Wolf's Home
(Part I)
Geralt of Rivia x female!Reader
Summary: Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and reunites not only with his family of witchers, but also with the person that makes him feel at home the most
a/n: this is sort of rewrite of S02E02. Sorry for the use of (y/n) but couldn't really think of a name for the reader. Also, this is my first try at writing for The Witcher so be nice to me please!!
.................................................................................
She woke up that morning expecting to face another routine-repeating day, possibly with an occasional healing of one of the witchers coming back to Kaer Morhen from a hunt, or coming up with a new excuse as to why she didn’t want to eat whatever crap Lambert cooked for them. His turn on food duty was always a dreadful one.
Her days were never too adventurous, not since Vasemir had insisted on a more permanent stay at the keep two years ago, when she was dragged through the Blue Mountains by a silver haired witcher, both injured, after fighting and killing a monster together. An encounter she still couldn’t really understand to this day, how they happened to be in the same place, at the same time, looking for the same creature, but she knew better than to question Destiny.
Even with her own wounds to take care of, she still healed Geralt of Rivia first, who fell under her natural charm like a trap. He wondered if it was a spell, the way he so easily was put at ease in her presence. She was a mage after all. But as the days passed, he concluded that there was no spell besides the one used to close the gash on his abdomen. That woman was simply a caretaker by heart, one that somehow remained open and pure even knowing of the existence of nasty beings out there in the Continent. Everyone else in the Fortress seemed to be as mesmerized, and so, she was welcomed with open arms to stay, and heal, and fight with the witchers.
The ropes were starting to burn the palm of her hands from all the knots she had conquered in the last hour, but she definitely didn’t mind because it was at least keeping her hands warm as she stood outside, light snow falling over the already white ground.
One of the few advantages of the icy weather was that they could hear when someone was approaching, the crunch of the footsteps over the snow being hard to disguise. She heard those in the distance, but it was of a horse. (y/n) dropped the rope and grabbed her sword, preparing herself for the sight of the intruder before making her own known. But, the sight wasn’t at all what she expected. She didn’t know what to expect at all, but it sure wasn’t a familiar brown horse carrying Geralt of Rivia accompanied by a blonde girl, who (y/n) quickly convinced herself must’ve been a princess, if not for her looks, for her posture. She looked like she didn’t belong there, nor next to someone with the nickname The Butcher of Blaviken.
The girl got down from Roach and looked around curiously. Her dress blended with the snow, from afar, (y/n) wondered if she was even real. Her gaze didn’t last long on the girl when Geralt got down from his horse too, the mere sight of his face barely visible under his dark cloak sent a shiver of excitement to her stomach. He had always had that effect on her, but it seemed the longer she went without seeing him, the stronger the sensation got after meeting again.
The witcher and the princess shared words (y/n) couldn’t really hear from where she was still in the hiding, and as they started to walk towards the main entrance of the Fortress, the mage put down her sword and walked towards them.
“You sure we’re safe here?” the princess asked Geralt, who walked in front of her. (y/n) was not close enough to hear the question, not yet to be noticed.
“Safer than out there.”
Her voice seemed to echo in the silence of their footsteps coming to a stop, both turning their heads to their right, finally acknowledging her. Geralt’s lips curved into a brief smile, his yellow eyes softening when they locked with hers. (y/n) smiled back, the shiver in her stomach was now climbing to her chest and for a moment she forgot he could probably feel her heart beating faster. Good thing she didn’t mind him knowing how she felt around him.
Three steps away from coming face to face with the witcher, she slowed her pace, planning to walk past them.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my dearest friend in all the Continent.”
“It’s great to see you.”
“Oh I’m afraid I was speaking to my best girl here.” (y/n) approached Roach, caressing the horse over her nose and planting a light kiss on her short fur, “But it’s great to see you too, Wolf.” she walked towards him again, for a second forgetting it wasn’t just the two of them there. The way Geralt followed every step of hers, his gaze warm even in the middle of a Winter day. (y/n) opened her arms to him, “Welcome home.”
The man embraced her tightly against him and it felt like getting drowned in memories of his days with her. He had forgotten how much he cherished her affection, and holding her reminded him how nice it was to let his guard down for a brief moment. It all felt like he had never left.
“I missed you.” he murmured, unrecognizably self-conscious. He surely didn’t enjoy showing this vulnerable side of him, especially in front of someone else.
“I’m sure you did.” (y/n) let go of him, casting him a warm, welcoming smile, before looking to the girl standing behind him, now more curious about the pair’s dynamic than the Fortress, “And who’s this poor thing having to deal with your company?”
“This is Ciri.”
“Ciri.” (y/n) tried the name on her lips. She walked towards her with the same welcoming smile, but a different fondness in her eyes, “It’s nice to meet you, Ciri.” she said as she extended her hand to the girl, “I’m (y/n).”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” she spoke softly, clearly wary of meeting a new face, but the shadow of a smiling curve on her lips showed potential trust as she accepted the handshake. After all, the woman was obviously someone dear to Geralt, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Is that so?” (y/n) smirked, hoping the cold outside cooled the warmth spreading across her face. She turned to Geralt, who watched the two girls interact, but the words were directed to Ciri, “I’m sure I have a lot to hear about you, too.” It was a warning to the witcher: an endless night of chatting was to come, questions needed to be answered, stories to be told and his whereabouts to be known.
As if reading Ciri’s mind, (y/n) squeezed her shoulder and tilted her head towards the entrance, “Don’t worry, you are safe here.”
“Keep up.” Geralt told the girl, and both followed (y/n).
They both pushed the heavy wooden doors and walked into the main room of the Fortress that was occupied with chatty men and the smell of burning wood and ale. (y/n)’s words echoing through the wide space caught their attention.
“Look what the snow dragged in, boys.”
All eyes turned to the mage and the murmur came to a stop when everybody noticed the figure standing behind her. Her attention turned to Geralt as well, in time to see him remove the hood of his cloak and finally getting a decent view of the face she missed so much. She also checked on Ciri, who looked uneasier than before, standing in the middle of a room full of men. (y/n) winked at her, hoping to reassure her everything was alright. Geralt noticed, and he too turned to the girl and nodded at her before moving to stand beside (y/n) as Lambert stood from his seat and walked towards them.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“We thought you got lost.” Coën followed Lambert, “Or killed.”
(y/n) rolled her eyes. Geralt smiled tenderly.
“Not yet. Sorry.”
The mage elbowed his side. She had always hated when he implied the possibility of his death at any moment, considering what he was and he did, in reality it wasn’t a massive impossibility. Still, even a simple joke triggered a non-existent grief that resided in her chest everytime she had to see the witcher leave and go long periods of time without hearing a single word from or about him. In his presence, (y/n) pretended he would stay forever, and if he didn’t stay, he would come back. Everytime.
Geralt caressed her back and brought her in for the embrace Lambert had already initiated. He then went on greeting and hugging the other witchers and, more than ever, Kaer Morhen felt like a real home. The family was back together.
“I guess I’m back to being second favorite now that you’re back.” Lambert complained to Geralt, referring to (y/n).
“Who said you were even a favorite in the first place?”
Geralt laughed.
“I hope you’ve all been treating her right.”
“We do, but she’s a mean one. Lucky for her, we don’t dislike her cooking.”
The banter was interrupted by Vasemir, who entered the room already smiling at the sight of the silver haired witcher.
“Wolf. You’re home.” the elder joined the commotion, “Finally.”
Ciri, still feeling out of place, placed herself visibly between Geralt and (y/n).
“Yeah. I had to make a few stops.” the witcher replied, referring to the princess next to him.
“He’s home!”
Once again, the commotion grew around Geralt as they kept celebrating his return. Ciri smiled shyly watching the content interactions.
“Come on,” (y/n) extended her hand for the princess to take, “I’m going to introduce you to everybody.”
When everybody settled enough for the mage to be able to order everyone to be nice to Ciri, the men were somewhat curious about the unexpected guest. The girl seemed less vigilant as she was offered a seat and cup and conversation started flowing as if both her and Geralt had always been there.
(y/n) stood next to him, a sigh leaving her nostrils as she crossed her arms and discreetly nudged the man’s broad figure.
“Yeah, I know. I have a lot to tell.”
“Yeah. You do.”
Geralt looked down at her to meet her eyes and, with a soft motion of his hand, uncrossed her arms. He smiled, in a way she knew he was promising to stay for a while. She couldn’t tell what he thought her eyes were saying, but whatever it was, he felt the need to hold her hand, hidden behind his cloak, caressing the cold skin of her knuckles with his thumb.
“I’m home.” his hoarse voice, along with the softness of his touch and stare, nearly warmed her up on the spot.
In the back of her mind, there was a voice telling her he would eventually leave again, but for once, she shut it down.
.................................................................................
Part II soon!
696 notes
·
View notes
Hello! Thank you so much for what you do- could I please have some recs for geraskier fics where geralt is the one pining harder?
Here you go!! I wasn't sure how to categorize who was pining harder in all of these (since our boys are masters of longing lol) but these are all stories where Geralt loves Jaskier very much, and I highly enjoyed them all!
~
favorite by @asweetprologue
(Rated G, 5.8k)
Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out.
i’ll kiss you slow by @paintedcrayons
(Rated T, 4.9k)
Geralt is not being creepy. He’s not. He’s just looking out for his friend (with a questionable choices in lovers).
Lately, Geralt has started to notice the way people treat Jaskier’s affection like a means to an end. They kiss him only to move to the next step, dance with him as pretense to get him into their beds.
He would like nothing more than to kiss Jaskier for the sake of it.
(He does.)
time and time again by @samstree
(Rated G, 5.2k)
Marriage proposals, through the years.
The Best Laid Plans by @dhwty-writes
(Rated T, 5.5k)
Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.
A Friend in the Wild by @samstree
(Rated G, 1.6k)
In which Geralt acquires a tiny friend who wouldn't stop following him.
Weak and Wanting by @sociallyawkward--fics
(Rated T, 36k)
Geralt had thought that inviting Jaskier to Kaer Morhen after all these years would be a good thing. What he didn't plan on was his brothers deciding to have a little fun with their situation. Lambert and Eskel really needed to stop meddling in things they didn't understand, especially when it came to his bard.
Tell It With Your Heart by @bambirex
(Rated G, 2.5k)
While Jaskier always says what's on his mind, Geralt works a little differently. That doesn't mean he cannot tell Jaskier how he feels - he just does that without words.
Repeat After Me by @onwardorange
(Rated G, 7.3k)
All it takes is (nearly) three years, two meddlesome brothers, and one exasperated sorceress to get Geralt to admit his feelings for Jaskier.
Love Me Better, Send A Letter by @rebrandedbard
(Rated T, 12.5k)
Geralt and Julian have been exchanging letters since participating in an inter-school pen pal program in high school, and Geralt has been pining away for Julian for over a decade since meeting by chance one faithful day in Posada. Between work and Ciri, he hasn't had much time for travelling, but he and Julian still exchange their letters faithfully. Finally, Julian's equally busy life coincides with Geralt's long enough for a short visit, and Geralt has the chance to finally introduce Ciri to the man she knows only on paper. Things would be perfect ... if Julian's visit didn't fall within the week of the concert of Ciri's favorite musician, Jaskier.
Music is no solution by @thecrownprincessbride
(Rated T, 4.3k)
Jaskier has self-doubts, and Geralt is there for him.
A Careless Omission by @samstree
(Rated T, 5.4k)
Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely.
Highway Angel (To the Dark I Said Pour and Forgot to Say When) by @fangirleaconmigo
T, 2.8k
Geralt is a long haul truck driver. With long stretches on the road away from his family, and with no one to keep him company but his loyal dog Roach, he has to brave most of his life completely alone. Then one day, just as he is passing the city of Oxenfurt, he turns on the radio and hears a voice.
zero for ten by @yaelathewordsmith
(Rated T, 10.4k)
The blue-eyed boy on the school's cricket team seems determined to bowl Geralt out.
The worst part is, he isn't even fucking trying.
*
Or, the ten times Jaskier held Geralt's heart in his hands without knowing, and how Geralt grew to want him to keep it.
~
(You can find my other reclists here!)
241 notes
·
View notes
While I’m staying away from all the speculation, all those posts and memes about Jaskier either being the only one who can see Geralt is different or the only one who can’t and keeps insisting that yes of course, that’s Geralt, are giving me ideas.
Namely: faceblind Jaskier. Bear with me. He can’t recognize any face, including his own in the mirror (when he finds a mirror, it’s not that often). That’s why he flirts with everyone, flirting is just his default mode in case it’s someone he’s met before, because at its core it’s kind of roleplaying. While people may not respond to it well, they mostly don’t bat an eye at cheesy joke-y pickup lines where Jaskier ‘pretends’ to meet them for the first time (”Do you come here often?”). Meanwhile it buys Jaskier time to figure out if he has in fact met them before.
(Demi or ace Jaskier? Who flirts for the reasons above and mostly has sex with people because he figures it’s expected of him?)
It’s also the reason he makes so many enemies. Sure, there are actual cuckooed husbands who hate him, but really it’s mostly former lovers who are horribly offended when Jaskier ‘snubs’ them at a reception because he just didn’t recognize them. Or former lovers horribly offended that he tried to flirt with them again pretending not to know them after they threw him out. There are also plenty of people who were never his lovers at all but are just offended because nobles are Like That.
(There have been some really embarrassing situations. Like the time he tried to flirt with Valdo Marx, his eternal rival, who still laughs about it every time they see each other.)
He latches onto Geralt because Geralt is recognizable. There just aren’t two white-haired wolf-eyed muscular men around. Jaskier never has to worry about seeing him and being unsure if it’s actually his friend and not some random stranger with the same haircut. Geralt also never changes his haircut or his appearance in any way, which is refreshing.
Yennefer is mostly the same, with her violet eyes, although Jaskier does have to get close enough to be sure. They have a few weird encounters where Jaskier starts to flirt with her, gets within a few feet, and immediately backtracks the hell out with a disgusted face. That’s how she figures it out, but it takes her a while. After that she takes great pleasure in teasing him about it, but only in ways that no one else will clock (hence the crows’ feet comment. Jaskier doesn’t even know himself in the mirror. He can’t tell if she’s right. He does obsess over it the whole way up the mountain, but he has other things to think about on the descent).
The witchers of Kaer Morhen, when Jaskier meets them, are so refreshing. They’re all different! Eskel is unmistakeable with his scars, and while they’re within the confines of Kaer Morhen it’s very easy to distinguish Lambert’s red hair from Coen’s shaved head and darker skin from Vesemir’s white beard. Ciri is of course the only kid, so that’s not a problem. For the first time in his life, Jaskier doesn’t feel like he’s playing catch up to a game whose rules he doesn’t know. It’s relaxing.
The witchers, on the other hand, are quite surprised about Jaskier. They’ve been told (many times, over the years) that Jaskier flirts with everyone under the sun. Now Geralt isn’t always the most reliable source, of course, and Eskel never expects anyone to be attracted to him because of his scars (which is a subject for another day), but Jaskier doesn’t even try to flirt, even just friendlily, with either Lambert or Coen. He’s not afraid of them, they would be able to smell that, he seems perfectly comfortable with them, but he doesn’t flirt. At first, they figure that it’s because his newly mended relationship with Geralt is still fragile.
One night they’re all a bit drunk and the witchers are talking about how Jaskier’s songs have helped them on the Path, how many humans are much nicer to them, and in general how hard interacting with humans is. And Jaskier is just nodding along, “Yeah, yeah, interacting with humans is so hard.”
“But you’re always going out of your way to talk to people and flirt!”
“Well yes, I like making friends, but they have so many expectations, and they get angry so easily.”
“That’s only when you flirt with the wrong people,” Geralt growls.
“But how am I supposed to know it’s the wrong people when I can’t recognize them?”
“What do you mean?” Eskel asks.
“Faces are hard! I don’t know how people do it, I mean, obviously your scars are distinctive, and I’d recognize Geralt’s hair anywhere, but most humans all look the same!”
Geralt blinks very slowly as it all slots into place in his head. Jaskier’s very strange flirting methods. The way he keeps making enemies without meaning to. Hell, he’s seen Jaskier say hello again to someone they’d seen just minutes before, or completely ignore one of his bard friends at a festival until she came right up to him. “You don’t recognize people?”
Jaskier, who didn’t survive forty-three(ish) years without figuring out that this wasn’t normal, freezes and suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights. “Uh... no?”
“So if, say, Vesemir was to shave his beard, you might confuse him with Geralt?” Lambert asks.
“I’d... probably be able to tell from up close? Geralt’s taller.”
“Wow.” Lambert seems ready to tease him about it, but Eskel stops him.
“How did you never notice?” he asks Geralt.
Geralt just grunts. Jaskier answers for him. “I’m very good at making people feel like we’ve always known each other, I guess. Mostly I just buy time until I can figure out if I’ve met them before.”
The witchers have a million questions, but they never make Jaskier feel like he’s deficient somehow. Jaskier has always been ashamed of it, but to them, it’s just another quirk, like not being able to eat raw meat.
The next time they’re on the road, or at a festival together, Geralt is brooding just as much as usual, eyes darting this way and that, but before Jaskier can go and greet people (with his usual fake-it-till-you-make-it technique), Geralt stops him.
