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winters-mistress · 2 months

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Cuddle pile

It's cold. It's so fucking cold that Ciri thinks she may honestly ask the gods to take her to the next world, because nothing can be as cold as this. She's got two pairs of leggings on, two pairs of socks, one of Geralt's tunics, her pair of gloves that Eskel had found for her, and she's buried underneath several blankets. Yet, she's so cold. She's so fucking cold.

The door opens, she can hear the squeak of the hinges. Footsteps come towards her, she can tell by the gait that it's Geralt, he's trying to be quiet, but he knows she's awake.

"Ciri?" she peaks out of her cocoon of blankets, one eye blinking up at him. His lip twitches, and he reaches towards her. "Cone here, it's too cold for you to be here alone. Especially with the fire refusing to catch."

She realises that the fireplace and the torches are dead. How many times has somebody came in and tried to warm her, only for the wind to blow it out?

Her thoughts distract her enough that Geralts breath upon her cheeks startle her, but she doesn't jump when his arks finally pick her up, blanket cocoon and all.

She makes a questioning noise, but never says no to Geralt giving her a hug. She's carried like a baby out of her room, out of the wing, down two flights of stairs, down another corridor, a third set of stairs, before they end up at the kitchens.

She makes a confused noise. It can't be breakfast time yet, the keep is pitch black to her puny human eyes.

"Why're we here?" she asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

"It's too cold, even for us. Gotta rest." Geralt says. Ciri blinks at him.

All in all, the witchers are good when it comes to her sleeping. When her nights are plagued with the horrors of her past and future, and she wakes up screaming with wet cheeks, the witchers let her sleep in whenever her rest finally turns peaceful and dark. They allow her afternoon naps after training and chores are done, and send her to bed when she stumbles into the dining hall with dark circles under her eyes. Early nights and late starts aren't punished, and as long as training and chores are completed at some point in the day, the witchers don't particularly care when it happens. Hell, shes been wrapped up like a baby by Lambert of all people when they had determined she needed a sleep.

Which is why it shouldn't be surprising when he turns the last corner and finds five Witchers laying a couple feet away from the cracking fireplace underneath the stew pot. They've got blankets and pillows and furs, and look rather comfortable. Laying all over each other, looking rather like a puppy pile. Even Aiden joins in with the snuggling.

"Pups." Vesemir rumbles when he sees them both. Geralt puts her on the floor, kneeling down next to her.

"Come here, girl, get comfortable. Gonna be making camp here for a couple'a days." Coën clarifies when he sees her confused face. Ciri blinks, but nods. These things make sense, and she's seen all the men here hug, but admittedly, this is the first cuddle pile she's been privy to.

She turns upon her side, feeling Geralt curl behind her, trapping her in with his arms, wrapping her in another blanket. She hums, wrapping her hand over his, before Eskel pulls them both close, and she smiles, closing her eyes, feeling the warmth seep into her.

And tonight, she will sleep sweetly indeed.

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sweetmotherofcoffee · 4 months

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Comments on your fanfiction work without context are THE. BEST.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #tormentandtantalisation #witcher #witcher fanfic

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freudensteins-monster · 1 year

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One of my favourite Witcher fic tropes is Geralt not appreciating Jaskier, thinking little of him, complaining about him constantly, then one of his brothers meets Jaskier and is like "wtf was Geralt smoking - this bard's AMAZING. I'm going to keep him."

#witcher fanfic #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #lambert #eskel

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officerjennie · 1 year

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for the 500 prompts: geralt/jaskier + body swap? i was thinking geralt/eskel swap bodies and jaskier doesnt know so he says something embarrassing to eskel about geralt (who is really geralt). hope that makes sense xD feel free to change it up any way or add eskel to the ship <3 thank you i love your posts!!! -flutejoy

@flutejoy - tumblr won't let me tag you, but like. A year later, I come bearing a fic. Hope it crosses your dash someday 😂

No real CWs. Geraskier, >2k

It really wasn’t all that different being Geralt, Eskel thought, turning his face this way and that as he studied himself in the mirror. Geralt was a touch taller, his hair much longer, and his bulk was more hard muscle than soft, but despite the extra round of mutagens he really wasn’t that different.

His hearing was a bit better. Eskel had always thought that Geralt would have had better night vision, but he’d been wrong about that. Stretching, he turned away from the mirror, wondering if Geralt was having any luck hunting down his witch to switch them back.

A witch was the reason they were like this to begin with. Eskel gathered Geralt’s swords and strapped them to his back, finding it much easier to do when he wasn’t as thick (though he noted Geralt’s body got colder at night than his did). The witch had thought to confuse them, give herself enough time to escape when they’d raided her hut, but it hadn’t been enough in the end. Though they’d been a bit off balance, she still hadn’t been a match for them.

