loves you deeply even when no words are said at all or perhaps when he gets flustered and stumbles on his tongue for the right ones. Though right now he seems to have you vexed, completely entranced and utterly opened and surrendered to him.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same, his eyelids close in content as you gently trail your fingers down his cheekbone, earning a low hum from deep within his throat that sends shivers down your spine even with something so innocent as this.

You break out into a grin, your fangs showing as you let out a couple chuckles once you realize he’s still inside you. His own lips curl into a tired smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Y/N?” He mutters, wondering what on earth could be so funny right now.

Pushing a few stray hairs out of his face you blink, trying to contain yourself once more, “Oh nothing, you’re just being....dare I say, cute. And all things considered, you’re still inside me.”

Geralt shows you a lazy grin, “I like being inside you.”

“Yes and what if I have to relieve myself, or get a drink?”

“I see no problem when you’re lucky enough to be laying next to me.”

Fake scoffing you gently tug on his silver locks, “Geralt of Rivia you’re blessed enough I love you so much you ass.”

Finally he opens his eyes, the most adorable of smiles crossing his face, and only for you, “Well I guess someone has to.”

“Yes.” You smirk, “And I’ll make disappear the next confidant fucker who dare think to take you away from me.”

“So I’m assuming that last tavern wench we met a month ago went missing....not, under mysterious circumstances?” He wonders, a brow raised in humored accusation.

Rolling your scarlet irises, you give him a friendly pat over his bare shoulder, “I wasn’t appreciating that foxy look she was giving you, looked like a horny buck ready to pounce.” The look he gives you is enough to make you burst with laughter, “What? Don’t give me that face Geralt, I didn’t do anything adherently evil....all I did was leave her in the middle of the woods...near another town!” You protest, trying to make your little petty adventure sound less terrible.

“Well, at least you were nice about it,” Muses Geralt, “though I’m not sure if that’s better.”

“Oh shut it, I couldn’t help myself if you’d like to know alri...” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three raps against the thick bedroom door immediately draws your attention away from Geralt. Propping his head up by his elbow, he turns a protective glare at the mystery person keeping themselves on the other side.

Wanting to snap at the hidden individual who dare break you away from your rather pleasant evening, you push away from the soft comfort of the mattress, quickly pulling out of Geralt, you maneuver yourself into a seated position. “I’ll see who it is, can’t be anyone with a personal vendetta against us, well.....at least I don’t think so.”

Pursing his lips together in slight apprehension, Geralt silently watches you slip from the bed with nothing but a thin white sheet to keep your nakedness from any prying eyes. Your steps to the barred door are swift and silent as an owl in flight, just the same when you remove the chair from the door knob.

With one hand on the golden knob and the other grasped tightly onto the bunched up bed sheet, you turn a curious glance to Geralt who’s now seated fully upright on the mattress, a thin sheet covering his previously exposed manhood.

Finding your sights upon the door once again, you turn the knob, swiftly opening the door where you’re both greeted with the nervous wide eyed face of a young elven boy, who looks only to be about fourteen, dressed in lord-like attire. A suspiciously high status pose about him that sends your brows furrowing in confusion for this strange unexpected intrusion.

Wearing a soft purple scarf over a pure white thick fur laced jacket, his green eyes shift warily from you to your shirtless Witcher then back to you again. His cheeks most certainly reddening the longer he stares, mouth slightly agape, clearly this kid was not expecting the sight before him.

Deciding to relieve the awkward atmosphere, you clear your throat, “Well you certainly don’t look like an assassin, nor do you appear to be ready with coin for a wanted killing. So, do relieve us of this suspense...I was kind of in the middle of something important.” You state, the tone of your voice appearing slightly annoyed even when you try and hide it.

His big emerald irises flicker as he blinks, swallowing his nerves, does the elven boy in the fancy coat and purple scarf stand a bit straighter, “Hello. I am Venemyr of Rorym, messenger to Queen Allira and her husband King Gabriel of this winter kingdom of Turga.” He stammers, eyes shifting nervously from Geralt to you, suddenly he pulls out a folded piece of white and gold craftsmanship in the form of a beautiful card.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches out for you to take the concealed letter, finding no ill intent from the boy, you fearlessly accept. Once in your hand does he finally begin his explanation, “I come to ask the Princess Y/N of Alkatraz and the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, if they will accept this invitation to the King and Queen’s eldest son’s banquet as special guests of honor.”

Oh, now things have just gotten very intriguing.

Not positive on how to correctly respond to this large proposition, the young elven messenger nods, “My adversaries had been made aware of you two by a bard named Jaskier who is thought of warmly in this kingdom, then it appeared that the eldest prince became very interested in meeting a lady dhampir and a Witcher of Kaer Morhen.”

Oh, Jaskier you motherfucker.

Smiling politely, Vesemyr watches with wide foresty eyes when he catches sight of your fangs, noticing his apparent change of demeanor, your face falls, “Uh, well, thank you for the message and this invitation? We’ll see to it soon, and without a doubt report back accordingly sometime tomorrow.”

“The banquet is in two days.”

“Is it now?” You reply in a knowing tone, your brows raising, “Good to know, now if you’ll excuse us...the hour is late and you’d better get to wherever you’ve come from before it gets any colder outside.” And with that said do you flash him a wink before slamming the door into his scared little face and high end attire without a second thought.

Looking down at the strange yet exquisite invitation placed in your hand, you turn it over and find the golden waxes seal of a house sigil. “Y/N come to bed, I think I’d like to have a look at whatever fuckery Jaskier has roped us into.”

Raising your attention back up to the naked man seated casually against the headboard, you smile, making swift steps to the mattress before launching yourself next to his side causing the bed to shift and creak at your jostling movement. Instead of finding his annoyed expression, you’re fortunately greeted with an arm pulling you flush against his side.

With the two of you wrapped up in the white bedsheets, leaning comfortably on one another does Geralt slowly take the parchment from out of your hand. He holds the letter up, studying it’s beauty in the side table’s candle light as you rest your head on his shoulder with one arm slung over his muscular waist.

His breaths are slow and calm, the rise and fall of his chest gently pushing you up and then back down again only ever so slightly while your Witcher carefully observes the golden wax of the houses sigil. “A stag, with a crown of leaves....should we open it?” Muses Geralt, fully aware of how much you want to see what’s inside.

Geralt I swear to god.

Gently giving his waist a loving squeeze, you nod, “If you’d be so kind.” Humming in reply, Geralt makes quick work of the letter, soon its cut open and pulled out for your eyes to witness its ink marked contents.

“Fuck.” Mutters Geralt dismally, “Guess that kid wasn’t fucking with us.”

“And I guess we’re going to a party.” You exclaim, much more excitement flowing through your voice then what Geralt could ever give.

He quickly turns his head down to you, “Y/N no. I don’t give a shit if this prince wants to speak with us, I have no interest in becoming involved in something like that.”

You lightly chuckle at his less then stellar mood before turning your face to press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, he sighs, meeting your crimson gaze once again, “Think of it, free drink and food, and this prince wants to see us....we’re practically the guests of honor and I cannot wait to see Jaskier tomorrow cause I’m gonna slap him for it...then I’ll thank him.”

“Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly mutters Geralt as you press your lips to his.

Maybe a part 2 later on, idk we’ll see. Hope you enjoyed this :)

Tagged for series: @seninjakitey @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt imagine #geralt x you #geralt x y/n

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julek · 4 years

Text

jaskier had been working on his newest song for months, as geralt had reluctantly been a witness to his creative process. and what a process it had been: humming for hours on end walking next to roach as they approached their next town; repeating the same line over and over, trying to think of the next rhyme; getting up in the middle of the night, scrambling for his quill and notebook because that’s the word i was looking for, geralt!

so when jaskier triumphantly announces that his ballad is done, and just needs to be written down, geralt feels some tension leave his shoulders. it’s funny, really; as much as he loves to deny even listening to the bard’s musings and constant chattering, he’d been subconsciously rooting for him. geralt’s come to understand how important jaskier’s singing is to him, how his lute is basically an extension of himself and his embellished speech is not hyperbolic, it’s natural. the bard’s good at what he does, too; he’s seen it firsthand. the way he can have a tavern full of people dancing around with just a flick of his wrist one moment, and have them quietly shed tears as he sings of longing, and heartache, and lust the next.

they get to a clearing in the woods, and geralt starts setting up camp. jaskier gets his notebook and quill from roach’s saddlebags, sitting on the ground next to the pile of firewood. he was eager to finally give his ballad the finishing touches, and get it on the very expensive and scarce pieces of paper he’d managed to acquire while geralt had been hunting the bruxa that’d been terrorizing the town they were passing through. the townsfolk were poor and there was no inn for them to sleep in, so they had to settle for another night of sleeping under the stars.