“Your friend Essi’s wearing a yellow dress with red accents,” he mutters under his breath. “Marx has a green doublet, that shade you hate. Avoid the man in the bright purple doublet and the brown pants, you slept with him last time and he threw you out. That woman at the right of the stage with the braid, she has a husband, you tried before.”
Jaskier gets so emotional that he can’t speak for a solid minute, and he ends up hugging Geralt instead. “Didn’t know you paid attention,” he says eventually.
“Just look at me if you’re not sure who someone is, I’ll tell you who to avoid,” Geralt says gruffly.
It’s not a perfect system, but Jaskier doesn’t offend a single person all day.
2K notes
·
View notes
Broken Heart
Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.
You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.
Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: Language, violence
Previous Chapter
Chapter 12-
Travelling the Continent constantly looking over your shoulder for danger wasn't so different from when you used to walk The Path with Geralt and Eskel slaying monsters for coin.
You missed those days.
Life had been so much simpler back then.
And you missed your twin brother dearly.
Now, you were running from powers across the Continent who wanted to get to Ciri and use her Elder Blood for their own personal gain. You had lost track of how many different factions were hunting the girl, but it didn't matter. You were never letting anyone touch her.
Recently, you had found yourselves taking refuge in one of Yarpen’s cabins situated on the outskirts of the woods by a frozen lake. You were surprised that he was willing to help you, knowing what kind of heat you would bring to his area if anyone found out, but you also knew that he wanted the hush money for his discretion, so actually, you weren't surprised at all.
Yennefer had followed along with you, Geralt and Ciri, moving from place to place with you guys without complaining. She continued trying to train the young girl with her powers, but as far as you could tell, that training hadn't been very successful.
Jaskier had travelled with you for a while too before meeting a woman named Vespula, and well, he chose to stay with her for the time being while the four of you kept moving. You missed his constant ramblings and his beautiful yet annoying singing, but you understood why he chose to stay, and you couldn't hold that against him.
When nobody came knocking at your door after a couple of months by the lake, you all unknowingly began letting your guard down. Your little cabin that you shared with Geralt and Ciri was starting to feel like home.
It was nice.
It was domestic.
Yennefer lived in the small cabin next door. She never once tried to sleep in the same house as you guys which you were grateful for. Although you were willingly dealing with her being around, you still didn't trust her after everything she had done.
The mage wasn't stupid, she knew that you didn't exactly like her, so she respected your privacy and kept her distance. She taught Ciri magic in the mornings, and you trained Ciri in the afternoons on how to fight and be a Witcher. It worked. You had a good routine and Ciri was happy, so that was all that mattered.
"Thank you for the supplies, Yarpen." You said, taking the last crate of potatoes from his horse cart.
"What would you guys do without me, eh?"
"We would probably starve for one." Ciri chuckled, taking a bite from one of the fresh apples.
"We wouldn't starve." You rolled your eyes, placing the crate down on the ground. "We can still hunt food, but these are greatly appreciated."
"Oh, I forgot to tell ya, our Belleteyn festival is down the valley. You should come." Yarpen offered, looking over at Ciri.
The girls eyes lit up, "I'd love to."
"It's not safe."
"No."
"Bad idea."
You, Geralt and Yennefer all answered at once causing Ciri to glare at you.
Well, at least the adults were on the same page.
"No one's asked about me for months and everyone will be in costume. And... I was born on Belleteyn." Ciri negotiated.
"Ah! You'd have had a shot at bein' May Queen. Except my niece's beard is comin' in nice and full this year." Yarpen laughed with a wink causing Ciri to giggle.
Geralt practically hissed as he walked past Yarpen, glaring at the smaller man who sobered up his laughter real quick before sighing.
"Just say yes, already! About time for a fuckin' thaw round here."
Ciri looked between you and Geralt with a bright smile, but you just shook your head. It was too risky. After everything you had done to make this place a safe haven, you couldn't risk throwing it all away for some stupid festival.
"I promise I'll be safe."
Geralt glanced over at her hesitantly before looking over at you with a questioning look, but you shook your head again.
"We can't risk it."
"Please, I'll be safe. I swear." Ciri practically begged before Yennefer walked over and joined the conversation.
"I guess it probably wouldn't hurt. She's a girl, I think she deserves to have some fun with other people for at least a couple of hours."
You turned and gave Yennefer a pointed look that she knew meant, shut up. But she completely ignored you and turned to look at Ciri.
"Yarpen just told me that he dropped off a bag full of old dresses for us to choose from. C'mon."
Ciri's smile spread further as she took Yennefer’s hand and you watched in disbelief as the two of them rushed into the cabin without further word, leaving you and Geralt standing outside.
"What the fuck just happened?" You said, staring at the closed door before glancing over at Geralt. "Does she think that she's in charge here?"
Geralt sighed, "she is not in charge. But... I guess one night won't be so bad."
Whoa, wait, what?
You opened your mouth to argue, but quickly closed it again. This wasn't a fight worth having. Geralt wouldn't allow this if he didn't think Ciri would be safe, and you trusted Geralt.
Later that night, you were sitting at the kitchen table with Geralt debating whether or not you should go with them to this festival or if you should stay back and watch the house, but Ciri had already decided for you.
"Y/N, I found the perfect dress for you!" The girl shouted from her bedroom.
That caught Geralt's attention. He looked away from the knife he was sharpening and raised his eyebrows at you.
"You're gonna wear a dress?" He asked, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear a dress."
"For good reason. Dresses are impractical. They get in the way. These pants and shirt are much easier to move and fight in." You replied, motioning towards the clothes you were currently wearing.
"I've never been to a Belleteyn festival outside of Cintra before. You know, this one year, Sir Lazlo tried to jump the bonfire in full armour." Ciri continued to say from her room before her door opened. "What do you think?"
You glanced over your shoulder and couldn't stop yourself from smiling as you took in the beautiful long blue dress she was wearing. That colour with her long light hair, it suited her perfectly.
"I think you need to hide your hair and mask your eyes." Geralt muttered, turning his attention back to his knife.
The smile on Ciri’s face instantly vanished and you kicked Geralt’s shin from under the table causing him to glare at you.
"Would it kill you to say, 'You look lovely'?" Ciri mumbled before she stormed off back into her bedroom.
"Ciri." Geralt sighed, but she was already gone. "I knew this was a bad idea."
"It is a bad idea. But she is also just a little girl. All she wanted was for you to approve of her outfit and maybe tell her she looks nice because believe it or not, that girl looks up to you. Your opinion matters to her." You explained, looking at your boyfriend across the table.
"It shouldn't."
"Maybe. But it does. She cares about what you think. Remember that."
You stood up, giving Geralt’s shoulder a small squeeze as you walked past before you knocked her bedroom door softly.
"Hey, kiddo, can I come in? I wanna see that beautiful dress of yours up close and I believe you have one inside for me?" You asked, and a second later the door opened, but Ciri was still frowning a little. "Don't worry about him. He's just a grumpy old man."
"A grumpy old man that can hear you." Geralt grunted from the table.
"You were meant to!" You shouted over your shoulder causing Ciri to chuckle softly before she stepped to the side and let you into her room.
She walked over to her bed and picked up another dress before holding it up for you to see, and it was gorgeous.
It was a simple long dress that looked a little too small for your liking, but the dark blue was a nice colour, you had to admit that.
"What do you think?" Ciri asked cheerfully.
"It might be a bit small. But I can try it."
"It will fit. If there is one thing I am good at, it is fashion. Trust me."
"Trusting you then."
Ciri was right. The dress did fit, and as much as you hated to admit it, you liked it. It was beautiful and hugged your curves just perfectly.
“Can you go and grab my sword?”
Ciri nodded, walking out the room and leaving you to admire yourself in the mirror for a few minutes before she returned with your sword in her hand.
"Here. What are you gonna do with it?"
"I am not going anywhere without it. Here, I need your help. Can you pull the back of the dress away from my body?" You asked, taking the sword.
Ciri frowned a little but nodded and stepped behind you before grabbing the back of your dress and holding it away from your skin. You lifted your sword up behind you before carefully sliding it down your back until the tip of the handle was in line with the back of your neck.
"Hold the sword there while I tighten the corset."
"This is so cool." Ciri whispered, holding the sword against your back beneath your dress while you tightened the corset enough to hold the sword in place while still being able to breathe in the meantime.
"Ta-da." You said, holding your arms out as you spun around just to make sure that the sword was secure.
By Ciri's silence yet stunned look on her face, you were going to assume that you looked good and that she liked the sword idea. So, you smiled at the young girl before slipping back on your usual boots because why put on fancy shoes that hurt your feet when the dress was too long to see them anyway?
"Oh, wait, almost forgot the masks." Ciri said, snapping herself out of her shock before she rushed over to the desk and picked up the two masks. "Here."
To your surprise, the mask matched the colour of your dress identically and you had a few questions for Yarpen about why and how he had access to such clothing.
You slipped the mask on over your face while Ciri raised her handheld mask over her own and you both grinned at each other.
Dressing up like this wasn't something you thought you would enjoy. You grew up surrounded by boys. You never once had a girl around, it was always boys. And those boys, you loved them all like brothers, but this was something none of them would enjoy or do with you, so it was nice to let your hair down for once.
"Are you two ready yet?" Yennefer's voice called out from the main room.
You glanced over at Ciri, "ready to go?"
"Come on!" She grabbed your hand and pulled you out the bedroom just as Geralt stood up from his chair and had to do a double take when he saw you.
His mouth parted in silent shock, but no words came out. Those beautiful golden eyes looked you up and down, but he seemed unable to speak.
"Geralt, tell her that she looks lovely." Ciri prompted from beside you.
Geralt blinked, glancing at the girl before focusing back on you and clearing his throat.
"You look lovely, Y/N."
His voice was a little rougher than usual and you smiled taking that as a compliment before you glanced over at Yennefer who was standing in the doorway. She had a nice black dress and matching mask on, and as always, she looked absolutely stunning.
Geralt slipped on a large black cloak, hiding his clothes and white hair before the four of you left the safety of your new home and made your way to the festival.
The sound of music blasting and people laughing could be heard for miles before you finally reached the festival, and you weren't sure how many people you were expecting to be there, but it sure as hell wasn't this many.
Crowds of people covered the area. Many dancing, others standing around with drinks talking and laughing with one another.
"I don't like this." You whispered, leaning closer to Geralt.
He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side while you entered the festival, your eyes frantically scanning the mass number of people cautiously.
"Just be on guard." He whispered back.
"Always."
Ciri had left to go dancing with the locals while you, Geralt and Yennefer found a nice quite spot by the ale tent. You watched Ciri as she danced, her smile so bright it was lighting up the whole area.
She was having fun. She was happy. That was the main thing.
It wasn't long before Ciri managed to drag the three of you with her to the maze. What a garden maze had to do with a festival was something you couldn't quite figure out, but Ciri seemed excited to go inside, so you followed.
You lost the girl within the first 30 seconds, Geralt and Yennefer also nowhere to be seen.
Maybe going in a maze wasn't the smartest idea.
You weren't too concerned though until the sound of people’s laughter around you turned into petrified screams.
Oh, that couldn't be good.
Scared civilians rushed past you trying desperately to get out of the maze and away from whatever had them so frightened. You could hear Geralt and Yennefer calling out Ciri's name from somewhere in the maze while Ciri shouted back at them.
Neither of them was with Ciri.
She was alone and in danger.
That realisation made your stomach drop.
Reaching back behind you, your fingers clasped around the handle of your sword before you pulled it out and held it up in front of you. The civilians were still rushing past, screaming and crying at everyone to run, so you did what you always did.
You turned around and marched towards the danger.
The ground beneath you was starting to rumble and you could hear the sound of something snorting and growling. You were close.
"Ciri, where are you?!" You yelled, trying to run through the maze, but your tight dress was restricting your movements. "Fuck it."
You hacked away at the bottom of your dress with the sword. The blade slicing through the blue material until your legs were free from the restraining fabric, the dress now super short, but at least you could run.
"Ciri!" You continued to shout as you ran, turning left and right, but continuously finding yourself facing a dead-end.
Fuck, mazes really sucked.
"Y/N?!" Ciri's voice shouted desperately.
You looked around and realised that searching for Ciri in this maze like this was too time consuming. The tall hedge to your left had a stone feature beside it and you knew that was your best bet.
Without hesitation, you climbed up the stone wall to get the high ground before spotting Ciri a few rows away. The girl was slowly backing away from a large monster and-
Oh, fuck was that a Jackapace?
Its body resembled that of an armadillo, but a hundred times more terrifying. They were blind though but used their sense of smell to navigate and of course, to locate their targets. It's target right now, was Ciri.
It didn't even care about you, it was zeroed in on one thing, and one thing only, that little girl.
You ran along the top of the maze, jumping over rows to get to Ciri, but the Jackapace was already charging at her and you knew you weren't going to reach her in time.
Ciri raised her hand and started chanting in Elder trying to use her magic before Yennefer suddenly appeared behind her and used her own magic, throwing the monster back a few meters to buy some time.
Oh, thank God.
Geralt appeared out of nowhere, slicing his sword along the side of the creature, but it simply whacked the Witcher away with its thick tail, sending Geralt flying through the air and landing on the ground, hard.
That was all the time you needed before you leaped over the last row of the maze and jumped down, spearing your sword through the Jackapace's head, pinning it to the ground.
The monster shrieked in pain but didn't die. It thrashed its body from side to side while you struggled to hold the sword down through its skull. If you released the sword, this monster would go feral and Ciri who was somewhere behind you, would be dead.
"Geralt!" You shouted, using all your strength to keep its head pinned to the dirt. "It's heart. It needs to be stabbed through the heart!"
"Move!"
You yanked your sword out and jumped backwards, trusting Geralt's word blindly. The monster reared up on its back legs, its body now twice as tall as it roared down at you before Geralt suddenly slid under it and stabbed his sword up into its chest, the blade piercing through its heart.
The Jackapace's angered roar died in its throat before Geralt pulled his sword out and the monster collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
You let out a sigh of relief before you turned around to find Yennefer standing beside Ciri who was staring at the dead creature with wide eyes.
"Hey, are you okay?" You asked, rushing over to the young girl.
"Yeah, yeah." She nodded, unable to pull her eyes away from the monster.
"Hey." You said gently, stepping in front of her and blocking her view of the creature before her green eyes met yours. "I was never going to let that monster get to you. You know that, right?"
"I know." She answered honestly before she looked down at your dress and frowned. "It's ruined."
You chuckled, "dresses were never really my thing. They look better on you."
That caused the girls eyes to brighten a little, a small smile forming on her lips before Geralt walked over to the three of you, scanning you all for injuries before letting out a sigh of relief when he couldn't see any.
"We need to leave." He muttered, motioning for you all to follow him.
Nobody dared to argue or say anything as you followed him through the maze. You were already lost in this damn thing, but Geralt somehow seemed to know his way around and before you knew it, you were walking back through the woods to your cabin.
"You good?" Geralt asked quietly, glancing over at you.
You nodded, "thanks for the backup."
“Thanks for the save.” Geralt replied.
When you returned to the cabin, you all got to quick work with backing up your things because this location was no longer safe. If that monster managed to find Ciri, then more would too. You had to move on.
"We'll find another home." Geralt insisted, looking over at Ciri who was sadly packing away her items.
"I liked this one." She whispered, refusing to look at him.
"We all did." Yennefer's voice responded, walking into your cabin with her bag already packed. "How did that thing find us?"
"A Jackapace hunts by scent. It found Ciri because it knew her." Geralt answered.
"Her scent? How?"
"Vesemir told me that Rience stole Ciri's blood from Kaer Morhen." Geralt began to say, coming to the same realisation as you. "He must have used the blood as a scent marker."
"Great. That's just great. Perfect. Fucking perfect." You swore, leaning your back against the wall as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "So, wherever we go, that fire fucker will find us?"
Geralt glanced over at you sadly, "yes... unless we find him first."
"We draw him out." Ciri suddenly said, bringing your attention to her. "We give him the thing he wants most. Me."
-
Next Chapter
-
MASTERLIST pinned to profile
Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries
A/N- Season 3 is finally out!!! (well part 1 anyway)
So I am back with new chapters as we continued on with y/n's journey with Geralt, Ciri, Yen and our favourite bard! I hope you all enjoy ❤️
239 notes
·
View notes
After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last
Geraskier, touch-starved, bed sharing (2K)
They meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.
ao3
The first winter he returns to Kaer Morhen, Geralt is asked to describe Jaskier.
“We hear you’ve started traveling with a companion,” Eskel says over dinner. Lambert and Coën go a little too still in the corner to not be listening, and even Vesemir subtly turns his head in their direction—everyone’s been wondering, evidently, and Eskel has been chosen as the best person to pose the question.
“Yes,” he agrees, taking another bite of whatever it is Lambert has decided to pass off as dinner. Some kind of meat, perhaps? It powders in his mouth like chalk.
To his credit, Eskel doesn’t ask who the companion is. “What are they like?” he asks instead, and Geralt doesn’t miss the they. It protects him implicitly the way Eskel always has, assuming nothing, allowing him to reveal exactly as much or as little as he wants, and Geralt is reminded all over again why he’s never been able to deny Eskel anything.
Including this, so he tries to find the right words. It was never his strength, even back when he still had red hair and brown eyes and knew of Witchers only as a fiction told to scare disobedient kids, but it’s even harder now.