It had been a few nights since then, and for the most part they’d gotten used to it. Some things had been a bit awkward at first but they’d gotten over it out of necessity, growling and grumbling but accepting that this was their lot in life for a while.

Yennefer would fix it, Geralt had been certain of it. Though Eskel had no great love for her and had no desire to help find her. Last time he’d met her, she’d been throwing furniture out the window at Kaer Morhen. He’d thought it best to stay clear of her and hope Geralt could find her himself.

It was a bit dreary outside that afternoon. Eskel threw on Geralt’s cloak to shield himself from the rain, staring up at the grey clouds when he stepped outside. Grateful that he managed to stay warm under most any weather conditions, he set off down the street, deciding a drink and some food would do him good.

There was a bit of a crowd at the local tavern. Music drifted through the cracks in the door and windows, a few drunk stragglers leaning against the outside walls and just out of the rain. Eskel didn’t look at them but felt their eyes on him, making sure to keep his expression cooled to give them no reason to give him trouble.

He would have no trouble taking them out if he needed to, but that made the world all the harder for witchers. It was better to let them be and hope they did the same to him in turn.

The noise and smells rushed over him when he opened the tavern door. Music, a lute and a lovely baritone voice, but loud laughter and chatter joined it. Stew and bread, not fresh but not spoiled either. He closed his eyes for a second and forced himself to get used to it all fast. Then he closed the door behind him.

It was good luck that the barkeep didn’t give him any trouble. The look he gave him was more wary than anything else, not sure whether to trust the stranger or not. Out of habit, Eskel touched his face and looked away, but his fingers only found stubble on his cheeks.

He wasn’t himself anymore. It was his hair and eyes that gave him away. That and the two swords.

Ale on its way and a bowl of stew in front of him, Eskel tuned the tavern out as he settled into a table in the corner. He kept the music to his side, facing the door so he could keep the clearest route to the exit in mind as he ate. A few times he glanced over at the bard that was performing - and it certainly was a performance: his gestures wide, his voice loud and clear, his smile wicked as he worked the crowd up around him.

While Eskel watched him, the bard stepped up onto a table, the crowd roaring. Eskel didn’t know a lot of bards (he knew of Geralt’s bard, of course, though he’d never met him) but this one must have made a name for himself, for everyone there seemed to know him. The man bowed with a sweep of his arm, hat clutched in his hand - and when he looked up he caught Eskel’s eyes.

Eskel couldn’t look away, and for a second it felt like he couldn’t breathe. It felt like that man was staring into his soul. And then he broke eye contact and looked away, and Eskel could breathe again.

“Thank you, thank you!” The man bowed again and hopped off the table, his cheeks red from working himself, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Alas, I must retire for the evening, but fear not! This won’t be my last performance!”

Being a bard was good business, Eskel noted, only watching the bard out of the corner of his eye then. The crowd cheered and gave him enough coin to cover a room, a bath, and probably several meals if the bard was good at budgeting. And the man took it all with grace, thanking everyone who paid him, and made his way through the tavern with a flirty grin on his face for almost everyone he passed.

Dangerous to throw it at everyone, but bards weren’t exactly known for keeping it to themselves. Eskel drank his ale and decided he wouldn’t stay long. With the crowd less distracted, they were more likely to turn to other forms of entertainment.

Though the bard didn’t seem to be done making his rounds around the place. Eskel did his best to not actively watch him but it was difficult when he was getting closer. Slowly working his way through the crowd, stopping to call a few by name, to touch a few shoulders, to whisper a few words here and there. Eskel rolled his eyes and rolled his right shoulder - was it always this stiff? Must have been from an old wound. He’d have to check for knots later and work them out once he was himself again.

“You really do just have a special way of brooding.”

Eskel blinked up at the bard, who was leaning against a wooden beam near his table. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, a twitch of a smile on his lips, and for a moment Eskel wondered if they knew each other.

But he hadn’t really been introduced to any bards. Maybe the bard just liked talking to everyone, witchers included. So all Eskel did was shrug, and wince when it pulled the tight muscles in his shoulder - he really needed to work that out later.

“Didn’t expect to see you until Oxenfurt.” The bard didn’t take Eskel’s silence personally, helping himself to a seat right next to him as he plopped down with a sigh, a rather cute pout on his lips as he looked over at Eskel. “For the best, really. Turns out Valdo is teaching there at the moment, and I’d rather not have to deal with him. Do you still need to meet Triss there?”