“i can’t believe my masterpiece is complete! they’ll be singing my praises everywhere across the continent, you’ll see”, jaskier says, as he sticks his quill in the small bottle of ink he’s precariously balancing on his thigh. “of course, jaskier, they’ll adore you and queen calanthe of cintra herself will request your presence at every banquet. why, thank you geralt, for your precious and incredibly accurate comm—”

jaskier gasps and geralt turns around to face him and see what could have possibly diverted the bard’s attention from— well, himself; only to find him gaping and staring at his lap, where he’d spilled his ink. his doublet sports a big, black stain on the side, but jaskier is more preoccupied with the ink that’s covering the majority of his fine paper.

fuck, geralt’s never gonna hear the end of this.

he braces himself for an unending stream of cursing and fussing, but instead, he is met with silence. jaskier looks at the ruined paper for a moment, his expression blank, and tosses it into the fire. geralt breathes in the sour scent of disappointment, but there’s no anger attached to it.

they eat in silence, and jaskier lies on his back on his bedroll, but geralt knows he isn’t asleep. he can easily imagine why the bard is upset; he’d heard all about the man that had tried to charge him way more than the paper was actually worth, i may like the finer things in life, but do i look like a fool to you? wait— don’t answer that. he also knows how eager jaskier’d been to immortalize his song in paper, not only for aesthetic purposes, but also because this particular ballad was worthy, in jaskier’s opinion, of being sent to oxenfurt, for his professors to critique.

suddenly, the peace and quiet geralt had been praying for since he met the bard falls flat. he’ll feel better in the morning, geralt thinks, this isn’t such a big deal. he’ll live.

and yet.

geralt knows what a life devoid of comfort is like. for a long time, it’d been the only life he knew. walking the path, getting a contract, collecting his coin, and moving on; that had been his daily routine for a long time. if he had nothing to look forward to, little could disappoint him. the less people he let in his life, the better.

and then jaskier came along.

jaskier, who’d sing every night, even for uninterested crowds who would only heckle at him, just to secure a bed for geralt. jaskier, who’d spend a ridiculous amount of coin on chamomile oil, because he knows it’s the only one geralt’s sensitive nose can tolerate. jaskier, who’d go out of his way to get a new brush for roach, who’d lash out at people for talking shit about witchers, and detangle geralt’s hair after a contract gone sideways. jaskier, who gives, and gives, and gives, and never asks for anything in return.

and the truth is, he deserves more. so much more than geralt could ever give him. and even if he could never afford to give jaskier the highest luxuries in life, he has to try.

geralt keeps some pieces of parchment in his pack, for the rare occasions he has to write to vesemir. they’re rolled up and tied with a small leather band, but geralt figures it’ll do. he grabs jaskier’s notebook from where he left it, abandoned, next to their fire. geralt knows jaskier keeps early drafts of his songs in it, but never the full piece — what if someone steals it, geralt? what if some half-assed, poor excuse of a bard comes across my precious lyrics, and steals my songs? so he tries to remember the little details jaskier had left out, while attempting to decipher jaskier’s calligraphy. in the end, he gets the entire song out on the parchment, and he feels it’s decent enough.

at last, he falls asleep.

geralt wakes up to the sound of anxious pacing. he rubs a hand over his tired eyes, and opens them to see a very flustered bard at his side.

“you— last night— you did this for me!”. jaskier gestures to the parchment splayed out on his bedroll, his expression unreadable. geralt can’t tell if he’s pleased or not, but at least he doesn’t smell upset anymore.

“i know it doesn’t look very good, and it’s not real paper”, geralt says, looking away. “i guess… i— you were upset.”

“i was”, jaskier says, and his is voice soft. geralt feels a hand cup his chin, and he looks up at jaskier. his blue eyes are as clear as the morning sky, and geralt finds himself staring a little too hard. “thank you, geralt. it means a lot to me. really. and i mean, your handwriting is far more legible than mine, they’ll love this at oxenfurt!”

at that, geralt smiles, and receives a goofy grin in turn.

“well, i’m famished. breakfast?”. jaskier holds his hand out for geralt, and he’s about to turn him down, about to grunt something about how he’s a witcher, strong enough to get up on his own, thank you very much, but he takes it, instead.

he feels jaskier squeeze his ink-stained hand as he stands up, and he should let go. he should let jaskier enjoy the life that’s so clearly laid out for him; the finest of wines and the fairest of ladies, the softest of silks and the most adoring of crowds. but jaskier looks at him, and he smells like honey and something else he can’t quite place. home, geralt decides, and nods.

“breakfast.”

#this started out as a small headcanon inspired by my pen exploding on my notebook #i hope you like it! :)#i'll probably post it on ao3 tomorrow #witcher stuff #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fluff #mine #mywriting

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

Flora and –yikes! - Fauna

pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

word count: 3k

read on AO3

thank you @kitcatkim for letting me use your idea with the two flower crowns <3

summary: Jaskier is making flower crowns, naturally. Too bad no one warned him that bugs like to swarm around flowers

Content warnings: bugs, insects

--- "Geralt, wait!"

Jaskier didn't give Geralt the chance to protest or grab the scruff of Jaskier's neck to keep him in place. As Jaskier ran towards the wildflowers blossoming in a patch next to the road he could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes in the way he grunted.

"Jaskier, we can't keep stopping every other minute just for you to gather flowers." Despite his words, Jaskier could hear him bring Roach to a halt. "What are you even going to do with them? Don't tell me you spent your last coin on a vase."

Jaskier huffed indignantly but didn't bother turning around to fix Geralt with a glare.

"Of course I didn't. If you please to remember, I used it to buy some more bandages because someone didn't bother to restock before rushing into a hunt."

"I remember," Geralt grumbled but there was something strange in his tone. Something that wasn’t gruff or dismissive at all. Something that might have even been the exact opposite of that. Jaskier couldn't name it but it made his heart skip a beat. "But fine. We can take a break. Roach could use it anyway."

She didn’t. She was stubborn enough to make it known when she wanted or needed to slow down and she had done no such thing since the last time Jaskier had made them stop.

"Make sure she doesn't eat my flowers," he called over his shoulder.

His smile widened as he plucked the most beautiful blue flower and added it to his already impressive collection. Maybe he had gathered too many flowers, but how was he to know how many he needed? He had never done this before. It wasn't as if he could just pluck flowers out of flower pots at Oxenfurt and he would rather not dismay a town's residents by raiding their gardens.

Besides, no garden could grow such beautiful flowers as blossomed on their own in the wild. At least that's what Jaskier hoped Geralt would think. He never seemed to appreciate the carefully cultivated beauty of cities when instead he could have the open road and woods.

Jaskier eyed his flowers critically. Though most of them had differently shaped and shaded blossoms, most of them were blue. Perfect to bring out his eyes. Hopefully. Surely.

Satisfied and a little giddy, Jaskier marched over to Geralt and thrust the flowers into his hand.

"Hold this," he said, fighting the unreasonable blush that crept up his cheeks.

Geralt's brows pinched together in confusion and he looked almost flustered. Still, he didn't hesitate to close his hand around the flower stems, perhaps a little too tightly, as if he was afraid of them falling if he didn't clutch them in a death grip.

"I-Jaskier, what are you-"

"I need both hands to do this," Jaskier explained and began searching for the best flower to begin with. Not that he had any idea what constituted as a perfect starter flower, but as long as he scrutinised the bouquet, he surely looked competent and there was nothing more attractive than a person who knew what they were doing.

Geralt frowned. "And what exactly is it you need both hands for?"

"Why, making a flower crown, of course." Jaskier beamed up at Geralt and randomly pulled a flower out of Geralt's grip to begin. "I mean, really, it's a shame that I haven't thought if this before. But a bard out there in the wilderness without flowers on his head? That's just wasted potential."

Geralt gave an amused hum. "Are you sure you want to put flowers on your head?"

"Absolutely." Jaskier's voice left no room for argument. "I am going to look beautiful with it."

Geralt is going to look at him and think him beautiful.

"What does it matter? There's no one here to impress."

Jaskier's hands faltered and just for a second his eyes darted up to glare Geralt.

"Who says I want to impress anyone?" His voice definitely didn't waver and there was no way to interpret his words as defensive. "Can't I just want to be pretty for the sake of being pretty?"