“He’s—”
The first description which comes to mind is loud, but that isn’t quite right. Jaskier is loud only in the sense that Geralt is always aware of his presence, a whisper of citrus and jasmine beside him. And he hums incessantly, sometimes accompanied by the twang of his lute, sometimes not—but it isn’t the kind of overbearing, obtrusive singing that loud would suggest. Jaskier’s music is just there, a constant background, as familiar to him now as the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves in the wind.
He’s a bard, Geralt considers saying, but that doesn’t capture the essence of Jaskier, almost suggests he’s nothing without a tune on his lips.
He’s brave. Certainly, he’s the first human Geralt’s met that has never, not once, smelled like fear around him, even when Geralt’s eyes are inky black and he’s more monster than man. But Geralt doesn’t know if that’s bravery or foolhardy, and besides, true bravery is to run toward that which you fear. To not feel the fear at all—that’s something else entirely.
He’s different. True. Not nearly enough to explain.
“He’s kind,” Geralt says finally, and it feels right. There is no kindness to be found here at Kaer Morhen—even Eskel, for all his protectiveness, is not kind. No Witchers are, no Witchers are allowed to be. But Jaskier is the opposite of a Witcher, vivacious like no one Geralt has ever known before, impulsive and free-spirited and wholly kind.
Eskel’s eyes go strangely soft. “Oh, Wolf,” he murmurs, so low only a Witcher could hear.
Geralt looks away. “Anyway, I doubt I will see him again come spring.”
It’s not a lie. Jaskier has undoubtedly moved on to pastures new, wintering in Oxenfurt or Lettenhove or some other place that Witchers wouldn’t set foot, somewhere bright and lively to keep the chill at bay. The chance that their paths will randomly cross again once Geralt comes down the trail in a few months’ time is slim, and he doesn’t expect Jaskier to wait for him either. Jaskier is kind, but not infinitely so, and surely spending another year on the Path beside a Witcher who grunts more than speaks is the last thing he wants.
It’s not a lie, but the words taste bitter on his tongue anyway.
-
They do meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.
Geralt dismounts Roach outside The Wolf’s Snout, a grimy-looking inn with a half-broken fence surrounding it, five days’ trek from the bottom of the trail. It is further than he usually travels before stopping—the Kaedweni innkeepers closer to Kaer Morhen are more used to Witchers popping in than those this far out.
(But Jaskier mentioned this inn to him last year, so. Here he is)
He has yet to meet Jaskier in the same inn twice, but somehow they always find each other in one establishment or another on the outskirts of Kaedwen. Geralt no longer doubts whether their paths will cross, the question is only when.
Though he knows Jaskier tends to winter close to the coast, he does not ask how or why Jaskier ends up in Kaedwen every spring. Such a gift is too precious to jeopardize, either by his clumsy questioning or his even clumsier acknowledgment.
Geralt steps inside the inn to a raucous dining area, every available table surrounded by men with red cheeks and loud voices, clearly well on the ale. A good bard would make a pretty coin or two here, he thinks idly, and wonders if that’s why Jaskier mentioned it.
The innkeeper is a short, wiry woman with sharp eyes that rake him from top to bottom as he approaches her.
“Room for the night?” he asks, careful to speak just loud enough to be heard over the din. The innkeeper will know, of course, but nobody else seems to have clocked that he’s a Witcher, and the longer he keeps it that way the smoother his stay will be.
“I won’t be having any trouble here tonight,” she says, but her voice isn’t hostile.
“I won’t give you any.”
A corner of her mouth lifts. “And payment up front. How many nights you staying?”
Several coppers lighter, Geralt ends up in a rather spacious room at the very end of the hall, complete with a bed large enough for two (or one broad Witcher), a second small bed pushed up against a window, a fireplace, and a round tub. The main bed even comes with a feather-padded blanket for warmth. Compared to his usual accommodations, it’s a veritable palace.
He scowls, and dumps his saddlebags in a corner. All this luxury is largely wasted on him, and does little to fill the hollow in his chest that has only grown with every step away from Kaer Morhen.
There’s not much to do here besides take in the finery and rest, so he casts Igni to light a fire and settles into the bed rather quickly. Some dinner would be nice, perhaps, but everything smelled a little too salted and seasoned downstairs—normally he can stomach just about anything, but several months of pampering over winter have narrowed his palette considerably, and it’ll take at least a few weeks time to remember how not to give a fuck again.
Sleep finds him almost immediately after that. It should be one of the most comfortable nights he’s had outside the keep in recent memory, but the emptiness of the room aches in his chest like a physical, tangible thing.
-
He wakes to citrus and jasmine and a voice he would know anywhere.
“She told me you were in—ah, Geralt. Here you are. Lovely to see you again after a long winter.” Jaskier steps further into the room until he’s fully illuminated by the firelight. He looks good, Geralt surmises, well-fed and looked-after. “Don’t mind me. Coin is short and this room is entirely paid for, so I’ll be here for the night.”
It’s phrased as a statement but intended as a question.
Geralt just grunts his assent and drifts back to sleep smiling.
-
They fall into the familiar routine just as they have every year before. It’s comfortable, safe, easy.
Geralt kills monsters and Jaskier sings about it.
Jaskier sleeps with fine ladies (and more than one fine lord), and Geralt scares away their angry spouses with a well-placed intimidating look.
Geralt keeps them safe, and Jaskier keeps them fed, the coin he earns from one night of performing usually triple what Geralt could even hope to earn from a single contract.
Jaskier smiles at him and worries after him and touches him with a care no one’s taken since he was a boy, and Geralt tries to understand what it all means.
The ache in his chest is an old, forgotten thing.
-
Their seventh spring, he once again stops at The Wolf’s Snout.
(He’s never waited in the same inn twice before, until now, but he refuses to consider what that might mean)
This time, he’s awake. Waiting up, one could call it, though the very idea is preposterous—Witchers don’t have anyone worth waiting up for, and the chance to sleep in a bed is a precious commodity on the Path. No one is coming home to a Witcher.
But then there’s a lyrical knock at the door—two taps, and then a faster three, the beat of a song he doesn’t know—and Jaskier is there. Framed in the doorway, dressed from head to toe in bright blue and green that should irritate his eyes but doesn’t, not in the slightest, only makes something loosen in his chest that’s been taut for too long.
Jaskier is there. Here. With him, again, for the seventh spring in a row, despite it all.
“You’re awake,” Jaskier says, and his voice is missing some of its usual brightness, its usual whimsical nonchalance, but it’s so good to hear all the same.
“Hmm.”
And Jaskier shouldn’t be able to read what that means, just like he shouldn’t be here in a beaten-down inn along the forgotten backwater of Kaedwen about to step into a room already occupied by a Witcher, but Jaskier is brave and different and kind and entirely incapable of ever doing what he should.
So of course, Jaskier only says, “Yeah, me too,” like he hears the words Geralt doesn’t even know how to form in the privacy of his own mind, and steps over the threshold.
It feels significant, somehow. A bigger step than across a single plank of wood.
He stays silent, watching as Jaskier drops his bags in a heap by the door and undresses down to his smalls in the half-darkness.
There’s only one bed in this room. Geralt asked for a room and the innkeeper offered this one and he didn’t spend more than a second thinking about it before accepting. Witchers can’t be picky, and Jaskier has slept on the floor many a time—they both have, on cold and dirty forest floors far more uncomfortable than anything this inn could offer.
But.
“What are we doing here, Geralt?” Jaskier asks softly, hovering by the edge of the bed but making no move to come closer.
Geralt doesn’t have an answer. But he shifts just slightly on the bed, an invitation—and Jaskier lies down in the open space next to him, no trace of fear anywhere in his scent even now—and for the first time since the mutagens burned away every part of the boy he used to be, Geralt wants.
-
The next year, Jaskier doesn’t come.
Geralt waits at The Wolf’s Snout for a fortnight, until he can’t delay going back on the Path any longer, and then another day just to be totally, completely sure.
Jaskier never comes.
He packs up his things, never considers leaving behind the human-safe potions or the lute strings or the too-small doublet even though they add weight to Roach’s pack—just shoves it all into the bottom of his satchel along with his emotions and his hopes and the weird sense of betrayal he has no right to feel, and walks the Path.
Alone, as he was meant to.
The ache is back, a monster under his skin. He feels cold and tired and empty, but a Witcher isn’t made to break, so he puts one foot in front of the other in front of the other until it’s winter again.
He collapses into Eskel’s arms the moment he’s back in the keep, grateful to still have one person who hasn’t left, and his eyes burn.
If he could cry—he can’t, so it doesn’t matter. But if he could, he would probably drown.
-
It’s foolishness, to go back to the same inn. It’s foolishness, and Geralt is not a fool, but he can’t help himself.
Just to be sure. Just to be absolutely certain Jaskier has left this life, left him, and then he’ll walk the Path and never ever return here again.
But he opens the door to his preferred room, an extra three coppers per night now but worth it just for the memory of having slept beside Jaskier in this bed, and it isn’t empty.
Jaskier is there.
His hair is longer. He’s dressed in deep maroon, and there are bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, and he smells like he hasn’t showered since he left wherever he’s been for so long—and he’s the most beautiful thing Geralt has ever seen.
“Hi,” Jaskier says, tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’ll be welcome. Like Geralt hasn’t spent the last year withering away at the prospect of never seeing him again.
“Jaskier.” He can’t find any other words. He can’t think of any that matter more than this, saying a name he thought he’d have to bury in the deepest corner of his mind forever, lest the mere memory of it reduce him to dust.
“Sorry I wasn’t here last year. It’s a long story involving—”
“Come here,” Geralt whispers, cutting him off. His voice breaks, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Jaskier standing on the other side of the room. “Please.” Witchers don’t beg but he isn’t a Witcher in this moment, just a man, old and weary and aching. “Please.”
“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier is front of him in a flash. “Darling, I’m right here. I’m right here, I promise.”
That familiar hand reaches out and rests on his chest—he feels it, the slightest pressure when those long fingers brush against his tunic, the searing warmth of Jaskier’s skin on his own even with two layers of cotton in between.
Citrus and jasmine, the jackrabbit beat of Jaskier’s heart, and that soft, gentle warmth—Geralt closes his eyes and comes home.
292 notes
·
View notes
Ribs
summary: You're not from the world where the Witcher takes place. So, to stay alive, you stay glued to your witcher - Eskel. Catching feelings for him was bound to happen anyway. Right?
Maybe a tiny, life-threatening encounter with a leshy is just the little push the both of you need.
notes: The title is inspired by the song ‘Ribs’ by Lorde, specifically the lyrics ‘And we’ll never go home again.’ Maybe a little more angsty than you expected, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!! I tried to combine both asks into one
tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @lu-in-the-library @sunndust @ghostcatwhiskers (msg me to be added/removed to any!)
masterlist | based on this request
Eskel had been in the middle of a forest when, almost instantaneously, a figure appeared in front of him. Expecting a sorcerer, Eskel felt his hand grip onto his sword. Just in case.
Instead, he was met with a person that looked so utterly lost and afraid that Eskel knew this was something completely out of the ordinary, and no attack. The next thing he noted is that, when looking at his eyes, this person in front of him was utterly confused.
Without a single word being spoken, Eskel knew that you neither knew where you were, or what a Witcher was. Geralt or Vesemir would have asked for an explanation, but Eskel, stupidly emotional as he was (no matter what people thought about emotions and Witchers) felt something tug at his heart.
He could have left you in the forest, to be devoured by wolves or monsters. He could have left you in the next town, to be ripped apart by the people there. He should have, probably. Instead, Eskel took you with him, on the path.
Perhaps, his reasons weren’t entirely selfless. As he got to know you, Eskel became used to your company, your lack of prejudice. Your warmth, so freely given.
The more he taught you about his world, the more you told him about yours, and Eskel knew that. It made him feel better about keeping you with him, but he knew that, regardless, he should not be falling for you.
***
You held onto Eskel as his horse, Scorpion, began the climb towards Kaer Morhen. The fight against the Leshy had been equally terrifying for you and exhausting for him, and you tried to hold him from slumping forwards too much.
“Are you okay?” you asked him quietly. He nodded. “I am, you’re not. Your heart is beating too quickly.” He replied.
“I hate when you do that.” You shuddered. “Makes me feel like you can read my mind.”
Like you can tell my heart beats faster when you look at me.
“I can only hear your heart, and I’m afraid I cannot change anything about that.” Eskel said. “Why are you afraid?”
You sighed. “Just nervous. I’m practically meeting your family and I don’t even know… should I bow? Or curtsy? I don’t even know how to do that.”
Eskel laughed, shaking his head. He turned to look back at you, and you prayed your heart did not beat faster.
“They will like you.” He assured, before clicking his tongue. Scorpion sped up into a trot, and in the distance, you could see the outlines of what had to be Kaer Morhen. Unlike the few other castles you had seen, this one looked a little bit more like the ones back home.
It was almost in ruins.
As Scorpion walked into the courtyard, Eskel slipped off the horse, before helping you. Your feet hadn’t touched the ground since the Leshy. Eskel hadn’t wanted to stop, had insisted on riding to Kaer Morhen, where you would be safe, and you could feel the consequences of that in your legs now.
“Sore?” Eskel asked, and you nodded. He sighed, taking the bag you had slung over your shoulder to sling over his own. He tried to hide the wince, and failed miserably. If you’d asked him to take the bag, he would have refused, and one look at it was enough to confirm your thoughts. Eskel shook his head.
After he had put Scorpion away, he turned to you. A reassuring squeeze of hands from him had the opposite effect for you. His thumb stroked over the small scar on your left hand, one that you had gotten from hurting yourself early into your time on the Continent. Eskel had fixed it up.
You remembered how he had looked up at you, taken his time to soothe such a small injury while his entire thigh had been bandaged with soaked linen at the same time, crimson red. You thought that that was the moment you fell in love.
Eskel cleared his throat, already a few steps away from you, and you jogged to catch up, nervously laughing. As he opened the doors to Kaer Morhen you took a deep breath, rolled back your shoulders, and exhaled.
At the sight of his brothers, Eskel seemed to relax, laughing happily. The others cheered, and a man with white hair, presumably Geralt, got up to hug him. You stayed where you were, a few paces behind Eskel, wringing your hands as you waited for them to notice you.
Your eyes went over the men there. You thought you recognized Lambert, Coen and Vesemir, but the girl sitting at one of the tables made you pause. She couldn’t be older than 16. What was she doing here?
A wolf whistle ripped you from your thoughts, and you wanted to disappear.
“Eskel!” one of the witchers exclaimed teasingly. “Who is this?”
“A friend.” Eskel said. Oh how that stung. “Vesemir, we must speak.”
“Meeting the in-laws already.” Lambert shouted, and a ripple of laughs went through the men present. You made to follow Eskel, but he stopped you.
“You should stay while I speak with him. He may not be open to… what you are.”
Ouch.
You nodded, watching as Eskel, your only anker in this place, slipped away. Now, all eyes were on you, standing in the entrance, so obviously out of place. Even the girl that sat at one of the long tables stared.
Your skin prickled under their stares, and you gave a nervous smile that made you feel like an idiot. “Hello.” You said, your voice coming out rough, the tone weird, second half of it garbled. Good god, why did this always happen to you?
A few greetings were murmured back to you, and to your relief, many of the Witchers in front of you soon turned back to their conversations. You needed to do something. You couldn’t just stand there and look stupid.
Talk to a Witcher or a teenage girl? Witcher or teenage girl. Neither seemed like the lesser evil, both were incredibly fucking scary. But, the teenage girl seemed just as awkwardly alone as you, so you slipped over to her, sitting down on the bench.
“You look shaken.” She said after a few moments.
You laughed dryly, half out of relief, half out of the fact that you were incredibly shaken. The monsters here were terrifying, and that Leshy? You could still see the moment it had snaked a branch around your ankle, pulling you towards it, playing in your mind.
“All credit goes to the Leshy.” You replied. At that, a hush fell over the hall. Had you said something wrong? Witchers and their goddamn hearing.
The one with the white hair, or, probably, Geralt, turned towards you abruptly. “A Leshy?” he asked.
You nodded slowly. “That’s what Eskel said.”
The teenage girl next to you was no help, only shrugging when you looked at her. Geralt did not respond to you, even if his question had been urgent, leaving you dangling on a precipice of anxiety again.
You told them your name to fill the silence, trying to sound casually, pushing in a quick ‘by the way’ at the end. Finally, someone picked up on something you were saying.
“I’m Ciri.” The girl said. “Geralt’s child surprise.”
“That’s how children usually work.” You snorted, which caused some laughter from the people present, and a brooding stare from Geralt. Did he have some kind of stick up his ass?
“We’re not related.” He said, his voice clipped. He stared at you, and you felt like Geralt could see right through you, sniff you out like a dog.
“Then what’s a child surprise?” you asked. Immediately, you wanted to take your question back. You should have reserved that for Eskel, who knew. He would have understood. Instead, you were barked at by the man named Lambert.
“Have you been living under a rock for the past thousand years?” he asked, and you felt yourself crumble on the inside. However, no explanation followed his question, and all you could do was guess.
What the fuck was a child surprise? Did Witchers adopt? Did people sometimes have to pick up kids along the way? Was it a family heirloom type of thing?
You grabbed for the pitcher with ale, grateful when Ciri handed you an empty cup. Still, when you took a sip, you felt your lips purse. No matter how much ale you drank, you’d never get over the taste of it.
As time ticked on, and Eskel still did not return, you could feel worry imbue itself in your gut. Your knee began to bounce, nails digging into the palms of her hands. Most of the Witchers were gone. Geralt had taken Ciri with him, and the ones named Lambert and Coen were sitting in another corner, playing some kind of game and drinking. You felt a shiver go down your spine, and suddenly, you felt utterly alone.
The dress you were wearing had been bought by Eskel, and it was good. It fit well, the color was a beautiful deep blue, and it was comfortable. But it was nothing you’d have worn back home. Quietly, you drew your knees up to your chest.
If you had a clock, you’d have heard it tick, making the passing of time even more obvious.
At the sound of people approaching, you lifted your head from your knees. You’d almost fallen asleep, and the sudden noise had ripped you out of it. There, at the entrance of the hall, stood Eskel, together with Vesemir.
A relieved smile began to spread across your face, before you remembered what Eskel had said. He may not be open to… what you are.
As Vesemir approached you, the feeling in your gut tightened, anxiety making you shiver again. As Vesemir opened his mouth to speak, you saw Eskel behind him, deathly pale, and a feverish coat of sweat covering his forehead.
“You’re not okay.” You said, pushing off the bench and past Vesemir. Scary old Witchers be damned, Eskel wasn’t doing fine.
“Leshy wasn’t uh… a proper Leshy.” Eskel replied. When he took an idle step forward, you slung his uninjured shoulder around yours, ignoring that he was much too heavy for you to actually help.
Vesemir cleared his voice, and you steeled yourself to argue with Eskel’s adoptive father. “I think it better if we continued this on the morrow.” He said, handing you Eskel’s pack. With some effort, you managed to pick it up, pointedly ignoring Eskel’s grunt of protest.
“Anything else?” you asked Vesemir carefully.
“Make sure he gets his rest, stubborn as he is.” He replied. “Wake the entire keep if something’s wrong.”
You nodded, forcing yourself to swallow your fear.
Even in his delirium, Eskel helped you, directing you towards a small room. With the few skills you’d picked up from him, you managed to stoke the flames in the fireplace, lighting the candle next to the small cot with it. Searching through the pack, you picked out a blanket, preparing to get comfortable in the chair.
As you heard the bed creak behind you, you whirled around.
“Where am I?” Eskel asked you, looking utterly lost.
You sighed, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Kaer Morhen. You…”
“The Leshy?” Eskel asked. That much was just… gone?
“Dead. Really dead, you made sure. With fire, I think and… lots of stabbing.” You replied, and Eskel gave a weak smile. He made to get up, immediately gritting his teeth against the pain, and you stopped him gently.
“You’re taking the bed tonight, no arguments this time. Vesemir’s orders.” You said firmly.
Eskel’s brows drew together. “You met Vesemir?” he asked.
“Not really.” You shrugged. “We were both too concerned about you to talk about me. But he didn’t try to kill me, so there’s that.”
Eskel gave an exhausted laugh, grunting in pain as the bandages tugged on his wounds. “Your heart is… faster.” He said, and you rolled your eyes.
“Stressful day.” You lied.
He nodded, too tired to insist on sleeping on the floor. For once, you were glad for it, not having to fight over whether or not he would take the bed and you the floor (he never let you, insisting that Witchers didn’t need sleep anyway).
***
Your neck was stiff when you woke up the next morning, and it took some effort to push yourself out of your chair. Eskel had sat up at the end of his bed, looking at you tiredly.
“Morning.” You said, your mouth sticky from sleep. You grabbed the pitcher from the bedside, taking a sip of water.
“You slept on the floor.” Eskel noted. “Never wanted you to.”
“It’s not a big deal. You’re looking better, that’s all that matters.” You shrugged, but Eskel only shook his head, pulling at his shirt. You turned away, giving him some privacy. Instead, you rummaged in your pack, looking for the potion he’d need.
“I wanted you to always be comfortable.” He said. You paused, trying not to overthink his words. The potion in your hand felt uncharacteristically cold. Keeping your eyes peeled to the ground, you set it down next to Eskel.
“I always was comfortable. I only have a stiff neck.” You replied. Eskel moved behind you, his hands already beginning to work the knots out of your muscles. You reached up to stop him.
“Eskel, I appreciate it, I really do, but you need to take care pf yourself.” You said firmly. When you looked at him, he had an expression of rejection on his face. Immediately, you regretted your words.
“I’m sorry, I only meant-“ you began.
Eskel interrupted you. “Yeah, I know. You want me to make sure I’m alright. But…” he trailed off. “I want to take care of you.”
There wasn’t a world where you wouldn’t have mulled over his words, hoping that there was more meaning to them. And so, you took his hands into yours, smiling at him nervously.
“Thank you, Eskel. That means the world to me.”
“Yours or mine?” he joked, and you felt yourself smile at his stupid joke.
“Both.”
Eskel paused at that, and immediately, you felt stupid for blurting it out. His hands held yours a little tighter, and a knot formed in your throat. There was a small part of you that was hoping, not just that you hadn’t said anything wrong, but that he would reply to this what you wanted him to say.
Instead, Eskel dropped your hands, turning back to the bed and making it mechanically. You missed the blush on his face entirely.
In the afternoon, you took care of Scorpion, watching as Ciri trained in the yard by herself, a frustrated expression on her face. After a while, you led Scorpion into the stables, walking back out into the yard, and smiling at Ciri. She gave you a strained smile back, and you noticed the irritated skin on her hand.
“Eskel wraps his sword grips with fabric to make them more comfortable in winter.” You told her, nodding at her reddened hand.
“My grandmother never needed any of that.” Ciri only barked out.
“Well, maybe she didn’t have dry skin.” You replied, and Ciri stuck her sword into the snow a little more aggressively than necessary.
“What are you training for?” you asked, idly twisting on a bracelet Eskel had gifted you once.
“I want to be as good as Geralt.” She replied.
“He’s very good, from what I hear.” You said. “But I think you need to take a rest as well. You’re neither a witcher, nor a man. Not that that’s a bad thing. Enough rest will make you better.”
Ciri sighed, handing you the sword. “Could you help me with the grip?”
You nodded, tucking it under your arm and walking towards the dining hall with Ciri.
“So… you and Eskel?” Ciri asked after a while. You almost tripped, regaining your composure quickly.
“No, we’re only friends.” You replied. “We just spend a lot of time together, like you and Geralt.”
Ciri scrunched up her nose in disgust. “I’d hope not. We don’t look at each other like lovesick idiots.”
You almost scoffed indignantly. “We do not look at each other like lovesick idiots. I also doubt that Eskel is in any capacity in love with me.”
“So you are in love with him?” Ciri asked.
Fucking teenage girls.
You didn’t reply to that, and Ciri’s smile widened. “Don’t even think about saying anything.” You bit out. “I just helped you with dry hands.”
Ciri rolled her eyes. “Can I tell Geralt? He’ll give Eskel a kick. You know, he firmly believes that you’re the one not in love. If he finds this out… he’ll have a field day.”
You buried your face in your hands. “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”
“Apart from the occasional grunt, no.” Ciri replied, not that that was much of a reassurance. You knew she was probably still going to spill your best kept secret to Geralt.
“Only Geralt. No one else.” You assented, and Ciri skipped away, leaving you with her sword. Sighing, you dragged yourself up crumbling stone stairs and into your room. Eskel had gotten it ready for you while you’d been out taking care of Scorpion. It felt strange to have one to yourself again after so long. Still, it turned out you didn’t have to be alone for long.
Only a few minutes later, Eskel knocked on your door, carefully checking in on you. You knew it was silly, but it was the things like this that made your heart flutter each time.
“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, setting down Ciri’s sword.
“Better.” Eskel said. He noticed the sword with a confused smile. “Are you training? You should’ve told me.”
“Oh no, I was just helping Ciri. Her hands are too dry because of the cold, kind of how yours get sometimes.”
“You remembered that?” Eskel asked.
“Yeah of course. Why wouldn’t I?” you replied, smiling at him.
“I’m in love with you.” Eskel said quietly, then. Your heart stopped for a good second. You stared, blankly, trying to comprehend what Eskel had just said. He paled at your silence, already beginning to back out of your room, but you quickly grabbed his hand.
“I- Me too. I am in love with you too, is what I’m trying to say. I didn’t realise that wrapping a sword would be what it takes to hear it but I really, really, really like you. A lot.” You rambled. “I mean, you’re sweet, and caring, and-“
Eskel stepped forward, hands that were made to kill gently cradling your jaw. He hesitated, eyes asking for permission. When your hands steadied themselves on his chest, he closed the bridge between you, his lips softly meeting yours. You sighed into the kiss, deepening it impatiently until your hands tangled in Eskel’s hair.
After a while, you broke the kiss, heart racing in your chest.
Eskel noticed. “Your heart is…”
“It’s fast, I know. Most of the times you pointed it out, it was because of you.” You confessed. His eyes widened.
“Since… Since I fixed up your hand?” Eskel asked with sudden realisation, and you nodded. He gave you a small smile.
“We’re such idiots.” You laughed, and Eskel joined you. The sound of it was so beautiful you could not help kissing him again.
168 notes
·
View notes
Jaskier hates sweet things, and Geralt loves them. It’s why they work well together.
“It’s why we work well together!” Jaskier exclaims, pushing his dessert plate towards Geralt. He’s only taken one spoonful of the cherry pie, made a face and declared it too sweet for his taste. “I hate sweets, and you love them—don’t try to deny me, dear. I’ve seen the way you look at the pastry stands when no one is watching.”
“Hmm.” Geralt’s cherry pie is long gone, and his mouth waters at the sight of Jaskier’s piece. “It’s yours. You paid for it.”
“Actually, my performance paid for both of our dinners.” Jaskier winks. “But as you can see, it’s become a burden for me, as I cannot stand anything with so much as a layer of frosting.”
Geralt is not, and that is more than enough. “I don’t need a second dessert, Jask,” he says. “Witchers can live on very little food.”
“But you’d be doing me a favor.” Jaskier bats his eyelashes. “Please? My gorgeous witcher, my brave champion, my most generous lover—”
“Fine,” Geralt interrupts, taking up his spoon. “Don’t finish the thought.”
Jaskier giggles, sitting back to watch Geralt eat. “It’s a saying even. They say a couple only works if one likes the food the other hates. This way, if it comes up on the dinner table, one can finish it for the other.”
It’s a cheeky saying, one that is definitely just been invented by Jaskier himself.
The pie is good though. The cherries add a hint of tartness to the cream frosting. Geralt chews slowly, letting the sweetness pop in his mouth. He closes his eyes with the last bite, and only opens them slowly afterward.
“Is it good?”
Jaskier watches Geralt with a quiet smile, his hand reaching forward on the table, his palm facing up. Geralt takes it and squeezes gently.
“It’s…sweet,” he answers, belly full and content.
It seems to satisfy Jaskier enough to press a tiny kiss on Geralt’s scarred knuckles.
“See?” Jaskier preens. “We work well together.”
☆
For some reason, Jaskier keeps buying sweets for himself.
The two lemon cakes are freshly baked, wrapped in paper and drizzled with honey, the warm aroma wafting through the busy marketplace. It reminds Geralt of a snowy day at Kaer Morhen, with the fireplace burning bright.
Jaskier holds them to his nose and takes a sniff, only to shove them into Geralt’s hands.
“Too sweet,” Jaskier says, pouting. “Finish them for me?”
Geralt sighs. “You can just not buy them.”
“Thought I wanted one, and now I don’t.” Jaskier shrugs. “Anyway, it’s good you’re here, so you can take care of them for me, dear. Meet me later?”
With that, Jaskier disappears into the crowd, leaving Geralt with the two cakes. They do look good, so he takes a bite, and then another.
He wouldn’t normally spend coin on luxuries such as fancy cakes, and whatever food he does purchase would be rationed carefully. Being on the road with a human calls for caution, as Jaskier is not nearly as sturdy as a witcher when it comes to on-and-off meals. Geralt always saves extra for him.
Which makes sweets the only indulgence he has. It’s okay. Jaskier hates sweet things so much he’d never eat them anyway.
The honey is sticky on Geralt’s fingers. He makes sure to lick the last of it clean.
☆
Lettenhove bustles with the laughter of children. Every year they come back, there seem to be a dozen more of them. The extended family welcomes them with warm hugs, with Jaskier’s parents giving the tightest one.
Jaskier looks exhausted from traveling, but as soon as his nieces and nephews hug him on the leg, he seems to melt into a puddle all over again. The children drag him off to play games in the courtyard, and he can never say no to that.
Geralt can only shake his head and head straight to the kitchen. Jaskier skipped lunch to get here sooner, and the kids will soon run him ragged, so naturally, Geralt needs to fetch him something solid for later.
He encounters more cousins and uncles on the way, who all pat him on the back warmly. It’s still unreal to think the Pankratzes have just accepted Geralt as a member of the family. Even years later, it still takes a moment to wrap his head around the fact.
The smell of freshly baked biscuits comes from the kitchen, rich with caramel and butter.
“Oh, Geralt!” Mira, Jaskier’s older sister exclaims when she finds him in the doorway, her eyes as blue as Jaskier’s, full of a big smile. “How was your travel? Good weather, I hope?”
“Good,” Geralt nods. “The road was easy. Jaskier was missing you, so we didn’t rest today.”
“Well, we missed him too, and you, of course.” Mira always manages to soften Geralt, putting him at ease. “You both must be so hungry. All that witchering must be hard, you look much thinner, Geralt. I’m sure it’s the same with Julian. It’s good timing! The biscuits are just done. I made his favorite, made it extra sweet with caramel just for our Julian.”
Geralt blinks, confused. “For who?”
“Who else has the biggest sweet tooth in Lettenhove? Of course it’s my baby brother, your Jaskier.” Mira turns to put the biscuits into a plate, amused by fond memories. “He used to sneak into the kitchen at night just for the candied fruits we keep for the holidays. It’s embarrassing how long he kept it up, even right before we sent him off to university.”
In the distance, Geralt can hear Jaskier’s voice, playing with the children and laughing loudly.
Geralt takes the plate from Mira, and stares for a moment.
☆
The biscuits, as it turns out, are decimated instantly by the children.
Only crumbs are left on the plate by the time Jaskier walks up behind the kids, his cheeks flushed and hair a mess.
“How’s the family treating you, dear?” Jaskier asks, equal parts amused and sympathetic. “Not overwhelmed by them? I have to apologize if you are. The Pankcratzes are an overwhelming people. It just can’t be helped, as you see.” He spread his arms dramatically, gesturing to the kids running around behind him, with biscuit crumbs on their chins. “But we do try to overwhelm you with love!”
“Yes,” Geralt muses quietly, a familiar mushy feeling spreading through his chest. “That you do, Jaskier.”
Geralt isn’t sure what expression he’s making, but it must be worrying enough. Jaskier steps closer with a serious face.
“What is it?” A frown creeps up on Jaskier’s brow. “Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” Geralt holds the empty plate tightly, shaking his head. “Mira knew this would happen and saved a few biscuits in the kitchen. They are made extra sweet, with caramel.”
Something flickers in Jaskier’s eyes. It’s subtle, barely there, a flash of excitement that appears out of instinct but is suppressed quickly.
It’s something Geralt should have seen long ago.
Jaskier, he realizes, is a sweet tooth.
Has been this whole time.
“It sounds lovely.” Jaskier nudges Geralt on the elbow. “Do you want to go and try it? Go then! Mira must be dying to feed you after seeing you’ve gotten thin, and—oh, Geralt, what are you doing?”
Within a heartbeat, Geralt has taken Jaskier into his arm, kissing him passionately. It’s awkward with him still holding the plate, and Jaskier’s youngest niece, Issy, makes a disgusted noise, but Geralt can’t find it in his heart to care.
He kisses Jaskier until the bard has to pull away with a flustered smile, his hands holding onto Geralt’s shoulder for balance. Jaskier’s cheeks have gone wonderfully red, his eyes shining with love.
“What, um,” Jaskier clears his throat. “What was that for? Not that I’d ever complain.”
Geralt stares into those cornflower blue eyes he’s known for years, and finds a new way to fall in love all over again. “I got a little…” he answers, exhaling deeply, “overwhelmed.”
“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “In a good way?”
“Very.” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s nose one last time before letting him go. “Do you want to come with me? Try Mira’s biscuits. Just this once. Maybe you’ll like it.”
“But I don’t—”
“Please?” Geralt looks at Jaskier pleadingly. He knows Jaskier won’t say no to that look. “For me?”
Jaskier beams, his grin spreading impossibly wide, looking stupidly happy.
“Alright,” Jaskier agrees chirpily, taking Geralt’s arm. “You know I’d do anything for you, but you are being unreasonably amiable today. What’s gotten into you?”
Geralt lets Jaskier wraps himself around his side as they return to the kitchen, the rich scent of caramel filling his lungs once again. It seeps into his core, indistinguishable from the ever-growing affection he feels for Jaskier.
“Just,” Geralt says finally, voice hushed like it’s a secret, “I find you sweet, is all. The sweetest.”
Luckily, Geralt loves sweet things.
977 notes
·
View notes
I hate portals.
-Geralt of Rivia
hey! @eskelhashugetitties, how about another The Witcher x God of War crossover?