Geralt grumbled something dismissively. It was wishful thinking, but to Jaskier is almost sounded like "You don't need flower crowns for that."

More to hide his burning face than anything else, Jaskier turned his attention back to the flowers and started weaving - or rather chaotically knotting – them together.

Geralt let him work in silence, but whenever Jaskier glanced up to pull another flower out of the bouquet, he found Geralt's eyes on him. It made his neck feel hot and his chest tight.

Somehow, as if by some miracle, he finished the flower crown. It wasn't stunning by any means, but it was passable. Kind if pretty even. Actually, for a first try it was downright amazing.

Filled with excitement about his craft, Jaskier hopped the crown around his arm so he'd have both of his hands available again and made to work on Geralt's crown.

"Looks like you got too many flowers," Geralt said, lips twitching up.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jaskier rolled his eyes good naturedly and bound some more flowers together. "I'm making a second crown."

"You know Roach will eat the flowers before you'll be able to put them on her head.”

Jaskier's hands froze and his heart jumped into his throat. He had forgotten to ask Geralt if he even wanted a crown. Judging from how he didn't even think about wearing the crown himself, it was quite clear just how much he didn't want it.

Jaskier's eyes went to Roach, silently begging her for help, but the horse was just munching on some grass, giving him an unimpressed and perhaps slightly judgemental look.

"It's not for Roach." Jaskier blurted, thoughts stumbling over each other to find an excuse. "It's for me. They’re both for me. Obviously. Why would I wear just one crown if I could have two and be doubly pretty, am I right?"

He grinned at Geralt in a way that begged please kill me now and let this embarrassment be over. But Geralt didn't grant him that mercy but at least he didn't call him out in his nonsense either. Instead his lips quirked up and he handed Jaskier another flower, unprompted.

While working on the second crown, Jaskier started talking again. One might also say he was rambling. Anything to distract Geralt from the way Jaskier's cheeks were bright red and he was still cursing himself for his stupidity on the inside.

He told Geralt about how he had always wanted to wear flower crowns ever since he had read a story book about a princess with flowers in her hair as a child.

Occasionally, Geralt would grace his tale with a hum or a barely noticeable upwards quirk of his lips.

Jaskier took that as encouragement. He continued to talk about how his sisters used to wear flower crowns when they were young, about how Jaskier had always been envious about how pretty they looked with pink, blue and yellow flowers in on their heads. He reminisced about all the times he gifted flower crowns to his dance partners during Belleteyn and never got any in return.

More than once it looked as if Geralt was going to open his mouth, but then he always thought better of it and contented himself with listening to Jaskier.

It was only when Jaskier eventually ran out of flower related things to talk about that Geralt spoke up again.

“You’re getting better,” he commented, nodding towards the now finished second crown.

Jaskier’s face lit up but he forced his voice to sound nonchalant and teasing. “Why Geralt, is that a compliment?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, that’s exactly where it’s going.” Jaskier winked and put both crowns on his head.

He felt a little stupid wearing both of them, but the sheepishness was quickly overshadowed by the giddy excitement of finally making his childhood dream come true.

A small giggle escaped Jaskier and he didn’t care how silly he probably looked; there was just too much joy bubbling up inside him that needed to be released somehow. He twirled and threw his head back laughing. Quickly he realised his mistake, when the crowns threatened to fall off. His hands flew to the flowers to hold them in place.

When he came to a stop, he found Geralt’s eyes fixed on him with an unexpected softness, though he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression when he caught Jaskier’s eyes. It wasn't fast enough for Jaskier to miss and try how he might, Geralt would never be able to hide such a fond look from Jaskier.

"So?" Jaskier made a point of fiddling with the crowns as if he was righting a fancy little hat. "How do I look?"

Geralt contemplated him a long moment with a complicated expression. "Happy."

Jaskier's moth went dry. The way Geralt had said it made it sound like he meant so much more.

"Geralt-"

He let go of the crowns, but the universe saved – or damned - him from doing something stupid like take Geralt's face in his hands and kiss him. Now that he wasn't holding onto the flower crowns anymore, they immediately fell over his eyes.

Jaskier let out a little noise of surprise that very much wasn't an undignified squeak.

Geralt chuckled and had Jaskier not been squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having leaves poke them, he would have glared at Geralt.

As if was, he found that he couldn't be upset even when Geralt was making fun of his misfortune. Geralt's laugh was too beautiful a sound to ever want him to stop. Especially if Jaskier was the one making him laugh.

"Guess there were too many flowers after all," Geralt said and Jaskier could practically hear his smug smile.

Jaskier tried to lift the crowns, but he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began and he absolutely wasn't going to risk them falling apart because he tugged on the wrong one.

"I just miscalculated a little," Jaskier grumbled, but his own lips were stretched wide grin. "You know you could do the noble thing and save me from my predicament."

Almost immediately he felt the lightest touch on his cheek. For a second, Jaskier's heart sped up at how tenderly Geralt was touching him. But then it hit him.

Even if Geralt ever were to caress his cheek softly, he would not be able to do it that softly. In fact, the touch was so light it almost tickled.

Jaskier furrowed his brows and his heart began racing in earnest for a very different reason.

"Geralt?"

Something buzzed right next to his ear. Something that sounded very big and very crawly.

"Geralt!" Jaskier almost shrieked, but all the reply he got from Geralt the traitor was another laugh.

Another light touch as something landed on his skin, this time on his hands.

Immediately, he pulled them away from the flowers and clutched them protectively against his chest. He needed his hands. He couldn't let some insect sting his fingers.

He wanted to call out for Geralt again, demand that he help him, but the bug on his face chose that moment to crawl closer to his lips.

Jaskier snapped his mouth shut and held his breath.

"Now there's that blessed silence," Geralt teased as if he didn't even notice the danger Jaskier was in.

Mentally, Jaskier took back everything he had thought before. Right now he wanted to wipe away the smirk that undoubtedly was on Geralt's face. And if Geralt didn’t stop laughing, Jaskier was going to write the most scathing song about him, once he could open his mouth again.

Oh gods, but what if keeping his lips pressed together wasn't enough? What if one of those crawling things decided to go up his nose?

The buzzing around his head got louder. More insects landed on him and Jaskier could do nothing but keep his eyes and lips shut and pray none of the insects were dangerous.

He was tense as a bow string and his heart was thumping like a rabbit’s foot hitting the ground.

He could feel tiny legs all over him, could hear nothing but that horrible buzzing. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him.

"Jaskier?" All traces of humour were gone from Geralt's voice. In fact, he sounded concerned.

Oh. Oh no. If Geralt was worried, that could only mean that something truly bad was happening. Maybe one of the bugs had a venomous bite. Maybe one of the things on Jaskier's head was the larva of a giant centipede. Maybe one of them was a were-bug and Jaskier would get turned into a disgusting insect himself!

Jaskier wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to civilisation where he was safe from those tiny monsters. Adventure be damned. Inspiration be damned. Flower crowns be damned. He would be happy if he'd never have to see another insect again. If being pestered by swarms of insects was the prize for walking the Path, Jaskier would not shed a single tear abandoning it. Good riddance.

If only that didn't mean that he'd also lose Geralt...

"Jaskier?" Geralt repeated, softer this time. He sounded closer.

Strangely enough, the touch if the insects disappeared and got replaced by another sense of tickling, but this was one warm and almost glowing. It washed over his skin and spread wider around him. Slowly, the buzzing grew more distant until it disappeared fully.

A warm hand brushed Jaskier's temple and the crowns were pushed back onto the top of his head where they belonged. Well, we're one of them belonged.

Carefully, Jaskier opened his eyes again. He let out a tiny gasp and then his breath got stuck again for a different reason. Geralt was standing surprisingly close to him, their chests almost touching. The hand not occupied with the flower crowns was twisted into an uncomfortable looking shape.

Quen.

A dome of warm golden light surrounded them. Jaskier hadn't known the sign could be used to keep bugs at bay, but as far as he was concerned insects did definitely count as fiendish enemies and he wasn't about to complain about the protection. Especially not since Geralt was looking at him with his brows knitted together in soft worry and his hand left the crowns to caress his cheek instead.

"I take it the story about the princess didn't warn you about the bugs?" Te corner of Geralt's lips twitched into a half-smile.

Jaskier shook his head and swallowed. "No, definitely not." He leaned into Geralt's touch. It was warm and comforting and Jaskier never wanted him to let go again.

Maybe... Maybe if this touch was the reward he got for bravely withstanding the terror of the insects, he could face the bugs again sometimes. Maybe. Perhaps being in nature wasn't too bad if he had Geralt with him.