At the beginning I was thinking of drawing GOWR!Atreus and TW3!Ciri but though that GOW2018!Atreus and TW3flashbacks!Ciri would be way cuter and more... emotionally compromising?
let me explain...
Kratos surely though of Calliope when traveling with Ciri, while her constant chatter reminds him of Atreus. For the most part, Kratos fought with himself to NOT to bond with the "girl". But what broke his oath to not get emotional was Ciri having a terrible nightmare about the Slaughter of Cintra, which reminded Kratos how he wreaked havoc at the Temple of Athena. The God Of War ended up holding Ciri close for the rest of the night, as she cried, sniffled and babbled that she wanted to go home... she eventually fall asleep on him utterly exhausted.
Ciri became fast friends with Brok - as he is closer in character with dwarfs from the Continent and she proudly showcases him how Geralt taught her how to blow nose through fingers - Brok claimed it's really great skill to have, while Sindri gags mortified by how unhygienic the girl is. Sindri is later even more confused because Ciri was taught a proper etiquette - she is a princess after all - she just refuse to be proper.
Geralt planned to bring Atreus to Kaer Morhen and make him a proper witcher - the original route was to the Witchers' Keep. However, Geralt changed his plans as the "boy" was constantly talking about his father and the quest to bring his mother's ashes to their resting place. So after few days of storytelling and relentless questioning, Geralt started to feel bad about his original plan and decided to meet Yennefer and ask the sorceress if there is any way to bring the boy back where he belonged - if it was impossible he'd go back to his original idea.
During fulfillment of one of the monster contracts Geralt dragged Atreus to, the young archer got extremely sick (plot from GOW 2018), the witcher decided to change the route again and stop by Temple of Melitele and show the boy to Mother Neneke first - the archpriestess couldn't tell what exactly ailed Atreus, however she quenched his thirst of knowledge (to a degree) during their stay at the temple.
Not to mention, Atreus surely tried to learn Signs at some point of the journey!
What made both Ciri and Atreus trust their temporary guardians in the first place? It was the way Kratos and Geralt both grunt in a similar manner... and a lot.
---
see my other The Witcher x God of War crossover artworks -> [HERE] <-
===
God Of War (franchise) © Santa Monica Studio
The witcher saga (books) © Andrzej Sapkowski + The Witcher trilogy (video games) © CDProjektRED
498 notes
·
View notes
part 18
"What really happened to me?" Geralt asks, his voice so deliberately neutral it makes Jaskier sick. Black dots dance across his field of vision. It's getting harder to breathe.
"You asked me to do it. And I didn't want to, of course I didn't want to,” he gasps, “but you told me you'd be fine- You promised- Geralt, you promi-” Jaskier's head falls to the side and hits the ground.
You see, the bard muses, the funny thing about time traveling is that it is very similar to passing out. Jumping through time is as easy as falling unconscious – you don't really have to think about it to do so and the more often it happens the better you get at not hitting your head. The catch though – because even if you're not literally caught there's always a catch, isn't it – is that no matter how many times it happens to you, waking up is always incredibly disorienting. So Jaskier can't really be blamed when he wakes up with his head in Geralt's lap and for a moment thinks that everything is alright again, that they're on the Path, camping somewhere out in the woods waiting for Ciri to join them.
Reality has never been that forgiving, so when the familiar wooziness leaves him it takes Jaskier's wishes and dreams with it. He gratefully accepts the waterskin that Geralt hands him after helping him sit up again and drains it in one go, before solemnly apologizing for passing out on the witcher mid conversation. Geralt doesn't say much at first, but Jaskier can see that there's a lot on the witcher's mind.
The silence between them is uncomfortably heavy and Jaskier can't stand it. Just as he's about to open his mouth Geralt finds his voice again. “It was blood magic.”
Their eyes meet. Geralt's golden orbs dark, almost angry and Jaskier's blue full of surprise. He remembered more. “It was a trap,” Jaskier fills the space in Geralt's thoughts. “The sorcerer was already dead, but Ciri wanted us to look for an artifact she needed. We- We thought it was safe. Good riddance, the place was already dusted over!”
“It made us careless,” Geralt adds, looking lost in his thoughts.
“It was my fault,” Jaskier says, full of anger. “I activated the curse, because I wasn't paying attention, but you-” His eyes met Geralt's again and he shook of anger and despair. “You told me not to worry! You told me you knew what you were doing, that I just had to trust you! And I did, I bloody fucking did because the walls were caving in around us and I was so fucking scared we wouldn't make it this time and I thought I would be fine with it, I thought if I died by your side it would be alright, but I just couldn't stop thinking about Ciri, about Yennefer, about your brothers, our family waiting for us to come home just to be frightened more and more every day we didn't show and I-” He gasps, ringing for breath as his body continues to shake uncontrollably.
“I stabbed you, Geralt. I put a knife through your chest, because you promised me it'd be fine. And I believed you, because you are the love of my life and I trust you to keep us safe.”
remember to like and reblog if you voted :)
Only two more parts 👀
Sooooo for the next story I was thinking you will have to navigate Jaskier through the wilderness to find Kaer Morhen? Eat the berries, Jaskier, it will be fiiiine, Jaskier. (possibly with someone in tow? Ciri, or Aiden? Or maybe a witcher turned into a child? 🤔🤔)
tell me if you (don't) want to be tagged :)
(x) @fingons-rad-harp @sinfulpetgirlrd @wren-of-the-woods @basilikum7 @eveljerome @this-is-not-a-slow-burn @araglas1989 @alaskawho @cinary @swan--writes @mirrorthoughts @chaoticfandomthot @sonatabee @gregre369 @awitcheress @yaskefer @hannibard @myfeelisfunny @kore888 @filledepluie @pathsofpassion @joyfulcherryblossombasement @ryuuhana91 @toapoet @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @ineffably-a-fangirl-99 @starlghtstarbrite @siriusly-the-best-bi @cowboybuttconnoisseur @logastellus21 @chasinggeese @whump-der-it-is @inanoldhousewrites @reluctantbroodingdads @professorjaskier @ourbooksuniverse @life-as-a-gamergirl
139 notes
·
View notes
The female Witcher
Summary: Geralt and Ciri are back in Kaer Morhen for the winter. But what happens when Ciri finds out about the only female Witcher who used to be close to Geralt?
Warnings: Poisoning
Words: 1850
A/N: I am back to writing after a 5-year-long break. I hope you like it!
____________________________________________
„Geralt? Who is Y/N?“ Ciri asked when she got into the same room as the famous Witcher. Curiosity was written in the young girls face. “Where do you have that name from?”
“Doesn´t matter, who is she?”
“No one of importance” Geralt grunts out and leaves the room as fast as he could, leaving a confused Ciri behind.
____________________________________________
Meanwhile Y/N lips left one curse after another one. Her grey hair was falling into her face as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were scanning the surroundings searching for one of the monsters she lost moments ago.
Oh, did she wish that another Witcher would have accompanied her. Vesemir told her to take someone with her, but she refused. Y/N wanted to show them once again that she was as good as them. Even though everyone knew that Y/N was one of the best Witcher out there. Some whispers even dared to say that she was better than the great Geralt of Rivia.
Just as she turned around to search further for the monster, the creature sprang out of the woods. Even a skilled Witcher like Y/N was, wasn´t able to react that fast and so the monster was able to bight right into Y/Ns neck, poisoning her blood with its venom.
Y/N let out a scream of pain before she was able to pull up her silver sword and push it right through the creature’s heart. Only in the background Y/N could make out the dying scream of the monster. The venom already taking control over her body. She went unconscious even before the monster fell right beside her. But before everything went completely blank the young Witcher´s lips left one single word “Geralt…”
____________________________________________
Geralt stormed through Kaer Morhen searching for Eskel, Vesemir or any other Witcher who was currently in the old keep. Searching for answers why Ciri knows of Y/N.
He just turned around the corner the exact moment as Eskel, nearly running him over in the process.
Eskel chuckled about the broody behavior, knowing exactly what got Geralt into that mood.
“Why does Ciri know of her existence?”, he practically growled out.
Eskel smiled knowing exactly where Ciri had that name from. And as a good friend of Geralt he won´t keep that information from him.
“Oh, she was in the dining room with us. Lembert asked Vesemir when Y/N is coming back from her mission. Vesemir told him, that she should be back soon. Ciri immediately perked up when she heard a female name and started asking questions if she is a mage and stuff like that. We didn’t give her answers, obviously. So we told her to ask you about Y/N. She immediately stormed off and I bet on your behavior that she already asked”
Geralt sighs taking in the news off her coming back to Kaer Morhen. “She is coming back? I thought she would never step into this keep again…”
“Geralt, Y/N visits our keep regularly. It was just about time that you meet again. It´s time to talk with Ciri about her before she runs into Y/N herself.”
The grey haired Witcher looked out of the window, thinking about the words of his dear friend.
“You are right. Thanks, Eskel”
____________________________________________
That night right before Ciri went to bed, Geralt walked into her room.
“We need to talk”, he stated while walking to the chair besides Ciris bed.
“About what?” “Y/N”
Ciri immediately set up again in her bed, waiting for Geralt to start talking about the famous Y/N.
“Before I tell you the story about her, you must know that there is no way that we are trying it again with you. Y/N was one out of a lifetime.”
The girl only nodded, confused about what Geralt just said.
“Y/N is a female witcher just like me. Vesemir took her in, not knowing that she was a girl. Y/N was and still is one of the most intelligent people gracing this world. She knew that Vesemir wouldn´t take her in if he knew that she was a girl. So she cut her hair, wore boy clothes and talked in a deeper voice. No one suspected a thing. She did all the same quests as we did and most importantly, she survived the trial of the grasses. No other girl ever did, it´s also the trial where most of our people who wanted to transform died a painful death. Only after that trial Vesemir found out that the young boy was in fact a girl. He punished her, throwing her out of the keep in the middle of one of the deepest winters Kaer Morhan has ever seen. He thought that the girl died but when spring knocked on the keeps door, not only the warmth came back but also Y/N.
Vesemir was too stunned to speak, he was sure that the girl wouldn´t survive the winter. They barely managed it and they were in a keep. Impressed with the young girl he took Y/N in again, knowing that the girl was way more powerful than he thought and therefor way more useful. He talked to some mages how it was possible that a girl survived the trial of grasses. But no one had an answer. After talking with every Witcher and Mage he knew, they all decided to let Y/N do the last two trials. The trial of the Dreams and the trial of the Mountains. She passed both with brilliance. So they did one more trial just like they did with me, and she passed again. Owning her the same grey hair as I have. Y/N grew up to be one of the best Witchers the world has ever seen, and it seems that she comes back to the place where everything started… Kaer Morhan”
Ciri couldn´t believe her ears. A female Witcher? An exceptional one on top? Why did she never hear of her and why did no one talk about her?
“Why weren´t the others answering my questions about her?” the girl asked confused.
“Y/N and I have some history together. We spent most of our years together. We used to travel together, tried to get jobs at the same place or even got together on the same job even though only one Witcher was needed. You could say we were inseparable. We shared more than only work if you know what I mean…”
Ciri of course understood. She needed a moment to take all those information in. She thought about what question to ask next, especially now that Geralt was in a talkative mood.
“What happened between you two? Why isn’t she with you anymore?”
Geralt groaned, he was waiting for this question.
“I fucked up, I…” but he didn´t get the chance to continue the story because Eskel was storming through the door.
“Geralt… it´s Y/N, she is here… but it doesn´t look good…”
Eskel didn´t even get the chance to catch his breath or step aside when Geralt jumped up and pushed his friend aside. Running towards the gate where Y/N just arrived moments ago.
Ciri and Eskel were following him hot on his heels.
When he arrived at the gate. Vesemir where already by her side. He took in her current state and how far the poisoning already went into her body. The old Witcher asked Geralt to help him bringing the woman to their laboratory, hoping that they would be able to save Y/N.
____________________________________________
Geralt put Y/N down as slow as he could. Looking her over and over again if her status has changed. He looked at the spot where the creature was able to bite you. Wincing when he saw the black poison in your blood veins.
Vesemir hurriedly searched for the anti-poison when he started talking. “I told her to take Eskel or someone else with her. That the job would be too dangerous. Especially after we knew that more than one creature was in the forest. But she refused… she said that she could take it, so I let her go…”
Geralt sighed, knowing how stubborn Y/N could be. He looked up to Vesemir, who finally found the little bottle with the liquid, which could save her life.
Geralt held down your shoulders when Vesemir took the antidote and pressed it on Y/Ns lips, trying to get her to drink it. After some struggles from both, Vesemir and Geralt, they finally got Y/N to drink it. Geralt relaxed immediately looking up to his mentor.
“She will survive, right?” To that Vesemir had no real answer, just time could show if Lembert was able to bring back Y/N right in time or if he was too late. It already was a miracle that Lembert was able to find her.
____________________________________________
Geralt wasn´t leaving Y/Ns side at all. Vesemir looked after the woman every day, giving her a dose of medicine, and praying that she would wake up soon. Every time before he leaves the room again, he looks back at the couple, giving Geralt a look of sympathy.
Right after his mentor left the room another knock on the door brought Geralt out of his thoughts. Ciri walked in with a tablet of food, putting it down on the table.
“Is she going to be okay?” Ciri whispered behind Geralt. After Lembert showed up with Y/N at the gate the other Witchers told her many stories about the woman. Especially Eskel had the best stories about his friends. And after every story Ciri heard she liked Y/N more and more, but no one wanted to tell her what happened between Geralt and Y/N a few years back. Getting the same answer every time she asked: “It´s not our story to tell…”
Geralt looked back to the young girl, he treated like his daughter.
“We think so. Her body just needs time to recover from the poison. Lembert found her long after the fight. The poison was able to get deep into her body. It´s going to take some time still its all out again.” Ciri nods in understanding. Vesemir told her about the creaturs Y/N thought off that day.
She gives Geralt a comforting squeeze to his shoulder to show him that she is here for him before the young girl leaves the room again. Leaving the two Witchers alone.
____________________________________________
The full moon was shining through the window at the sleeping figure of Geralt of Rivia.
Exhaustion finally took over him, after being awake for nearly a week.
But his deserved rest was of short-term when a cough waked him in the middle of the night.
Geralt immediately set up straight and looked over to the bed where the coughing was coming from.
Y/N finally opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings when she landed on the grey haired-witcher.
“Geralt? Is that you?” Geralt sprang up and walked the distance to the bed, kneeling down beside it.
“It´s me, yes” Y/N let out a whimper, taking his hand in hers. “Never leave me alone again” Y/N whispers. “Never”, Geralt answered and gave Y/Ns hand a comforting squeeze.
Never.
996 notes
·
View notes
Stuff of dreams
Hello cuties!
So I dreamed I was reading a snippit of @damatris fantastic work, and woke up and realized the only way to read it was to write it, so here ya go!
Selfindulgent fluff at its finest!
On Ao3 here!
The fire cracked merrily, built tall to fight the winter. It was colder than Geralt ever remember it being, and he was tired of trying to live up to standards of dead witchers.
Jaskier stands by the bed, tunic loose over his shoulders, legs bare save for a pair of cut off sleeping trousers and thick socks.
He climbs into the bed and under the many furs, and Geralt watches him make himself comfortable before following after.
As they had gone to their room, they had seen Lambert and Aiden push each other against every available surface, kissing as their life depended on it. It left something behind in the air, something like a promise.
~
Geralt never wears a shirt when they sleep, at least not here in Kaer Morhen. It leaves his chest on display, hair draped loosely over his shoulders. The bed dips when he sits, and then evens out when he lies down.
The room is still somewhat bright because of the fireplace, and it is comfortably warm in their shared room.
They watch each other in silence, Jaskier sees his own small smile mirrored on Geralt’s lips.
He suddenly realizes, were the circumstances different, Geralt might have kissed him.
In his mind, he sees how Aiden pushed Lambert down on a table, leaning over to completely ravage him. It makes his heart beat faster, and he slowly wets his suddenly very dry lips.
Geralt watches the movement, and with a rustle he leans closer, propping himself up on an elbow. His eyes are warm as he looks down on him, their bodies close but still without touching.
That is, until Geralt slowly leans down over him, his nose tracing along Jaskier’s cheekbone, and up to his temple.
There is no brush or press of lips, just the slightly cool tip of his nose against Jaskier’s now burning skin, and he clenches his fingers under the blanket not to reach out.
Jaskier holds still, eyes lowered and focused on keeping his hands to himself. The silence is so loud, his heart beat thuds in his ears. Geralt's other arm comes up to brace on the other side of Jaskier, effectively boxing him in, and Jaskier is weak.
"Jaskier," Geralt says, so softly Jaskier just has to tilt his chin up, get closer.
"Geralt," he replies, goosebumps breaking on his skin when Geralt's lips touch the shell of his ear.
The witcher leans more properly over him, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
Molten gold, warm honey, autumn sun, however you want to describe it, Geralt's gaze travels over Jaskier's face, lingering on his parted lips.
When their eyes meet again, Geralt reads the permission on him, and slowly leans down. Jaskier's hand come up to meet him, cradling Geralt's neck, warm under his hair, firm with muscle and restraint.
The kiss was a long time coming, he thinks, and ever so gentle.
Geralt kisses him, and kisses him again, sinking into it until their chests press together, the hand he was bracing himself on dipping under the blankets and finding Jaskier's waist.