"There's one thing the story did teach me, though."

"Oh?" Geralt's brows rose a little.

"At the end the hero gets a kiss." Before his bravery or foolishness could leave him, he leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against Geralt's lips.

He expected the kiss to be over quickly, little more than a brush if lips, but Geralt's hand on his cheek travelled to the back of his head, holding him close.

Jaskier lifted his own hands, burying them into Geralt's hair. Geralt let out a soft sound and then a second hand found its place at the small of Jaskier's back.

Jaskier pulled back, just enough to speak, his lips nearly brushing against Geralt's with every word.

"Geralt, put the damn Quen back." His eyes narrowed. "I am not kissing you with bugs crawling all over me."

"Perhaps you could give one crown to me and share the burden?"

Jaskier drew back suspiciously. "You mean that?" he asked slowly, his insides twisting in excitement. "You would really wear my flower crown?"

Geralt shrugged. "I don't want you to complain about the bugs and the leaves in your hair," he grumbled, but his eyes shone with a fondness that made Jaskier's heart swell. The hand on Jaskier’s back gave a small squeeze and tugged him closer. "And I happen to like my hand right where it is."

Jaskier lifted his chin defiantly, mischief and another, softer emotion lighting up his eyes. "You can pretend not to like my voice all you want, but you just traded your blessed silence for my comfort. I know where your priorities lie."

Geralt hummed quietly, the smile on his lips getting wider and his thumb caressed Jaskier's cheek, coming to rest at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe I don't mind your voice too much when you're talking about something you like. Or when you're singing. Or laughing." He leaned forward, too fast for Jaskier to react and stole a quick peck. "And I prefer keeping you silent by kissing you."

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. "Who knew you could be such a romantic," he deadpanned and shook his head fondly. "Truly, you know how to charm a man with your words."

"It's working isn't it?"

"Perhaps."

With a mental strength Jaskier didn't know he possessed, he let go of Geralt's hair and lifted one of his flower crowns off his head to put it on Geralt's instead.

For a long moment, he just stared at Geralt, admiring him. The colours of the blossoms contrasted beautifully with Geralt's hair. But that wasn't what took Jaskier's breath away. It was the fact that Geralt actually looked happy like this. Happy to be with Jaskier. Happy to make him happy.

"You know" Jaskier said with smug satisfaction as a bug with shimmering green wings landed on Geralt's forehead, "you're lucky I love you more than I hate bugs."

Geralt snorted. "Now who's the romantic?"

Jaskier could have answered with a quip if he wanted to. He most certainly had multiple quick-witted responses to that.

Too bad that he too liked kissing Geralt's words away.

And so that was what he did.

They only broke away again when Geralt's crown fell into his eyes. Jaskier burst out into a well-deserved laugh at Geralt's dumbfounded look. As much as Jaskier liked kissing him, he found that he also rather liked the way Geralt's eyes lit up when he joined the laughter.

He could get used to this. In fact, as he buried his face in Geralt's chest to stifle his giggles and could feel Geralt's heart beneath him, he knew that he could battle any creepy crawlies if it meant that he got to keep this.

---

tag list: @snowfea @diedfromembarrassmentlikeasim @thebloodletter7 @eleos-fawn @palefuckingmeme @irongal21 (sorry for tagging you unasked, but you seemed to like the idea when I posted it a while ago so I figured you might like this too)

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geraltxjaskier #flowers #flower crowns #fluff #i think #witcher #witcher fic #fic #my writing #jaskier #geralt #bugs #insects

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sserpente · 4 years

Photo

A/N: Geralt smut was requested numerous times, so here we are! What would Halloween time be without Vampire Imagines, after all?

Words: 2562 Warnings: smut, vampire!Reader, prostitute!Reader

“Geralt of Rivia! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The Witcher hummed with pursed lips. Julius was almost as bad as Jaskier in terms of liveliness and discretion. He had certainly not wanted the entire brothel to know he was here. Several pairs of curious eyes were resting on him now.

He shook his head in disbelief before he strutted towards the counter like he owned the place and handed a terrified young boy—a new waiter, he presumed, he was not familiar with his face—his swords. He only trusted Julius with storing away his weapons safely for the duration of his… stay.

“The usual I presume?” Julius barked in a loud voice. Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Danica is sick, I’m afraid. Nothing too serious, the healers say she’ll get through it.”

Couldn’t‘ve told me that earlier, he thought. He nodded when the young waiter offered him a mug of ale.

“Look, before you say anything—I know you only come here for Danica. But I have a new girl. Young, beautiful, cocky. You’ll like her. Her beauty is… elf-like, almost. Wouldn’t tell me where she’s from or who her parents are but she’s of age and she’s experienced. Interested?”

Geralt was about to say no. Quenching his thirst with the ale, he took a few greedy gulps when the creaking wooden door which led to a dark staircase into some more private rooms on the first floor revealed a clearly flustered man in his late thirties, maybe early forties—and one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the honour to lay his eyes upon.

Enamoured, he followed every single one of your movements. He could not deny that there was something about you that was not quite… human. You moved with too much grace, too much felicity and the way your dark red dress wrapped around your near-perfect curves and brought out your eye-colour was almost unnatural to look at.

With a cheeky smile, you waved your most recent customer goodbye who left weaving out of the brothel a little as if he was drunk. At least, the guests’ attention had now found another victim.

Your head spun around when Julius called your name. There was a strange man sitting at the bar. A man with blonde, almost white hair, a handsome face and mesmerising yellow eyes. You recognised him at once.

Julius took a deep breath. “This is…”

“Geralt of Rivia,” You completed, eyebrows raised in awe. “The infamous White Wolf. Danica told me a lot about you… and your adventures.”

Your eye-colour was unnatural too, he noticed up close. You were about as human as he was. Julius, on the other hand, had no clue who he had welcomed into his brothel, so it seemed.

“She’s not here today, I’m afraid.” Tilting your head in an innocent manner, you gave Julius a knowing look. Geralt hummed once more.

“I’ll be upstairs in a minute.” He said, directing his attention towards his beer again. A triumphant smile spread on your lips as you turned on your heel and headed back upstairs into your room.

The Witcher kept his promise. You had long lost your dark red dress when he entered after you. You glanced at him across your shoulder, giving him a mischievous smile and letting him take in your bare behind. Men liked your arse, of course but they liked your back too. Their lustful stares stirred the hot embers inside of you, making the experience about as pleasurable for you as it was for them.

“What are you waiting for, White Wolf? Take off your clothes.” You demanded with a soft voice, steering towards the bed with languid steps. You sprawled out on the mattress then, fully aware of how his yellow eyes followed you with an intimidating hunger in them. You suppressed a chuckle. He might have been a Witcher… but in the end he was just a man too.

Leaning back, you arched your back a little and watched him take off his armour. Piece by piece, the heavy metal and the dark leather came off his body, revealing a handsome, muscly young man covered in dozens of battle scars. They made him all the more beautiful and unique, his signature necklace shimmering in the candle light.

You were surprised he had not yet asked about the curtains being closed but then again, you were not wearing any clothes.

Geralt was already semi-hard when he peeled himself from his trousers—a bold reminder your naked body had the desired effect on him. Once he had ridded himself of his boots as well, he approached the bed so slowly you feared he’d get stuck. Curious, you watched him climb on the mattress until he hovered above you like a wolf about to devour its prey. You purred. He appeared to live up to his name.

Licking your lips, you brought your hands up to stroke his chest. His muscles danced underneath your fingertips, his necklace hanging down in an almost trance-inducing manner. Geralt leaned down to bury his face in your neck when all of a sudden, the heavy metal grazed your skin and a sharp burning sensation rippled through you. An ear-piercing scream escaped your lips, your eyes turning blood-red at once. You felt your fangs press against your gums, willing to grow for you to defend yourself against the pain.

“I fucking knew it…” Geralt mumbled alarmed. His white hair tickled your skin when he moved away, his hands wrapping around your throat, sensing the imminent danger you were radiating. Blinking rapidly, you tried your best to make those terrifying red eyes disappear—even if every fibre of your being screamed to taste him. A Witcher’s blood was sweet and empowering they said… what would it be like if you sank your fangs into his warm skin?

“What are you?” He spat. You lifted your chin as best as you could in your current position, responding to him with a frightful hiss revealing your fangs to him.

Great, Geralt thought. A vampire… just what I needed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead forced himself to let go of your throat for you to breathe but kept his hands on your throat.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” You choked out, cracking a scornful smile. Geralt bared his teeth.

“What are you doing here? Seducing men to feed on them?”

“No,” You spat, glaring at him, “I do no such thing.” Tapping his strong hands with your own, it took him another moment to finally let go. You gasped. “The man you saw leaving earlier. He had no bite marks on him now, had he?”

The Witcher cocked his head. “Does Julius know?”

“Does Julius know?”

“No, Julius doesn’t know and it’ll stay that way, do you hear me?”

“Are you threatening me?” Geralt frowned, the dark tone in his voice not to be underestimated. Strangely, it sent a shiver through your entire body.

“Do you think me stupid enough to threaten a Witcher? No. Consider this a gentle warning.” You gave him a bitter-sweet smile. Once it faded from your face, you looked up at him with cold eyes.

“I don’t feed from anyone here.” It was only then the White Wolf finally relaxed. Sighing, albeit still cautious, he sank into the cushions to your left.

“Then what is a vampire doing in a brothel?”

“I could use the money and I like sex.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows in a seemingly unimpressed manner. “Who doesn’t…?” He mumbled.

“Exactly,” You shrugged your shoulders, “you’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“No. I kill monsters.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow and propped yourself on one elbow to look him in the eye, hoping that your irises had returned to their normal colour by now. “Am I not a monster?” You teased.

His smirk surprised you. “I have a feeling I will find out.”

“Well then, White Wolf… what is it you are going to do?” Geralt sat up straight, capturing your body with his. He had already paid Julius. Vampire or not, you were beautiful and willing. What more could he want after endless and boring days of travelling?

“Just make sure those fangs stay where they are.” He murmured darkly into your ear. You flinched yet again when his silver necklace came in contact with your bare skin.

“You should take it off.” You suggested.

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t take it off. Ever.”

“Fine,” you growled, “then let me get on top.” You did not leave him enough time to protest but rolled you both over so you came to straddle him.

“Have you been with a vampire before?” You asked, genuine curiosity swinging in your voice as you ran your fingers over his chest, careful not to touch his necklace again. His semi-hard manhood grazed against your pubic bone, making him groan when you rubbed against him and watched him grow fully hard before your eyes. You licked your lower lips. You would be wet in no time with this strong and handsome man underneath you—as long as you could ignore the urge to bite him that was.

“No…” He growled.

Fuck… who were you kidding? You were wet already. Humming contended, you positioned yourself above his length, standing proud now, and slowly—painfully slow—lowered yourself onto him. Inch by antagonising inch, you sheathed him inside of you, smiling at him digging his strong fingers into your hips to urge you on.

Geralt threw his head back in pleasure, revealing his neck to you. He realised his mistake only the fraction of a second after, his yellow eyes quickly fixating on your elegant and naked form above him again. Lust was sparkling in his bright irises when you began moving on top of him, your breasts bouncing with every time he bucked his hips to thrust up into you.

Circling your hips in a downright skilled manner, you held onto his muscly thighs for balance, riding him faster and faster. Leaning back like this, it would be nearly impossible for you to come as well but well—Julius paid well and having a man like Geralt of Rivia inside of you more than made up for your lack of orgasms at work.

His grunts fuelled your own desire for him to the point you longed for him to flip you over and rut into you from behind. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and his upper body in the flickering candle light, his chest heaving with every single breath and the room slowly filling with the smell of sex.

Geralt’s growl was animalistic when he emptied himself inside of you, his cock twitching against your walls as it coated them with his warm seed. With a smug expression, you let him ride out his orgasm before you let him slide out of you, lying down next to his exhausted body and feeling his sperm run down your inner thighs and stain the white bedsheets. Good thing it was impossible for a vampire to get pregnant.

Just one bite, a malicious voice in your head whispered. Just a few drops… You blinked. No. Geralt was a Witcher. Unlike your other clients, he would have overpowered you within the blinking of an eye. Sighing, you tore your gaze away from his neck, away from the delicious vein pulsating under his skin and instead stared at the dark ceiling, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

You were not as talkative as Danica after sex. He liked that. This was going to be a both satisfying and peaceful night. All the more surprised was he when, after what seemed like an eternity, you rose up from the bed and moved to put on your dress.

“What are you doing?”

“Come now,” you responded both mockingly and softly at the same time. “Are you that cuddly after sex? I stayed with you long enough, Julius must be waiting for me already. Go get your pants back on, White Wolf.” Geralt frowned.

“I paid Julius for the whole night.”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me? I do not work at night, I have told him that. I go hunting at night.” You added sheepishly.

“Hmm…” Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes at you. “Hunting where?”

“Downtown. Don’t look at me like that! I don’t kill, not anymore. They usually don’t remember that I fed on them.”

“So you weaken them.” He concluded.

“I have to stay alive somehow, Witcher. What do you expect me to do? Hunt animals?”

“Does the village know there’s a vampire living among them then?”

“They have their suspicions. But I am smart about it. No one would ever expect it to be me.” You shrugged, ignoring his scrutinising gaze. Of course he was not okay with you feeding on humans, you should have expected it. Witcher or not, he had no right to keep you here just because he paid for you.

“There is nothing you can do to stop me, Witcher. I need sustenance just like you… unless you will let me feed on you?” You tilted your head in a provocative manner. “Your blood would keep me nurtured for a long time, I’m sure.”

Unbeknownst to you, Geralt actually considered it for a moment. Stopping you for a whole night from harming innocent humans in return for more sex with you… there was worse. The bite of a ghoul for example or that of a werewolf. Oddly enough, he actually trusted you when you said you had no desire to kill your victims.

“Get back on the bed.” He demanded surprisingly soft, offering you his wrist in the process. Your lips parted, mouth watering. Was he being serious?

Excited, you abandoned your dress and jumped back on the mattress, straddling him once more. He moaned when you sank your fangs into his flesh, tasting his blood. It was even better than you had imagined and certainly, you had never been naked while feeding on someone before. You wondered…

A pleasant shiver went up and down your spine when he cupped one of your breasts with his hands, kneading it pleasurably and playing with your nipple until it hardened under his touch. Hungrily, you rubbed your crotch against his stomach, your clit throbbing and screaming for more attention as you spread your wetness all over him. Geralt did not seem to mind.

He pulled you away from his wrists the moment you came undone, hot bliss surging through your body like liquid fire. The taste of the White Wolf’s blood on your tongue along with the friction to your most intimate parts was too much to bear even for a vampire. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let your pleasure consume you, noticing only in a deep haze that Geralt had grown hard again.

His wrist looked nice with your bite mark on it. You longed to give him more.

“Thank you…” You murmured when he flipped you both around so you came to lie on your back. Geralt was kneeling before you, between your legs, ready to take you once more. And you had a feeling that this would not have been the last time you would be sharing a bed with the White Wolf.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt #geralt imagine #geralt smut #geralt x you #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #netflix #henry cavill #vampire

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lovelyrita1967 · 3 years

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Lucky✨

Geralt closed his eyes and groaned inwardly as his table emptied. Icebreaker. Of course. He fucking hated icebreakers. Why did every conference he went to these days insist he talk to his fellow attendees before they got to the interesting part?

With a deep sigh he cracked his eyes open and looked around, knowing that he would once again be forced to pair up with another person who had shown up without friends or even casual acquaintances to latch onto. But before he could take stock of the people milling around him, a lanky, brown-haired man crashed into the chair next to him.

“Please go with me!” he whispered furiously, learning forward to grab Geralt’s hand and shake it vigorously. His hand was warm and firm, with long, elegant fingers. “I’m Jaskier,” the man continued loudly, blinking vibrant blue eyes at him. “And you are?”

Geralt stared blankly at the hopeful smile on Jaskier’s face. Then he noticed a tall, older man with a receding hairline, puffy beard, and sour expression hovering behind Jaskier.

Jaskier was still shaking his hand, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“Uh...Geralt,” he finally managed. Those eyes were so blue.

Jaskier’s face shone with the most dazzling smile Geralt had ever seen. “A pleasure to meet you, Geralt.”

His name fell from those lips like a poem.

“So,” Jaskier continued, finally withdrawing his hand. “I believe we are supposed to share the worst job we’ve ever had.” He glanced over his shoulder furtively and visibly relaxed when he saw the bearded man disappearing through the crowd. Geralt expected Jaskier to make his excuses and disappear as well, but instead he turned back and smiled again. “That’s an easy one for me, but would you like to go first?”

“Um, no,” Geralt replied, flustered. “You go.”