The contact travels through Jaskier's body, arching into the touch to be closer, reaching for what he has denied his heart for so long.
Geralt pulls back enough to watch him again, then brushes their lips together before pressing a light kiss to the corner of Jaskier's mouth, then his cheek.
Their shape changes into an embrace, their arms around each other, Jaskier's head braced on Geralt's shoulder, the witcher's lips on the top of his head.
"Stay with me?" Jaskier asks, heart ever growing until it strains against his ribs, so full of emotion that his vocie trembles with it.
"Yes," Geralt confirms, tucking Jaskier closer, tangling their legs. "Yes."
47 notes
·
View notes
49. Who hurt you? From the angst prompt list if you want to :3c
"Who hurt you?" - Lambden (of course 😁).
Lambert learns that some winters aren't as relaxing as others.
“Who hurt you?”
It was the first year they’d actually made plans to meet in the spring rather than just leaving it to chance when they’d run into each other and Lambert knew he’d failed to hide his surprise. Whilst he and his brothers always left the Keep looking and feeling well fed and well rested, Aiden looked very much the opposite. He should have only left the caravan behind three days ago and yet he looked the same as he had when they’d parted ways. Worse, even. Lambert would have just chalked it up to a bad winter until he noticed the bruises.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Those aren’t nothing Aiden, those are fucking finger marks! So I’ll ask again. Who hurt you?”
Aiden laughed. Actually laughed, “You’re sweet but it’s genuinely nothing. You know how it gets towards the end of winter.”
“No, I don’t.” Lambert had the sinking feeling they were reading from totally different books, nevermind from different pages.
“You know.” Aiden said as if he was trying to prompt a child, “Tensions are high, supplies are low...”
“So these are from your siblings?” Gods. How hard had they grabbed him if the marks were still there after at least three days?
Aiden blinked, his scent turning slightly impatient, “I’m starting to feel like whatever I say is going to be the wrong answer but, yes?” He rubbed at the bruises, suddenly self conscious under Lambert’s scrutiny, “Why are you so worked up about this anyway? It’s not like I haven’t had worse. I bet your brothers have left you with a few decent ones before now too.”
“Not outside of training and nothing like this.” He paused as he thought on what Aiden had said about supplies, letting his eyes move over his body and ignoring Aiden's suggestive smirk as he did, “Aiden, did you get these fighting over food?”
Aiden’s scent shifted to something close to shame, “Guxart rations it out but there’s always the dickheads who think they’re entitled to more than their share. You do what you have to.”
Lambert felt a wave of indignation and sympathy come over him. The winter months were supposed to be a break from fighting for survival. He was resting and enjoying all the perks Kaer Morhen had offer (however few they may be) and every year Aiden was probably worse of then he was on The Path.
“Don’t.” Aiden spat out, eyes turning flinty, “Don’t you dare fucking pity me. I know it’s fucked up, but it is what it is.”
“It shouldn’t be though!” Lambert spat, “You should be going back to somewhere that’s safe and instead, what, Guxart’s letting you beat the shit out of each other fighting over scraps?"
“It’s not his fault!” Aiden yelled, jabbing a finger in Lambert’s chest breathing hard through his nose, “You try looking out for upwards of twenty people when you’re constantly on the move. Good luck knowing exactly how many, it fluctuates every year, throughout the year. Barely staying in one place long enough to do any decent hunting, nowhere to properly store fresh shit where it won’t start turning after a couple of days. I know it’s not a patch on your Keep with your-your green houses and cellars and whatever the fuck else you have up there, but Dyn Marv is my home. And you don’t have the right to look down on it.”
He stormed past Lambert, muttering angrily under his breath and leaving the Wolf stood stunned in the middle of the road.
“Aiden.” He jogged after the other, who seemed determined to put as much distance between them as he could without breaking into a run, “Aiden, hold on a fucking second.”
“What?”
“You were right, I get it. As much as I hate Kaer Morhen...it might be a shit hole, but it’s my shit hole. I just-“
Aiden stopped, turning to look at him, “Just?”
“I worry about you.” Lambert muttered to his boots so quietly Aiden would have missed it if it weren’t for his Witcher hearing.
“Fucking softie.” Aiden teased lightly, leaning slightly and resting his forehead against Lambert’s shoulder, “I survived an entire childhood there, I can survive a few months out of the year. You really don’t need to worry.”
“I know I don’t. If you ever want a proper break though; Cat or no, Vesemir is too noble to toss someone out into the snow and to certain death. Plus, I just might behave myself if I have a friend to play with.”
The last part had the desired affect and Aiden smothered his laughter in Lambert’s armour, “I’ll definitely think about it.”
55 notes
·
View notes
it really does matter so much that fringilla vigo is nilfgaardian, beauclairoise, for many reasons, but let's start here:
her entire role is that of an illusionist; one which she would not be were it not for her family lineage, rooted in beauclair:
There was a corridor in Beauclair Palace, and at the end a chamber, the existence of which no one knew about. (...) The corridor and the chamber, disguised by a powerful illusion, were known only to the palace’s original elven builders. And later–when the elves had gone, and Toussaint became a duchy–to the small number of sorcerers linked to the ducal house. Including Artorius Vigo, a master of magical arcana and great specialist in illusions. And his young niece, Fringilla, who had a special talent for illusions.
and since her talent in illusions is well-defined in the series, as it is her who grants geralt the very silver-mounted chrysoprase amulet which saves his life in the final fight against vilgefortz:
Geralt clenched Fringilla’s medallion in his fist.
The bar fell with a clang, striking the floor a foot from the Witcher’s head. Geralt rolled away and quickly got up on one knee. Vilgefortz leaped forward and struck. The bar missed the target again by a few inches. The sorcerer shook his head in disbelief and hesitated for a second. (...)
‘I didn’t know …’ Yennefer said at last, scrambling out of a pile of rubble. She looked terrible. The blood trickling from her nose had poured all over her chin and cleavage. ‘I didn’t know you could cast illusory spells,’ she repeated, seeing Geralt’s uncomprehending gaze, ‘capable even of deceiving Vilgefortz.’
‘It’s my medallion.’
‘Aha.’ She looked suspicious. ‘A curious thing...’
that talent is something which cannot, by far, be separated from her character. and returning back to her lineage, it is again her familial relations which place her in beauclair.
she was positioned there, ready to intercept geralt, as early as the autumnal equinox in september, by which time geralt had barely just left the town of riedbrune:
The world over, the autumn Equinox was a night of spectres, nightmares and apparitions, a night of sudden, suffocating awakenings, fraught with menace, among sweat-soaked and rumpled sheets. Neither did the most illustrious escape the apparitions and awakenings; (...) In the huge castle of Montecalvo the sorceress Philippa Eilhart leaped from damask sheets, without waking the Comte de Noailles’ wife. The dwarf Yarpen Zigrin in Mahakam, the old witcher Vesemir in the mountain stronghold of Kaer Morhen, the bank clerk Fabio Sachs in the city of Gors Velen and Yarl Crach an Craite on board the longboat Ringhorn all awoke more or less abruptly. The sorceress Fringilla Vigo came awake in Beauclair Castle*, as did the priestess Sigrdrifa of the temple of the goddess Freyja on the island of Hindarsfjall.
* Slight correction - As explained in Chapter 3 of Lady of the Lake, Beauclair is not a castle, but a palace.
and she's only invited to beauclair in such a capacity because she is a relative of the duchess:
‘I’m in Beauclair because the largest, best-stocked library in the known world is here. Apart from university libraries, naturally. But universities are jealous of giving access to their shelves, and here I’m a relation and good friend of Anarietta and can do as I wish.’
(whom, you may note, she stands by and jointly receives geralt with at their first meeting, and participates in the festival of the vat with)
and therefore, she was in a perfectly strategic position to delay geralt, keep him captive:
‘(...) Please at least tell us … has the Witcher calmed down now? Are you capable of keeping him in Toussaint at least until May?’
(…) ‘No,’ she answered at last. ‘Probably not until May. But I’ll do everything in my power to keep him here as long as possible.’
because fringilla is not just an illusionist literally, as in the magic she is naturally gifted at, but 'illusionist' is her entire identity as a character.
and as her family hails from beauclair, this specific identity is compounded with the fact that beauclair itself is the center of illusions, a dreamland, a fairytale:
‘There’s something bewitched about this place, this fucking Toussaint. Some kind of charm hangs over the whole valley. Especially over the palace (...) no two ways about it, there’s something bewitched about this bloody Toussaint.’
fringilla is an illusionist because she is beauclairoise. she not only hails from a long line of illusionists, but hails from, is related to the ruler of, the very city of illusions and dreams.
she is the illusionist not just in a literal sense, but in the entire narrative role of casting an illusion over our hero, because it is the illusion of love which keeps her and geralt in beauclair. (the tricky trick is that geralt, taking a page out of yennefer's playbook of seduction, cleverness, patience, was able to cast an illusion upon the mistress of illusions herself, free himself from the witch's spell, awake from a pleasant dream to face the harsh reality).
(sighs) and even if you want to forget fringilla's beauclairoise identity and erase her entire positioning as the illusionist which poses a threat to our heroes, entices them to complacency, her role as nilfgaardian in the sense of her academic identity and imperial service also defines her.
because it is also fringilla, the illusionist who casts the wool over people's eyes... who blinded yennefer at sodden hill.
‘We’ve already met,’ Yennefer spoke again.
‘I don’t recall,’ Fringilla said without looking away.
‘I’m not surprised. But I have a good memory for faces and figures. I saw you from Sodden Hill.’
‘In which case there can be no mistake,’ Fringilla Vigo said and raised her head proudly, sweeping her eyes over all those present. ‘I was at the Battle of Sodden.’
(...) ‘Occasionally one happens to see another person for only a split second, right before going blind, and one takes a dislike to them instantly.’
‘Oh, enmity is considerably more complicated,’ Fringilla said, squinting. ‘Imagine someone you don’t know at all standing at the top of a hill, and ripping a friend of yours to shreds in front of your eyes. You neither saw them nor know them at all, but you still don’t like them.’
‘So it goes,’ Yennefer said, shrugging. (...)
fringilla's (proud!) participation at the battle of sodden is a crux of the lodge, because she alongside her good friend, the scholarly assire, they are nilfgaardians who, owing to their nationality, find challenges meshing with the northern sorcereresses. the lodge brought together representatives of magic across nationalities in the midst of a raging, bloody war between them all.
and it's so integral to fringilla's character that she has imperial biases, that she approaches even the international lodge with an imperialist view.
with no factual basis, she initially exotifies and sexualizes the northern sorceresses, despite her own prior denial of these base stereotypes:
Fringilla Vigo was putting on a brave face, but she was anxious and stressed. She herself had often reprimanded young Nilfgaardian mages for uncritically yielding to stereotypical opinions and notions. She herself had regularly ridiculed the crude image painted by gossip and propaganda of the typical sorceress from the North: artificially beautiful, arrogant, vain and spoiled to the limits of perversion, and often beyond them. (...) Her untrammelled imagination offered up images of impossibly gorgeous women with diamond necklaces resting on naked breasts with rouged nipples, women with moist lips and eyes glistening from the effects of alcohol and narcotics. In her mind’s eye Fringilla could already see the gathering becoming a wild and depraved orgy accompanied by frenzied music, aphrodisiacs, and slaves of both sexes using exotic accessories.
she even has a difficult time understanding why the northern sorceresses are upset about the nilfgaardian invasion, believing it to be a boon to their society. only through their discussion does she just barely begin to grasp the meaning of "invasion" and why she wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it:
Some were clearly anxious about the close proximity of Nilfgaard. Fringilla had mixed feelings. She had assumed that such educated people would understand that the Empire was bringing culture, prosperity, order and political stability to the North. On the other hand, though, she didn’t know how she would have reacted herself, were foreign armies approaching her home.
all of this indoctrination into imperial beliefs, at the same time that she is an educated woman, and herself, as an imperial sorceress, known for being rebellious and an upstart within her own culture:
‘Stop staring,’ Assire said, touching her bouffant and glistening curls. ‘I decided to make a few changes. Why, I just took your lead.’
‘I was always taken as an oddball and a rebel,’ Fringilla Vigo chuckled. ‘But when they see you in the academy or at court…’
this is such a chaotic rambling post, but all i want to say is that fringilla's character, like most of the minor characters in the witcher series, was not invented through random generation, a roll of the dice, a spin of the wheel. her specific traits - such as her nationality, lineage, talents - all relate back thematically. everything is relevant, specifically chosen to create a specific character.
if once changes her backstory (e.g., to place her at aretuza... though i don't know who would do such a thing for no reason) they would change her entire character, the series' commentary on imperialism, and because of her role she takes later on, even the entire ending of the story.
34 notes
·
View notes
A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons:
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
-------present day: Kaer Morhen--------------
You woke up the next morning, naked under the sheets. You look around, seeing Geralt was nowhere to be seen.
You get up and walk to the crib, noticing Aemma wasn't where she was supposed to be. You start to panic, but notice there was a little note in the middle. You pick it up and read it, recognizing Geralt's handwriting.
Thought you could use a proper rest after last night's romp beneath the sheets, so I took Aemma to the main hall for breakfast.
Don't worry, she's in good hands.
-Geralt
You smile a bit, thinking about last night. You remember how attentive the witcher was to your needs, taking his time and checking in every now and again to make sure it wasn't too much for you and that you were enjoying it. You remembered his soft touches and gentles kisses. You also remembered when you asked for him to be a little rougher he had been hesitant, but did as you requested, still checking to make sure it wasn't too much for you.
Overall it had been a pleasurable evening.
You did feel well rested, but you wanted to spend some time with your daughter now. You put on some clothes and walk to the main hall.
You walk past Ciri's room, hearing some rather unusual sounds coming from there.
You frown a bit and knock on the door, "Ciri?" you call out. You hear a few more sounds and Ciri opens the door. You noticed the girl's face looked rather flushed and her hair disheveled, "Uh, what were you doing in there?" you ask. "...nothing," Ciri answers, looking down like she got caught doing something shameful.
You put two and two together and knew what she had been doing. You had a small smile on your face, "it's nothing to be ashamed of," you tell her. "Uh, what, I wasn't doing anything," Ciri insists, but then recants, "...please don't tell Geralt."
"I won't," you assure, "but I highly doubt he'd make a big deal of it. Besides," you lean over, "it's the best way to figure out what you like in the long run."
Ciri frowned a bit at your cryptic advice, but brushed it off in favor of following you to the dinning area for food.
-----------flashback: the Red Keep-------------
"Oh!
There once was a ship that put to sea
The name of the ship was the Billy of Tea
The winds blew up, her bow dipped down
Oh blow, my bully boys, blow (huh)
She'd not been two weeks from shore
When down on her a right whale bore
The captain called all hands and swore
He'd take that whale in tow"
For context, there was a small council meeting today and Rhaenyra had been called to serve as cup bearer for her father and the other council members. You found this a little odd, given that she was the princess yet here she was being treated as an invisible servant, something you've brought up before, but the princess didn't seem to mind as she saw this as an opportunity to gather information.
Rhaenyra didn't really seem too interested in being a leader, which made sense given how young she is right now.
Even if she did want to be queen, the chances of her actually becoming one were slim at the moment. Her mother was due to give birth any day now and the maesters have predicted the odds of it being a boy were highly likely.
And even if that wasn't the case, her uncle still held the title of Heir Apparent, and unless something happened to him, the chances were still low.
So while Rhaenyra was carrying out her 'royal duties' you somehow found yourself entertaining her cousins Laenor and Laena Velaryon with a sea shanty.
You didn't know too much about the Velaryon family, other then they could trace their roots to the similar origins as the Targaryens and were dragon riders in their own right. Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, you knew held a seat on the small council and his wife Rhaenys was cousin to Viserys and Daemon.
You also knew the woman once had a chance to be Queen of the Iron Throne as the eldest descendant of the late king Jahaerys, but was passed up in favor of Viserys, the eldest MALE descendent.
Since then she had been known throughout Westeros as the Queen Who Never Was.
So, here you were entertaining Corlys and Rhaenys' children while waiting for the small council meeting to end.
"Soon may the Wellerman come
To bring us sugar and tea and rum
One day, when the tonguing is done
We'll take our leave and go"
"Again! Do it again!" Laena demands in excitement. "Again?" you feign exasperation, "my lady, this would be the third time. Surely, you wouldn't like to hear another one?" "I want to hear this one again!" the little Velaryon girl insists. "I'd like to hear it again too," Laenor concurs.
"Alright," you say, "One more time. Then we'll move to something else before you get sick of this one."
Before you could start, a male voice interrupts the merriment. It was Corlys calling for his children, who eagerly run to greet their father.
Corlys then sent them both to go find their mother.
You curtsy when the man approaches you, "Lord Corlys," you greet. "I hope my children didn't give you too much grief, Lady troubadour," Corlys laments. "Oh they were no grief at all," you assure, "If anything, quite the opposite." "That song you were singing to them," Corlys points out, "that wouldn't happen to be a Skellige sea shanty would it?"
Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, "yes it is? How did...you know?" "Unlike some in court I am no stranger to customs of lands outside Westeros," Corlys explains, "my ships have often made stops at those isles for trading purposes, and often end in an exchange of cultural customs as well."