“Well…” Jaskier said, then paused dramatically as he poured himself a glass of water from the jug in the middle of the table. “I am a musician, you see, so I may have spent a summer dressed as a clown performing at birthday parties for tiny, evil humans.”

Geralt found himself chuckling, which, as a rule, he did not do. “Cute.”

“No, it really wasn’t. Picture this: it’s 38 degrees out, approaching 104 under my bright orange clown wig, my makeup is melting down my neck, and I’m forced to sing ‘Baby Shark’ seventeen times while the demons shriek, and the spoiled birthday boy spills lemonade on my guitar and demands I get him some more.”

Geralt rumbled a low laugh again. “You win.”

“Oh?” Jaskier arched an eyebrow with a wicked smile. “You concede the title that easily?”

Geralt’s heart was beating unusually quickly. He nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. He reached for his glass and took a mouthful.

Jaskier’s tongue darted out and moistened his lips. “Come now, Geralt. You must at least have a contender.”

“Um, I…” Goddamn it, am I blushing? “One time in university I was totally broke and I… I did some modelling…” Yup, blushing.

Jaskier’s eyes swept up and down Geralt's figure. His lips quirked. “I can believe that.” He cleared his throat and shifted, picking up his water glass. “Was modelling really so awful?” He took a sip.

“Well… it was nude.”

Jaskier choked on his water, spraying some onto Geralt’s pants. He coughed and sputtered, putting his glass down and reaching for a napkin.

“Oh my gods, I am so sorry…” Jaskier rasped, blotting at Geralt’s pants with a tiny, useless cocktail napkin.

“It’s okay…” Geralt watched Jaskier’s hands on his thighs. “I’m not that wet.”

Jaskier coughed again, no doubt some residual water in his windpipe. “Nude, you say?” he said in a strangled voice, giving up on the blotting.

“For an art class… sketching… the human form…” Geralt realized he was not speaking in complete sentences. “Wasn’t so bad, just… awkward… and cold… and hard not to move… I just did it one time.”

“Mmm. No doubt a day forever etched in the memories of those fortunate students.”

Geralt hadn’t blushed this much in his entire life, but he was saved from having to reply by the emcee asking people to return to their seats. “Well…” he looked at Jaskier, wondering why there was an ache of disappointment in his chest.

“Yes. I’d better go.” Jaskier nodded and stood. “Thanks for rescuing me. That guy wasn’t taking no for an answer at the hotel bar last night. And… sorry about your pants.”

Geralt nodded back. “No problem. For both.” He rubbed at a damp patch on his thigh.

Jaskier smiled softly. “See you ‘round, Geralt.”

Geralt watched him go with a pang. It’s a three-day conference, he consoled himself. It was massive, but… he might see Jaskier again, if he was lucky.

Jaskier was sitting somewhere far behind him in the huge hall, so when the opening keynote began, Geralt couldn’t sneak any glances his way. It was with a jolt when he stood up at the lunch break and Jaskier appeared next to him.

His hands fiddled with the strap of his laptop bag. “Can I buy you lunch?” Jaskier gave him a shy, hopeful smile.

Geralt felt his heart flutter. “It’s included.”

“Well, then, aren’t I lucky?”

“No,” Geralt tilted his head. “I am.”

* * * * * * *

If you liked this, you can check out my other Geraskier romcoms (or smut or other rare pairs) here on AO3. 💕💕💕

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#geraskier #geraskier fluff #geraskier ficlet #ficlet #the witcher fic #meet cute #LovelyRita Geraskier Romcom #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #modern au

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

The Vessel [Pt. 6]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Yennefer doesn't like you, and now you know why. Are you going to do something to make her believe that it's not how she thinks like, or are you just going to go with it, because secretly you know that what she just said to you, is in fact, the truth? Geralt is finally beginning to open up to you, but for how long?

Warnings: None

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

"How about this, [Y/N]?" Yennefer stood in front of you, her fingers running through the fabric of a pale, cream coloured silk dress, with dark red borders. If there was one thing that you could bring yourself to commend Yennefer for was her taste— the dress she was looking at was fit for royalty.

Yet, out of spite, and out of the fact that you had been dragged out on early morning, woken up from your sleep to accompany the mage on her quest to get you a nice dress, when she had the power in her to magically do those things pissed you off. And then, there was the fact that you were to be presented, on full display, at a celebration she had organised. You— the vessel— a ruined woman— who was carrying a Witcher's baby, for her.

You had a lot of clothes that you still somehow managed to fit into, as your belly was a little rounder, and one could see the outline of a burgeoning baby bump, if one was to look carefully. But tell that to the Mage, who was right now standing in one of the village shops, looking for a dress for you.

"Um, it's good," you whispered, crossing your arms over your chest— you just wanted to leave.

"Good that you like it. Once my baby grows within you, you're not gonna be able to fit into those shreds anyway," she said, eyeing your plain dress in an almost distaste, and you suppressed the urge to scoff.

"We'll take it, how much for it?" She then turned towards the woman, curling her lips, regarding the older looking woman who smiled wide, excited that she was getting some business as she informed the Mage that it would be ten coins.

Once Yennefer had paid off the woman, she tossed you the dress, and you groaned, catching it midair, and just like that, you began following the woman again, like a lost puppy.

Finally, the two of you were out of the shop, and you felt like you could breathe again. You waited a few seconds, for the way she had brought you here, you assumed she will do the same— open a magic portal, grab your hand and pull you in. When she didn't, you frowned and turned towards her, questioningly, only to find her staring at you, studying you.

"Uh, what?"

"Nothing, love."

There it was; that fake sweetness, once again, ringing at the back of your mind, prompting you that something bad was to come.

"I hope you know that Geralt's never going to look at you the way he looks at me, right?"

You glared at her, your lips parting in surprise but she placed her index finger to your lips before you could even say anything. To her, you were like a little lamb, taking their first steps.

"I don't want you to end up falling in love with a man that doesn't know how to reciprocate those feelings."

You pursed your lips together, your eyes unwavering when Yennefer looked into them. Her fingers still rested on your chin, holding your face. In truth, you felt like a cornered animal.

"Don't worry, Yennefer. I won't. Geralt is.." You thought for a bit, your mind suddenly turning off, and the words that you chose next somehow popped into your mind just randomly— words that you regretted saying almost instantly the minute they escaped your lips, "Used goods."

Her eyebrow shot up in amusement, and her lips curled into a side smirk. Her thumb began to run along the side of your face, your neckline and she smiled, her other hand reaching out and rubbing over your belly lightly, "You're funny. You're very funny. Big words coming out from a woman's mouth, when you practically tossed your body to the Witcher for some coin."

"Yennefer, to be fair—" Your breathing hitched, as you took a sharp breath, and jerked her hand away, taking a step away from her, your hand protectively latching to your tiny bump, as you began stroking over it as though comforting it, "I tossed my body for some coin. You tossed the man you claim to love to fuck another woman. I think we both know how similar the two of us are, in many many ways."

Even the beautiful woman standing in front of you couldn't hide the scowl that formed on her face for a second. She lost it and immediately, turned away, flustered, still scowling, for you could hear her breathe heavy as she began to conjure up the portal, so the two of you could get back.

You felt odd, like a fish thrown out of water amidst the flurry of mages, all around you. You knew many of them, mostly by name— you could see Tissaia de vries— you had only heard about her, and now she was right there, in front of your eyes. The funny part of it all was, that this celebration was for you, or for the baby you were gifting them with, but no one even bothered as to give you another look. It was all Yennefer.

You reached out, your fingers clasping against the glass of sparkling water in front of you on the table, where your plate of exotic freshly cut fruits lay untouched. You pulled it up to your lips, your eyes circling around, mostly in distaste at what you saw around you. Women— which you weren't sure if they were just illusions created by spells, or real, dressed in nothing, their naked bodies on display — walked around.

On one end of the hall, you saw Jaskier. He was surrounded by a flock of richly dressed older looking women, and you rolled your eyes at him, listening to him as he sang the infamous ballad, toss a coin to your Witcher, which suddenly reminded you of the brooding Witcher you knew. You looked around, your eyes scanning through the crowds until you spotted the familiar white hair, standing out from the rest of them.

He was standing in a corner, drinking ale from a silver pitcher, looking as bored as you were, which was ironical as this was technically his celebration too. You stood up, your glass of water still in your hand as you gracefully made your way to him, pushing your way through the naked women, frowning at the casuality of it all. Geralt spotted you making your way towards him so he shifted slightly so he he was now directly looking at you.

"Not enjoying your own celebration? It has naked women." You asked, giving him a ghost of a smile, trying to make small talk with him as you fixed yourself right next to him, leaning against the wall.