"Ever send ships to Kovir?" you ask, "Or Novigrad for that matter? I'd also recommend Toussaint, their wines are excellent and well renown throughout the Continent." "Something I've been considering for some time," Corlys admits, "unfortunately with the trouble in the Stepstones, that is a venture that will have to wait another day."
"Yeah, I've heard," you admit, "I'm sure with enough pressure, the king will eventually do something about it."
You hear Corlys scoff at that. "Well it was worth a try," you admit. "You are funny, lady Bardess," Corlys laughs, "I can see why the princess has taken a liking to you. Thank you for entertaining my children." "It was my pleasure," you say, "now, I must rest for when the princess summons me again. Good day, my lord."
You walk to your quarters when you see Daemon around the corner. You were going to back track and walk the other way, hoping the Prince wouldn't spot you.
That turned out to be wishful thinking.
"(Y/n)?" you hear him call out for you. You stop, sigh a bit, and keep walking. You and Daemon had continued your little clandestine affair since that day, and as promised he'd have the servants bring you the special moon tea.
You also continued serving Rhaenyra and, as you promised a certain Hand of the king, you made sure your illicit trysts were kept discrete.
Well not as discrete as you thought as the princess somehow managed to catch on. She only smiled and wished you the best, making you realize Princess Rhaenyra wasn't as innocent as some had thought; sure she may be a maiden but that didn't mean she was naive to her uncle's philandering ways.
Frankly Daemon's said philandering was the reason why you were wanting to avoid him at the moment, especially after what you heard last night.
You feel the Prince catch up with you, wrapping his arms around you, "trying to play hard to get, Little Lark?" he teases, nuzzling your neck. You, however, were in no mood to entertain him now.
"Where were you last night?" you ask. "Patrolling the streets of King's Landing," Daemon says like it was obvious, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, "I was appointed Commander of the City Watch, you know this. It is my duty to make this city safer for the nobles and the common folk."
"Yeah I heard," you scoff, "raiding homes and killing and cutting down every other man in site REALLY made the streets a lot safer."
"Cutthroats, thieves, and rapers," Daemon points out, "the dregs and scum of the city, you ought not mourn for them."
"Okay, what about after?" you bring, "what did you do after?" "...I took the men out to celebrate a job well done," Daemon answers. "On the street of Silk you mean?" you point out, anger starting to rise.
"What are you trying to say?" Daemon asks, confused.
You pull away, unable to contain your anger, "tell me, Prince, how was she?" you confront. "Who?" "Mysaria," you say, "You fucked her." "Of course, I've fucked her, I've fucked her many times before we even met," Daemon points out. "You fucked her last night," you sneer, "I know you did, and don't you dare try to deny it."
"...Who told you such things?" Daemon asks, "was it Otto?" "It doesn't matter who told me," you say, face filled with heat.
"It was, wasn't it?" Daemon confronts, "(y/n), I've told you, the man's a-" "He's a cunt, yes I know!" you exclaim, "but he didn't tell me. He didn't have to. Everyone in the Red Keep knows what you did last night following your onslaught on the poor and destitute of King's Landing. It wasn't enough to humiliate me once, you had to do it a second time. And just when I was beginning to think I actually meant something to you, that I was more than just your...personal plaything!"
Daemon was taken aback by your words, "(y/n)," he reaches a hand as a way to comfort you, but you slap it away, "don't touch me!"
You turn and walk away in haste back to your room, slamming the door as you did so. You place your lute on the table, careful not to break it, in spite of how angry you were right now. You take deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. You didn't know why you felt this way...actually you weren't sure you even had a right to feel this way.
You knew Daemon; even before meeting him, you knew of his reputation from the brothels you had performed in.
You knew the man was married, yet he had no qualms of seducing women who weren't his wife. You were just one of his many mistresses he has taken to his bed over the years.
You knew what kind of man he was, how he viewed the women he played with...why would you be any different to him? You knew it all, yet you had chosen to walk into this relationship with your eyes wide open.
Maybe you thought you would be the one who could somehow tame this dragon, but now you see you had been fooling yourself.
You were pulled from your thoughts when you hear the door to your room open. You turn away, knowing exactly who it was.
"Are you jealous, Little Lark, is that what I'm hearing?" Daemon asks, approaching you. He places a hand on your shoulder and you stiffen in response, "would it make you feel better if I told you I was thinking about you the whole time?" "Oh, I doubt that," you deadpan.
"I was," Daemon insists, resting his head against your shoulder, you making no effort to push him away, "Mysaria may have her ways, that much I'll admit, but...her voice cannot compare to yours. A voice sweet as honey that can quench any man dying of thirst"
"Well, you sure know how to flatter a girl," you say, turning to face him, "Is...is this the only time? Since we've been together I mean?" "It is," Daemon assures, "I swear by the light of the Seven. And...by whatever gods you Continentals worship." You laugh a little at that, "I'm still mad at you," you admit, "but...I don't want to be."
"How can I make it up to you?" Daemon asks, you hearing the sincerity in his tone as he places a hand on your cheek.
"Don't do it again," you tell him in a stern voice, arms crossed, "if you still want me to warm your bed, and if you still want to hear my honey sweet voice, I don't want to keep hearing about you sliding your little dragon in and out of other women."
"It's not THAT little," Daemons scoffs. "You know what I mean, Daemon," you say. "Very well," the prince nods, placing a kiss on your wrist, "you have my word." "You promise?" "On the Light of the Seven."
"Good," you nod in approval, "that's...that's all I wanted."
"Now," Daemon says, arms starting to wrap around you, "how about I make it up to you even more?"
"What do you mean?" you ask.
Smirking, Daemon lifts you up and places you on the table. He gets on his knees and lifts up your skirts, diving head first between your thighs.
You were planning on fighting him off, still mad about his little illicit tryst, but such thoughts faded away the moment you felt him working his tongue on your sensitive rose bud.
You would enjoy this for now, but you had no plans on returning the favor once he was done. At least for now.
If the Prince wanted to that, he would have to work for it.
Which in this case would mean him winning the tourney tomorrow.
Chapter 5
Masterlist
23 notes
·
View notes
Hellooo :))) I hope I can send in a kinda smutty imagine with Geralt, where you're on the Road with him and he slowly fell in love with you but doesnt want to admit it. So when you're both staying at Kaer Morhen he trains you how to fight (cause you’re pretty clumsy), which leads on top of him after a failed move on your side. He cant resist you anymore and starts kissing you and carries you to his room where you end up in love making and later cuddling ? :) Thank you dear!
Hellooo! :)
Thank you for this request and of course you can request this! I'm just always a little self-conscious when it comes to postig smut, because I'm never sure of it's any good, but hey, as long as I have fun writing it, right? And sorry that it took so long to write, it was just rather stressfull the last couple of days, even weeks, but writing gave me a way to escape all that at least a little bit
(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )
Warnings: smut 18+, minors DNI
Word count: 4101
_____________________________
Bottled-Up Feelings
It was your second year travelling with Geralt, and the first year, he'd left you in your hometown for the winter, but had picked you up once he'd come back in the springtime. This year, though, he was taking you with him to Kaer Morgen, to train you – that was his reasoning at least. It was the perfect place to improve your skills, because you had the time and the equipment. Not that he would put you through the things he'd gone through, since you were human after all, but it would be easier to do it there, instead of on the road. Sure, he'd shown you a thing or two, had taught you how to wield a sword, how to protect yourself, but there was still a lot you could learn – and he'd feel better if you did, because he wasn't always there to protect you. He tried, and he wanted to be there, but there would always be moments, where you weren't in his line of vision. One more reason why he took you to the keep with him, so that he wouldn't have to worry about you all the time.
Last winter had been hard on him, though he hadn't liked to admit it even to himself, but his brothers had pointed out multiple times how much he was talking about you, how his face lit up when he mentioned you name. Geralt had avoided them as much as he could after that conversation, but in the end, he'd had to admit that they were right. But he'd never made advances towards you, swore himself that he never would, because you deserved better than him, better than a Witcher.
What he didn't know, though, was that you were feeling the same way. Not at first, but by now, you'd developed feelings for Geralt as well. Later than he had done, but nobody knew about it, since you kept these matters close to your heart. You'd only realised it a couple of weeks ago. Geralt had been a friend to you, a protector, someone you knew you could trust. He'd gotten you out of precarious situations multiple times, and he'd do it again. Of course, he'd lectured you about it afterwards, but he'd quickly gone from angry to concerned, as soon as you'd apologized.
You'd gotten yourself in trouble more times than you'd like to admit, but you were trying not to put your foot in your mouth that often. That was your biggest problem: That big mouth of yours. You often spoke before you thought about your words, and your clumsiness made it even worse. But all these things were the little things that Geralt loved. Sure, he would sleep better if he knew that you weren't getting yourself in trouble that much, but he would be alright – as long as you were sleeping close to him and he knew that nothing would happen to you.
He took you to Kaer Morhen earlier than he usually went back home, so that you could get acquainted with the place, get to know Vesemir before you met the other Witchers. Geralt knew that it wouldn't be an easy meeting, especially since Lambert was always a little... well, not so welcoming to strangers, so it was probably good, if you knew your way around the keep and already had Vesemir on your side.
And you did! Vesemir had already heard about you, so he was curious to get to know you.
“Geralt didn't shut up about you the last time, he was home,” Vesemir had said upon meeting you, making you smile immediately. You could have sworn Geralt's cheek had turned pink, but you knew that Witchers didn't blush. At least, that was what he claimed, but you'd already seen it happen.
Geralt had shown you around, had brought you to you room, which was right around the corner from his room. By now, it was getting colder, but no snow had fallen so far. It was still warm enough outside when the sun was out, but the nights were beginning to get cold, so Geralt had made you a fire in the fireplace for the night. Of course, you hadn't slept the first night. On the road, you didn't have trouble falling asleep, knowing that Geralt was right there, and even though he was just in another room here... it was not the same. You needed a couple of hours, but then you'd fallen asleep – finally.
The next morning, Geralt knocked on the door to your room, but you were already awake, not really well-rested, but ready to start the day.
“Did you sleep alright?” Geralt asked, leading you down to the kitchen so that you two could get some breakfast.
“Not much, but it was okay,” you answered with a smile. You'd get used to it eventually, it was just that everything was new.
“Nobody really sleeps the first night, they're here. But after our training, you can get lots of rest. But first, we need some breakfast.” You needed it. Geralt could go without it, but he'd make sure that you would eat something before he showed you to surroundings and started the training he wanted to complete with you today.
Once you finished breakfast, Geralt waved goodbye to Vesemir who wanted to get some supplies, and lead you outside. When you'd arrived, it had already been dark, so now, you could see the view that stretched out before you. It was absolutely beautiful, and you already knew that you would spend some of the days out here, just enjoying the view. But not now, not today. Geralt showed you around, told you about the things he'd experienced here, though he didn't tell you everything – and you knew why. He didn't want you to hear about the horrible things. Things he'd told you late at night, when you'd both not been able to sleep, and he'd let you in on what had been going on inside his mind, what thoughts had kept him awake. It was better to focus on the positive experiences, so he told you about these. How, when they'd still been children, he'd run around with Eskel here, trying to determine who was faster.
“Ready?” Geralt asked once you'd finished your rounds and he'd taken you to the training ground. You wouldn't make do with anything that was here at the moment, but just practice dodging some hits and swings.
“As ready as I can be,” you said with an uncertain smile. Of course you knew that Geralt wouldn't hurt you, that he'd stop before he actually hit you, but you wanted to show him that you'd improved, that you were getting better, and that made you nervous.
“We're taking it slow, alright?” Geralt smiled, because he could feel how nervous you were, could hear your increased heartbeat. He knew that you'd try your best, but it was okay to make mistakes, because you could learn from them.
You were off to a good starts. Geralt explained what he would do and how you had to react, how you could counter his attack, and you succeeded. Maybe, you were a little too happy with your success, because your next move made you knock Geralt over, and you followed suit. The only difference was that Geralt's back hit the hard ground, while your fall was cushioned by his body. You landed right on top of him, your body flush against his, your eyes still closed from anticipating the impact. Slowly, you opened your eyes, but when you looked right into Geralt's eyes, your cheeks flushed pink due to a mixture of embarrassment because you'd knocked both of you down, and being so close to him – on top of him.
“I'm so, so sorry, Geralt, I think I tripped or got my foot tangled,” you tried to explain, playing back what had just happened, but you couldn't say for sure what had happened. “Are you okay?” Deep down, you knew that Geralt couldn't really be hurt, maybe a little discomforted, but a part of you still worried, so you had to make sure.
“More than okay,” Geralt mumbled, his eyes fixed on you. Beneath your hand on his chest, you could feel his heart beat faster, something you'd never experienced before. You'd fallen asleep with your head on his chest after a particularly exhausting day like this, and when you'd woken up still in his arms, you'd realised what you were feeling for him, had admitted these feelings to yourself.
He should get up with you, put some distance between the two of you, return to teaching you... something. But he couldn't even think straight right now. Your scent filled his nose and clouded his mind. His eyes dropped to your lips, but what made him lose control were your fingertips that dug into his chest. He raised his right hand to brush some loose strands from your face, before he ran his fingers along your cheek to the back of your neck, carefully pulling you closer so that he could seal your lips with his. It was not what he had planned to do at all, because he'd actually wanted to keep his feelings, his desires to himself, but apparently he'd turned his head off.
He caught you off guard with this, but that surprise quickly vanished, and was instead replaced by the soft feeling of his lips against yours, by the warmth that spread through your chest and settled in the pit of your stomach. Was this some kind of dream? The grip that tightened on you arm told you that it wasn't, that this was indeed happening.
It was you who deepened the kiss, who suddenly wanted more, because now that you'd started this, you didn't want it to end, wanted more of him, more of this. Geralt groaned deep in his throat, his fingers tangling in your hair. He'd been thinking about this, dreaming about it for so long, he could hardly believe that it was really happening, especially because he'd never wanted to take that step, but right now, he wouldn't think about it any more.
You wanted him, you wanted more than this. Once you'd ripped your lips from his, you sat up slowly, ground your hips against him. His moan sent another shiver down your spine, which settled right between your legs. You could see the fire in his eyes, something you'd seen before, but which had never been directed at you.
Geralt grabbed hold of your hips and rolled over with you, but instead of kissing you again, which your lips were already aching for, he got up and left you without the warmth of his body. For a moment, you thought he'd simply walk away, that he might be angry with you for something, but then he leaned forward to take your hands and help you up.
“Not the right place,” he said, holding your hand in his, before he turned around to walk swiftly back with you to the keep, to get inside, where it was warmer. You were only able to take two steps, when you felt the pain in your ankle that gave in beneath you.
“What's wrong?”
“I think I hurt my ankle.”
You looked down, but due to the boots you were wearing, you couldn't see anything. Geralt didn't want to waste time as it seemed – and to be fair, neither did you – and gathered you in his arms so that he could carry you inside. As soon as you opened your mouth to protest, because you could still walk, he kissed you to shut you up. Needless to say, that worked wonders, because that kiss settled right in your chest. You knew that you wouldn't be able to win such an argument with him anyway, so instead, you enjoyed being this close to him, being taken care of.
Geralt carried you all the way to his room and set you down on his bed. Before he did anything else, he lit the fire to make the room nice and cosy – more for you, because he knew how quickly you got cold. Right now, you were anything but cold. Your body felt like it was on fire, but you needed more of what you'd already shared with him.
Without a word, Geralt carefully took off your boots to inspect your foot. Gentle fingers touched your skin, when he pushed your pants a little bit up to get a better look at your injury.
“I think some rest will do. No training tomorrow, and for the rest of today: bedrest.”
“But not without you,” you said immediately, reaching for his hand. His lips twitched up into a smile, before he joined you on the bed.
“Did you really think, I'd leave you alone here now?”
“Well... I was hoping you wouldn't, so that we could pick up where we left off.”
That was everything Geralt needed to hear, because in a matter of seconds, his lips were on yours again. Still sweet and soft, but also more demanding, which made you sigh into the kiss. You ran your fingers through his hair, scraped his neck with your fingernails, before you grabbed hold of his shoulder with one hand, when you felt his hand on your breast. A gentle squeeze before he rubbed his thumb over your nipple that was already erect beneath the fabric.
Geralt scraped his teeth over your bottom lip, started kissing down the side of your neck, taking his time while doing so. He only stopped to take off your clothes and throw them aside, but then he connected his lips with your soft skin again. He ran his fingertips along your side, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touched, while he pressed open-mouthed kisses further down until he reached your breast. He looked up to you for a moment, but then he pulled your nipple between his lips, sucked hard on it, which elicited another moan from your lips.
“Fuck... Geralt,” you breathed, digging your nails into his shoulder again for a moment, but you quickly let go again, ran your hand along his arm, feeling all the scars that adorned his body. They were a part of him, told their own stories. Some people might look away from them, might think them ugly, but for you, they were just a part of the man you loved. His scars didn't change the way you saw him one bit.
Geralt sat up once more to rid you of your pants as well, to have you naked right in front of him. Feeling his eyes all over your body, you felt the urge to cover yourself, a moment of insecurity, but Geralt smiled down at you, taking all that uncertainty and insecurity away.
“You're absolutely marvellous,” he said shaking his head, as if he couldn't believe it himself. No man had ever made you feel so safe, so cherished as Geralt managed to do.