He grumbled something under his breath, typical Geralt of Rivia style, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you started looking around.

"You don't think I agree with Yennefer on everything?" He suddenly said, his voice low and heavy, that caused your head to turn towards him, "This is a waste of time."

"Well, Witcher—" You smiled, tight lipped, bringing your glass up to your lips as you took a sip, and started looking at Yennefer, who was in the center of the hall, mingling with the guests, and nodded, "If there ever is anything that you and me both can agree upon, it's this. This indeed, is a waste of time. Although—"

You eyed Jaskier; who was now laughing at something one of the women said, however his eyes were fixed on a naked woman standing by the table, her finger stretched as she beckoned towards the bard to join her, "Jaskier seems to be enjoying himself."

Geralt grunted, his gaze following yours until the two of you were watching the bard, and the whore disappear through one of the hallways in the back, and Geralt shook his head.

"Why? Does your friend embarass you?" You smirked, your hand flying to the side of your face, pushing the loose strands of hair behind your ear.

"I thought Jaskier's your friend," Geralt smirked back at you in retaliation, and this time, he didn't even try to hide it.

"Yes, he is but he doesn't embarass me, at all."

"Hm," Geralt brought the pitcher of ale to his lips and took a sip of it, a droplet of ale running down the side of his lips. For some reason, he found himself wanting to smile, but he had trained himself over the years not to.

"Well, I'll let you be. I need some air," you waved off, as you whispered, letting the empty goblet you were drinking water from rest against the table where Geralt was as you pulled yourself away from him, your arms instantly clothing around your upper body. Geralt nodded his head, as he watched you walk off.

If it wasn't for the moon shining right on top of you, you wouldn't have been able to see a damn thing as you stepped out of the structure from the back. It was silent, except for occasional high pitched screaming from somewhere inside the stone structure, and you wondered if it was Jaskier, not that it was your concern.

Crushing the dried leaves underneath your feet, you stepped out until you were standing by the cliff, staring at the village at a distance, looking like glitter scattered over a black canvas, the tiny lights glistening.

You unknowingly took a step backwards, only to turn rigid and almost freeze, when your back hit something sturdy, yet you knew it wasn't a wall, it was strong but it felt soft against your back and you could feel someone's breath on you, signalling you that it was definitely a person.

You almost screamed, when Geralt grabbed a hold of both your arms, in an attempt to steady you to your feet, for you were technically, on a cliff , and one slip of your footing can lead you to tumble all the way down the humongously high mountain.

"It's just me."

You didn't realize how your breath had accelerated, your chest heaving up and down, and it was only the Witcher's voice that finally managed to calm you down a bit. You took a slow step around, turning so you were face to face with him, your bodies almost touching; at least you could feel your tiny bump rub against Geralt's abdomen, but he didn't seem to mind.

"You're not immortal," he murmured, in a husky voice.

You raised your brow, but did not attempt to step away from him. You didn't know what it was— maybe it was the warmth that his body was radiating, that you seemed to find comfort standing so close.

"Do you think there are any monsters on a cliff top?" You asked, looking up at him, wondering how his eyes were so — bright — you could literally see them glowing in the dark, the moonlight falling over his face, highlighting his features.

"Not all monsters are dangerous, some people are too."

"Touche," you smiled, still looking up at him, until there was silence, and Geralt cleared his throat, stepping away as whatever the moment was, finally ended.

Geralt kept standing by the edge of the cliff, his back now turned towards you, giving you a clear view of his sword as you lowered yourself against a rock, both your hands resting on your lap. After a few seconds of silence, the Witcher finally turned, his eyes meeting yours as he turned, but only for a brief second until he had walked up to where you were, and he was looking down at you. Almost silently, as though he had asked you to shift, you scooted slightly to your right, and the Witcher sat down too, his side brushing against yours.

"How are you?" He asked, in a low voice, the gentleness in his voice urging you to draw your lips into a smile as your fingers began toying with each other.

"I'm okay. I needed to get out. All that, I can't tolerate it. Makes me want to throw up. Not because of the baby but—"

"Hm, she can be a little too much at times," Geralt interceded, almost immediately, and you nodded, engulfed by the famous Witcher silence once again. Involuntarily, your hands flew up to the side of your arms as you began rubbing them, staring at the sky above you until you felt an urge to look at him.

"Geralt?"

He turned towards you, regarding you with a bit of glimmer in his already bright irises.

"Where would you go? I mean, where would Yennefer take the my baby.. your baby after the birth?"

He frowned a little, parting his lips slightly, letting his head tilt to one side, as his hand flew up to his temple, his index scratching it briefly, until he relaxed once again.

"Well, Yen, she would be staying here. You can stay too. If you want to be close to the baby. I'm sure Yen would appreciate the help."

"No, I guess I'd go back to my own life, take care of my shack back in the village. I'll maybe get a job at the tavern, will bring in some coin—" You drawled, staring at a distance when Yennefer suddenly walked up to where the two of you were, her dark eyes fixed on the two of you.

"Geralt, my love. There are people that would like to meet you. Am I interrupting something?" Yennefer was almost glaring at you, and Geralt cleared his throat, rather loudly, as he stepped up from the rock he was sitting next to you, and walked up to her, taking her hand in his.

"No, I thought something was wrong. Just wanted to make sure—" Geralt turned towards you, "— that everything was fine. Cliffs can be .. dangerous at night."

You pursed your lips, your eyes falling to their entwined hands, and when you looked back up again, you saw the sorceress regard you with a tiny smirk egging against her lips.

"Yes, Witcher, everything's fine, I don't need you following me around like I will need help all the time," Bitterness laced your words, and you swear you saw a look of hurt flash in his eyes just for a second before the usual broody look took over and he regarded you once more before the two of them turned around and started walking away.

Well done, [Y/N]. You frowned as you kept watching them walk away, Geralt's arm wrapped around Yennefer's waist, her head resting against his bicep.

The Vessel Taglist:

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Want to be added to the list? Plz let me know via my ask box, inbox or comments. ✨

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Text

window to the soul

Octoberfest 3: ghost (from geraskier hollow) + stare

“It’s drawn to strong emotions,” Geralt said, and Jaskier knew that he was about to become bait.

The monster of the week was a wraith, but of an unusual type. Over the years of traveling together, Jaskier had seen plenty of wraiths - noonwraiths, nightwraiths, even a plague maiden once. He probably could take one on himself, knowing what he did about the process of destroying them, though it would be difficult without the use of yrden holding them in the physical realm. Luckily it was Geralt’s job to dispatch them. Jaskier usually didn’t even go along to watch anymore, unless the story behind the haunting was particularly ballad worthy.

This time, the wraith was different. Geralt had quickly identified the lost soul, a young woman who had recently died. She’d been deeply in love with a merchant that had regularly come and gone from the town, and had tried to cast a spell to trap his heart. Jaskier knew, after everything with Geralt and the djinn, that there was no curse or potion that could truly emulate love. Her spell had made the merchant obsessed with her, the man driven slowly mad by a fixation that he did not want and could not escape. In the end he had killed the girl and then himself, to escape from the madness that she had struck into his mind. The strength of her grief and the magic of the binding spell had changed the spirit of the woman into something else entirely, something extremely dangerous.

“It’s a sort of hybrid between a vampire and a wraith,” he explained. They were in the field beyond the village, and Geralt was meticulously checking over his potions. His blades were laid off to the side, the slick oil that he used to slay spectres shining across his silver blade. It was nearing sunset, the twilight hour that made it easier for apparitions to make themselves seen in the material world. Jaskier was sitting across from him, nervously stripping leaves from a small twig. Geralt continued. “The emotion she felt and her unrequited love turned her into a heartwraith. Sometimes people call them ‘hungry ghosts.’ They’re never satisfied, and they feed off of people’s emotions to try and fill the void in them.”

“Sounds like a truly awful existence,” Jaskier mused, watching Geralt. The evening light played across his broad shoulders, turning his hair from silver to gold. Jaskier thought he might be able to understand where she was coming from, even if he’d never have tried to bind Geralt to him unwillingly. It was a terrible thing, to be so deeply and unfortunately in love with someone who didn’t want you.

“I need to draw her out,” Geralt said gruffly. “She’s seeking out powerful emotions, like the couple that were attacked and the man who was beating his wife. I’ll need your help.” Jaskier sighed. Of course, it didn’t make much sense for Geralt to try to draw her out. Though Jaskier didn’t subscribe to the notion that witchers felt less than regular humans, Geralt was what Jaskier would dub repressed. The man couldn’t look an honest emotional conversation in the face without getting flustered and running away.

“Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, like he always did. He didn’t love playing bait, but he knew Geralt would never let anything bad happen to him.

Geralt nodded and picked up his silver sword, his steel one still securely in its sheath on his back. “Come on. We need to build a fire to destroy her locket.” The girl had kept a locket with a small lock of the merchant’s hair inside, which Geralt had guessed helped tie her to this plane. Over the next few minutes, the two men built a small pyre. Geralt pressed the locket into Jaskier’s palm, his fingers brushing over Jaskier’s skin. He tried not to blush at the contact.

“When she’s distracted, throw this into the fire. It’ll weaken her,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded mutely, clutching the warm metal close. The fire crackled merrily beside them, painting the landscape around them in swatches of ocher and dark blue. It was truly approaching night now, only the barest hint of sunlight still left on the far horizon.

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked. “To get her attention, I mean.”

Geralt gave him an odd look. “Nothing. I’m going to draw her in.” Geralt’s face was pinched in a way that Jaskier had come to realize meant he was experiencing some kind of emotion, though it was always hard to tell which one. Anger, frustration, sadness and pain all translated into relatively the same expression - tight jaw, drawn eyebrows, thinned lips. Jaskier wanted to reach out and sooth the tension from his friend’s features, but luckily the locket demanded his hands’ wandering attention. Geralt gestured to the soft earth beside the fire, clearly bidding Jaskier to sit. He did so, flopping gracelessly into a crossed legged position, back straight from tension. It was hard to forget that a wraith could appear any moment to wreck the quiet evening.

Geralt settled next to him, dropping into the kneeling position that he favored for meditation. His eyes were grave as he looked over Jaskier’s face. “Just… sit still,” he said softly. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that tone, so he just tried to do as Geralt asked. He settled in, waiting for something to happen, but Geralt just stared at him.

For a moment it was awkward. Jaskier felt a blush spread across his cheeks as those golden eyes regarded him, sweeping over his face and following the line of his neck. Geralt was a man who always split his attention half a dozen ways at once, one eye always on the door and an ear out for trouble. Jaskier had accepted long ago that Geralt never fully listened to him, and that was alright. It wasn’t in his nature, and Jaskier didn’t need participation to hold a conversation. Now, though, he felt the full force of Geralt’s focus on him, looking back at him as if trying to see beyond a mask. Geralt’s own face was impassive, that slight frown still marring his features.

What could he hope to accomplish through this? If he wanted to elicit strong emotions, there were certainly easier ways to do it than a staring contest. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever elicited strong emotions in anyone that he wasn’t actively singing to. It was he who was often overtaken by the whims of his own heart, prone to fits of temper and weeks of lovesickness by turn. Geralt never seemed to feel anything other than mild annoyance. Gods, what if Jaskier annoyed him so much that just looking at him made the witcher angry enough to summon a spectre? Jaskier knew he could be infuriating, but surely if Geralt detested him that much he would just leave Jaskier behind. Right?

Anxiety filled his chest, but he’d been instructed specifically not to move. Forcing himself to relax, Jaskier found himself taking the opportunity to just look back for once, something he so rarely had a chance to do. He absorbed all the details of Geralt’s face that he never allowed himself to - the way Geralt’s left eyebrow was ever so slightly interrupted by a tiny scar, the slight wrinkles on his forehead from years of frowning and the even fainter ones around his eyes, the ever so slight part of his lips. The dramatic light of the fire and the moon overhead made his face into a patchwork landscape of color, the valley of purple shadow in the hollow of his cheek highlighted by soft gold. Jaskier committed every feature to memory, thinking of the notebooks he could fill with songs dedicated to Geralt’s eyes and lips and brilliant white hair. He loved him so much it felt like it was going to drown him, leaving no room in his chest for his lungs.

After he’d finally taken in all the abstract elements of Geralt’s face that he could in the low light, Jaskier’s eyes dragged back to meet Geralt’s. The gold of his irises were nearly consumed by dark pupil, his eyes expanding to take in as much light as possible in the darkness. In this lighting he looked both more and less human, and it made Jaskier feel helplessly fond. Their eyes met, and suddenly the situation struck Jaskier as a bit funny. Two men sitting in a field, silently staring at each other, one pining away like nothing else while the other tried to summon a ghost. It was ridiculous. He quirked a playful eyebrow at Geralt, as if to say, Aren’t we just a couple of fools?

Jaskier watched Geralt’s face shift, a second of surprise flitting across his face. And then, without warning, there was something new there, something Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen before. A softening in Geralt’s eyes, in his brow, as he looked at Jaskier, open and affectionate. The expression hit Jaskier like a punch, or a kiss, demanding and devastating. Geralt’s mouth opened on a low exhale, and Jaskier leaned forward, wondering if he dared, if Geralt might -

There was a screech, and the wraith was upon them.

Geralt was up in an instant, silver sword flashing as he blocked a clawed hand from coming down on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier yelped as he scurried out of the way, clutching the locket he’d almost forgotten. There was a sudden burst of purple light in the field, making the shadows around them dance and twist eerily. The wraith made a horrible noise, like flint scraping across metal, endless and clearly annoyed. Geralt pushed her against the wall of the magical trap, cutting off bits of wispy energy with his sword.

Jaskier wasn’t sure when the exact right time was, but the wraith was certainly distracted. Jumping forward, he tossed the locket down into the fire, watching as the clasp popped open and the little lock of hair fell into the embers. It caught quickly, and Jaskier heard the wraith shriek again, this time a haunting and mournful sound. When he turned back it was just in time to see Geralt shove his sword in her chest. The strange, cottony fabric of her ragged dress seemed to dissipate in the wind, her dry flesh cracking and falling away like old paint. After a moment there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

“Go in peace,” Geralt said, and turned to Jaskier. Dropping to one knee, he said, “Are you hurt?”

Jaskier pushed himself into a better sitting position. They were close, too close. He hoped the warmth of the fire would mask his blush. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Is she really gone?”

Geralt nodded. “Should be. She has no tether to this world anymore without the locket.”

“Right,” Jaskier said. He paused. “So. Um. What you did there seemed to work, at least.”

Geralt leaned back away, out of Jaskier’s space. He missed the proximity immediately. “I wouldn’t have exposed you if I could think of another way.”

“Well, it’s not easy to find someone as irritating as me on such short notice,” Jaskier said nervously. “Hardly efficient.”

Geralt gave an almost comical shake of his head, surprise slapped across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Jaskier shifted, uncomfortable. Giving a forced laugh, he said, “Well, I can only imagine that you were conjuring up strong emotions of the, ah, annoyance you so often display when I do something like, I don’t know, sing or eat or breathe. I know you’re not so easily swayed by my charms.” He tried to pass it off like a joke, but he knew it fell flat even as he was saying it. There was too much hurt in his throat to make it come out anything less than bitter. He stared into the fire, watching the locket turn a liquid red from the heat.

A warm hand suddenly came up to cradle his jaw, and Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt’s fingers urged him to look up. “It’s not that,” Geralt said forcefully. “You must know, Jaskier, you have to - When I look at you, it’s so...” He cut himself off with a frustrated sound. Words had never been his strength. “I feel many things for you, bard.”

Jaskier swallowed. “You do?”

Geralt’s eyes were hot on him, and Jaskier wondered if one could be branded by a glance. It certainly felt like it. “Yes,” Geralt said. “Intensely.”

“Oh,” Jaskier stammered. “Um. I’m not sure if I’m reading all this right, but assuming that you’re saying you don’t hate me, then, ah -”

Geralt gave an annoyed huff, and Jaskier was just about to comment, say something like, see, I am irritating, but then Geralt was kissing him, and he decided to let it go. He leaned into the press of lips, gasping softly. It was brief, nearly over before it began, but Jaskier could feel the warmth of it after Geralt pulled away, breath ghosting over his skin. Jaskier shivered.

“Quite the opposite,” Geralt said softly. His eyes were molten gold, hotter than the locket still melting in the fire at Jaskier’s side, and Jaskier never wanted to look away.

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” he said, and leaned up to kiss him again.

this fic was heavily inspired by Somedrunkpirate’s piece A Lover’s Lament, which is one of my favorite stories of all time. If you read it you’ll be able to see exactly what scene I borrowed from, and I need you to know that it lives in my head rent free.

edit: for some reason tumblr ate everything but the heading for this fic and I didn’t realize until this morning, so thanks to the ten people who liked it with no content LMAO. yall the real

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