You sat up just so far that you could put your hand to his cheek and guide him back down to you, so that you could kiss his lips. Geralt rocked his hips against you, making you feel just what you were doing to him, making you suck in a breath from the friction he was creating.
“Off!” you demanded, bunching up his tunic, trying to get it off him, but you weren't able to do that alone. Geralt had to do his part as well, but instead, he grabbed the tunic himself and pulled it over his head.
“Much better.”
Your words made him chuckle, but that chuckle died down when he felt your hand on the bulge in his pants, when you palmed his cock. Geralt started kissing your body again, your collarbone down to your sternum, before he paid special attention to your nipples again. At the same time, he ran his hand up your thigh, getting closer to where you wanted and needed to feel him the most, but before he reached that spot, he stroked back down towards your knee, knowing how much he was teasing you with that. To get a little revenge, you tightened your grip on his cock, making him groan deep in his chest again.
That was the moment that Geralt chose to give you what you wanted and needed, when he slid his fingers between your already wet folds, catching you by surprise. Without a warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, making you moan his name. Your fingers wrapped around his forearm for a second, but then you ran them up his arm to his chest again.
He moved his fingers agonizingly slow inside you so that you moved your hips against him, wanting more of what he was giving you. Geralt wasn't having it, so he put his arm over your hips, pinning you in place.
“That's not fair,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to pout, but the next moan broke from your lips, shattering that look on your face immediately.
“I don't always play fair, you know that.”
Which... was an exaggeration, you knew that, but right now was not the moment to discuss or argue about that. Especially not when he lapped his tongue against your clit. You were already sensitive, knew that it wouldn't take you long to reach your climax. Geralt kept going, flicking his tongue against your clit again and again, watching your every reaction, especially when he curved his fingers upward and hit the right spot. With that, he made you come undone, made your body go tense beneath him, your inner walls contract around his fingers. Your moans were music to his ears, and he enjoyed every second of it, kept going while you were riding your high.
Only when you went limp, breathing heavily, did he pull back and sit up to watch you for a moment. Your head was still spinning, but you felt him move. When you opened your eyes, you could see him taking off the rest of his clothes, before he joined you again. You reached out your hand to place it on his chest, a content smile on your lips.
“You need a break?” he asked with a smile, leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You seized that moment to put your hand on his cheek and kiss him once again. You also wrapped your legs around his hips to pull him closer to you. When you felt his cock against your folds, you shivered slightly.
“All I need is you,” you whispered then kissed him again. Geralt used his hand to guide his cock to your entrance, dragged it through your fold a couple of times before he slowly pushed inside you. Too slow for your liking, because you wanted to feel him fill you up, but once he was buried completely, you felt like you were able to breathe again. Geralt gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him. It was a sweet kind of pain, that eased once he started to move, once it was replaced by the sheer pleasure that consumed your body.
“You're so beautiful,” Geralt whispered against your lips, slow thrusts meeting the movement of your hips, driving you nearly insane. He gently cupped your face when he kissed you again, dragged his lips over your cheek to the side of you neck down to your shoulder.
“Geralt... you won't break me. I'm not that fragile,” you said with a smile, your fingernails running up and down his back next to his spine. It was probably exactly what he'd needed to hear, because he finally picked up his pace. His teeth scraped against your shoulder, before he straightened up. He only pulled out so that he could sit up in his knees. Grabbing you by the hips, he pulled you closer, buried himself inside you again with a long, hard thrust that left you breathless for a moment, before you moaned his name again.
He'd switched the angle like this, hitting just the right spot with his thrusts now, that weren't as gentle and slow as they had been in the beginning, and you loved everything about this. If he kept going like this, it wouldn't take you long to come once more. As if he knew it, he ripped one hand from your hip and started rubbing your clit with his thumb.
“Oh fuck... Geralt... fuck.” You only managed incoherent words, not really what you wanted to tell him. Geralt kept going, increased his tempo even a bit more, which pushed you over the edge, made you come again, nearly screaming his name this time, as he fucked you through your orgasm to stretch it out.
Seeing the pleasure on your face, hearing his name from your lips, made Geralt nearly combust. It was a sight he wanted to see more often and he hoped that he would.
The movements of his hips became more erratic, his grip tightened around your hip, when he felt his own orgasm overcome him. He spilled inside you with a few more thrusts, before he practically collapsed on top of you. Just for a moment, his full body weight was on you, but you didn't mind. In fact, it felt good, but Geralt was afraid that he would crush you, so he propped himself up on his forearms.
You opened your eyes to look at him, to push the sweaty hair from his face and kiss his lips. Your lips lingered on his for a moment, before Geralt slowly pulled back again.
“I'll be back in just a second,” he said before he got up and vanished, leaving you worried, but when he returned with a cloth and cleaned you up, you felt nothing but love for this man. He was so gentle and caring, which you'd never experienced with anybody else.
Once he was finished, Geralt lay back down beside you and pulled you into his arms. No, he definitely didn't want to leave right now, instead he'd rather spend his time cuddling here with you – and figuring out what exactly had just happened and where that would lead.
“Y/N...” he said quietly, running his fingertips up and down your spine, holding you close to him. “I never expected this to happen and honestly... I never intended for it either.”
His words made your whole body stiffen. Was he going to tell you that you had to leave now? That it could never happen again?
“But I am glad that it did.”
Okay, that at least made you a little calmer, but you were still worried about what he wanted to tell you with that.
“I just...” Geralt sighed, trying to find the right words. “I've been in love with you for more than a year, but I just never wanted to make you feel like you had to stay with me. You deserve someone better, Y/N. Someone who can give you the life you deserve, who can give you a family.”
“Okay, stop that right now.” You sat up so that you could look at him. Concern was showing all over his face. “Geralt... Why do you think I came along with you? Why I stayed with you? Do you think I want a life in a small town? I could have had that, but instead I started travelling with you.”
You put your hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“You are everything I need in this life. You are the one who makes me happy, never doubt that, okay?”
Geralt was stunned by your words, but he still managed to smile. He covered your hand with his, gave it a little squeeze, before he raised your hand to press a kiss to your palm.
“Okay.”
You knew that it would take some time to really convince him that you meant what you'd just said, that you didn't want any other man, another life, but you would gladly tell him every day if it meant that you could be happy together.
With a smile on you lips, you settled back into his arms, leaned your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes. This right here, this was what you wanted and needed in life. The man you loved.
713 notes
·
View notes
(The Witcher) Could you make one where you find out your pregnant with Geralts baby and he is in disbelief because he cant have kids you know, but you obviously only have seggs with him. Then you get all sad because he is just silent and you start freaking out. ?? i know its long and you dont have to do it but it was a thought.
First ever Witcher request! This is so exciting!!!! hope you all enjoy it!!!!! I'm only 3/4th through the first book so please understand that I don't know too much yet. Other than the TV show - which I could rant about forever.
Rated PG: Family feels, pregnancy, mothering, panic & anxiety, happy ending!
He lay there looking down at her stomach while she slept. Disbelief washed over him as he grew sure that it was indeed a soft heart beat separate from your own. Ciri was asleep a small ways away, but her heart beat was clearly her own.
A baby. But how? He thought closely over the past month or so. You were by his side the entire time, except for when you stayed at camp as he slaughtered monsters. Never were you left at a Tavern alone, certainly not out of sight long enough to conceive a baby…. Even then if his eyes weren’t on her Ciri was next to her. She never appeared to be assaulted or upset, surely Ciri would have said something. He closed his eyes for a moment chasing those thoughts far from his mind. He would only wake you up if he moved or tensed, you needed your rest more than ever.
Looking over her peaceful face, it only became more obvious. She looked different, a tinge to her skin that seemed unmistakable now. He’d known she’d seemed different, but this was not on his list of possibilities.
A sense of panic started to creep up the back of his neck. She can’t be sleeping on the ground like this, out in the open. He didn't want her to tag along initially. But he needed the help with Ciri, and she’d been too attached to you, leaving you behind would have only caused her further suffering. Everything had changed now. The both of you had someone else to think of, growing in her belly. He would do everything he could to get her to Kaer Morhen. If the baby was his or not, looking down at you sleeping, the anxiety to keep you out of trouble overpowered everything else.
_________________________________________________________________________
Geralt was getty bossy again. Pushing you greater distances, somehow there was a sudden void of monsters to slay leaving him grumpier than ever. He was pensive, deep in thought, and very… bossy.
It was mostly little things, insisting that you travel on Roach, except for the occasional meadow in which you could stretch your legs. He’d spend forty minutes trying to assess the land and area for an optimal sleeping spot. Instead of giving you some privacy with bathing, he wouldn't let you near water if he wasn't next to you. His gaze on your body was always welcome, but you couldn't understand the look in his eyes. A look that was becoming more and more worrisome.
Ciri had spoken to him, wanting to test the new rules he was making up as she always did. Unexpectedly she seemed to agree with him, taking more time to help you out. She seemed burdened by something, and you watched as she felt the need to fuss over you. You felt tired enough to allow it, which made you worry. Did you look as unwell as you felt?
In three days of travel you had covered a distance that normally would have taken a week. Leaving you with two more sleeps till Kaer Morhen.
You felt nauseous, head woozy at times. There was a nervousness that was creeping up on you stemming from his weird behavior. Perhaps he’d changed his mind? Meeting his father figure and the rest of his brothers, maybe it was too big a step. Very few non-witchers had been there, maybe you weren't meant to be one of them. He had to think about what was best for Ciri, had you done something wrong?
The day progressed and you were left to swim in your own thoughts, most of them about being rejected and left on the doorstep. Eventually you stumbled on to the way your body felt. Sore breasts, nausea, and no matter how much water you drank an awful metallic taste in your mouth. You knew what this would normally mean, you’d missed two periods but pushed it out of your mind as it was impossible for Geralt to… Oh. But what if it wasn't.
Or what if it was impossible and you got pregnant without knowing? You’d not been drugged out at any point. No loss of memory. The only time Geralt's eyes weren't on the two of you was when he was killing stuff in the woods, even then Ciri would stay close to your side ready - what about that sketchy bath water at that one traven - could that be it?
What if it was his, but he wouldn't believe you - then he threw you out. What if he did believe you but then the rest of the Witchers didn't and then he threw you out leaving you to brave the cold winter road alone. What if he thought you were a bad mother to Ciri? What if everyone thought you were a bad mother? What if everyone was fine but Ciri resented you?
Gods, you did not have enough money. Not to mention leaving Ciri would cause you tremendous pain, you doubted you’d survive the winter. Then you thought of what was to come, how you would most likely be at it alone, your stomach twisted painfully and your vision swayed.
“Ger-” You whispered before everything went black. Thankfully he has that ridiculous hearing, he caught you holding you tightly. Once he had you settled on a fallen tree, you watched as he scanned the forest. Ciri did the same hand on the hilt of her sword.
The thought of losing them caused your eyes to prickle, you closed your eyes tightly and he steadied you. You rested your forehead against his shoulder. You thought about the humiliation of being sent out of the fortress and decided you’d much rather skip doing the mountain path all together, rather than twice.
“Ciri, give us a moment” She nodded at your words, and you immediately wanted to put on a better face to cure some of the worry weighing on her. She went to take Roach to a stream nearby. Geralt had his eyes on her, so you took a deep breath.
“I’m pregnant.” The words flew out of your mouth on a breath of courage. You kept your eyes shut tightly. “It might be something else - I don't know how- I feel - but all I know for sure is something’s off.” You rambled quietly, still too afraid to move.
His grip tightened on you slightly and you both sat there listening to the forest sounds, the soft murmur of Ciri’s voice as she talked to Roach.
He was quiet, very quiet. The nerves were becoming unbearable and tears started to roll down your cheeks. You huffed out a deep breath trying to calm down but it only gave away how broken up you were.
He cradled your face, causing you to finally meet those amber eyes.
“Just breathe, what hurts?” His concern wrapped around you like a warm blanket. His hand rested gently on your stomach.
“I can’t -” You couldn't finish your words, your chest was heaving.
“You can. Just breathe.” He responded calmly. Eventually you managed to calm down, his hands and gaze never leaving you.
“I don't know what to do? I don't know how this -? But when I finally had the thought - I just know - that it’s - I know that it's true.”
“It’s true.” He confirmed with an unreadable facial expression. “I could hear the heartbeat - hence the rush to get back to Kaer Morhen.”
“You knew and didn't say anything!?” You swatted his shoulder without thinking.
“I wanted to get you somewhere safe, so you wouldn't worry.” Finally some emotion in his tone. Empathy radiated off of him, and it made you want to cry again. “I think that glowing hot spring may have been a fertility pool. I can’t think of any other possibility.”
That would explain it well enough. Panic surged through you again and you gripped the leather of his armor the best you could.
“But it’s yours right?” An edge of panic was back in your voice.
“Heart beat is slightly off, so I'd assume so.” He said with a faint smile on his face, that quickly disappeared. “If you're well enough I want to keep moving.”
“You're still taking me there?”
“Of course. It’s not the most comfortable, however it is the safest place. Vesemir will know what to do.” He paused for a moment. “ I don’t have anywhere else to take you. I’ll send word for Triss and Yen when we arrive. If it's too unbearable they can help take you elsewhere if you prefer.”
You thought about his words. He wanted you there. He wanted you. He thought his family would want you too. You burst into tears, shouting when he tried to pull away.
“It’s not as bad as the legends make it out to be” He tried to comfort you.
“No- It’s - Gods.” You took a deep breath. “I thought you’d be embarrassed or ashamed. Wouldn’t want to take me.”
“No.” He answered simply.
“I don't care where I am as long as I’m next to you.” You hugged him as tightly as you could. “Plus the only bad thing I’ve heard about is the rats?”
He let out a hum.
______________________________
It was a fertility pool. Something Yen was beyond happy to learn about. Her and Triss came to help you with the pregnancy as it was very unusual.
Kaer Mohen was worse than the legends, but also far far better at the same time. Lots of rats, two supernatural incidents, and it was very very cold. After the first few weeks, the girls arrived bringing a great deal of goods Geralt had requested.
They made a room for you that was beyond beautiful and warm. The first night you slept in it you realized the extent they went through to make it comfortable was due to the fact that this would be your room for much longer than a winter.
Nine months flew by as you were surrounded by your new family. You insisted on cooking as you couldn’t train with Ciri and sitting around was unbearable.
You still couldn’t believe how lucky you were. Everyone here had dropped everything to help you, Ciri was over the moon initially. Assuring you and Geralt that she’ll help and is good with babies. It didn't take a mind reader to know that she was trying to put on a brave face, scared that maybe she’d be replaced.
She’d rest her head on your lap after supper telling the large bump all sorts of things. You were always amazed at how young she was and yet she knew so much more than you did about things. She’d go on about all the history and lesson’s she’d learnt as a child. You’d let her lay there, running her hands through her hair hoping it would reassure her, she’d never spoken this much in the time that you’d been with her.
“If I tell her everything now, when she’s out in the world it will come easier to her. That’s what my grandma did for me when I was in my mum” She finally said one night when Eskel asked her why she was telling you all this stuff.
“Ah, and it's a girl then, eh?” Vesamir asked.
“Of course! It’s going to be exhausting being the only girl witcher.” He let out a hearty laugh and she stuck her tongue out at him.
You wanted to laugh but the thought of having your baby out there, both your babies out there fighting like he did - you looked to Geralt to find your feelings in his face.
“She’ll be in great hands.” Eskel said and you were happy to hear her go back to talking about the different types of desert plants and how they impact a significant portion of some forgein economy.
_____
You were prepping the stew for dinner when your water broke. Eight long hours later you had brought a baby into the world.
She suckled on to your breast, looking like an old man covered in tomato sauce and yet she was the most beautiful thing you’d laid eyes on. White peach fuzz and golden amber eyes stared up at you confirming that she was indeed her fathers daughter. Geralt looked an interesting mix of exhausted, terrified, and adoration.
Once the after birth was sorted Triss had a healing bath made for you. You offered the sleeping bundle to Geralt, but he shook his head. Causing your heart to stop.
“She’s too small.” He whispered. You opened his arm and placed the small bundle there showing him how to hold her. “I’ve never had to hold a baby before.” he said softly, tracing his finger across the top of her tiny forehead.
“You need to get into the bath.” Triss helped you stand up. “And you need to let Cirilla in here before she chews her arm off.”
“She’s not slept?!” you exclaimed.
“That's his problem.” She nodded to Geralt before helping you to the door. Ciri was there in the hallway ready to pounce on you.
“Are you alright! Where's the baby!”
“I’m fine, love. Your baby sister’s in with your father. Go help him till I'm back.” You watched her face light up as she moved past you into the room.
After the world's nicest bath you moved into the bedroom to see Geralt watching the baby in one arm with Ciri tucked under his other arm. Both asleep.
“I see you all survived.” You said with a smile, you took the babe from him taking her place under his arm. He watched as you fed her again.
You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, you thought of how scared he looked during the whole process. Watched as you fought your own battle, unable to help in any way.
“Thank you.” You said softly as your eyes were getting heavy. He chuckled softly.
“Thank you doesn’t begin to cover the amount of gratitude I feel towards you.” He whispered. You tilted your head back and felt his lips move against yours, sometimes words aren't necessary.
The love he felt for his family was always evident in everything he did.
Tags: @kpopgirlbtssvt
890 notes
·
View notes