Eskel blinked, and cocked his head. Triss in Oxenfurt - ah fuck, he shook his head before tipping his ale back and draining the last of it.

This must be Geralt’s bard. Jaskier. He looked at Eskel and saw Geralt.

Would it be better to explain, or just pretend like nothing was wrong? Eskel wasn’t sure, and Geralt wasn’t there to tell him which would be easier either.

“It’s settled then!” Jaskier grinned, reaching over to squeeze Eskel’s arm, and Eskel wasn’t sure whether Geralt would have allowed that or not so he just didn’t move. What was Geralt’s relationship to his bard? “We could go to Toussaint instead. I’d love to see the vineyards, and you deserve a rest, love.”

Love?

Eskel shook his head, and scowled because he knew Geralt would have. “It’s not near winter yet.”

“Yes, yes, and ‘a witcher’s job is never done, Jaskier’,” Jaskier lowered his voice in a mimic of Geralt’s, scowling for dramatic effect. “‘We can’t relax, Jaskier. We can’t have fun, Jaskier. Think of the children, Jaskier’.”

“I don’t sound like that” - except Eskel had to bite back a laugh, thinking that grousing sounded pretty spot on.

“You do and you know you do.” Jaskier sniffed delicately, and then took Eskel’s ale to drink some of it. Eskel could only blink as it happened - he did it without any sort of hesitation. “And despite how much you love to work yourself to the bone, you deserve to relax. Honestly, do you think you’ll be of any use to anyone if you collapse again?”

Geralt had collapsed? That was certainly news to him. Eskel made a face and took his ale back, draining the last of it so the bard couldn’t steal anymore.

“That’s what I thought.” Scooting his chair closer, Jaskier leaned on Eskel, resting his head against his shoulder - did Geralt really let the bard get this close to him? “A few extra months won’t mean the end of the world, but it will mean you’ll have a better start next year. Better rested, more strength to fight off all the baddies. And you’ll be able to better help your brothers that way.”

Eskel hummed, and refused to look at the bard even when he was giving him doe eyes.

“I’d very much like to meet them.”

That got him to look. Jaskier was smiling up at him, his arms wrapped around Eskel’s, his cheeks flushed from alcohol. He was certainly a pretty picture all snuggled up to him like that. Something told Eskel that Geralt would have thought so, too.

“You’ve already met my family, it only seems fair.” That sweet smile turned a little sharper, mischief coloring Jaskier’s eyes. “Maybe it can be my turn to drunkenly go on about how pretty your eyes are.”

Met his family? Drunken ranting? Eskel was being thrown for a loop, and desperately needed an explanation - especially for that last part. He tore a chunk of bread loose to toss in his stew, trying his best to not grin wickedly himself.

Apparently, Jaskier and Geralt were closer than Geralt had been letting on. And apparently that meant Jaskier had stories to share.

“Don’t recall ever ranting about your eyes, bard.” The little verbal nudge made Jaskier’s grin turn all the more wicked, and Eskel couldn’t wait to continue nudging information out of him.

Geralt had a boyfriend, and that boyfriend was going to give Eskel enough ammunition to embarrass his brother for the rest of their lives. And with that considered, Eskel thought it wasn’t all that bad being Geralt for a few days.

@fontegagrilledcheese @damnbert @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @oldandkinky @blooodymoon @kan0chan @silvermintnightprincess @flowercrown-bard @sharinalein @concussed-dragon @hayleynzlive @feral-jaskier @sweetiepieplum @stonedstargazer666 @deafeningnightcollection-things @luteandsword @kmuir1 @little-boats-on-a-lake @dani-dandelino @rurousha @renewlucifer

#geraskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #witcher #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier/geralt #jaskier x geralt #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #eskel

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witcherwheeloftheyear · 1 month

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Witcher Events List

A list of currently running fandom events for The Witcher. If you are running an event and want to be on this list, please message me!

Updated: March 21 2024

Now with a spreadsheet

Vernon Roche Spring of Shipping

March 22 to April 22 2024

rules and details here -

Witcher Kinkmeme (all canons)

ongoing, open-ended

Rules and details here

Witcher Monster Mayhem

May 1st-7th 2024

rules and details: here

Witcher Netflix Kinkmeme

ongoing, open-ended

rules and details here

Witcher Rarepair Comment Exchange

next round: July 2024

Rules and details: here

Witcher Whump Week

19th to 26th February 2024

rules and details: here

Past Events

in this handy spreadsheet

let me know if you are running an event!

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #tw3 #witcher event #witcher kinkmeme #witcher prompts #witcher fanfic #witcher #witcher 3

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midniitemusewrites · 6 months

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Hmm. Geraskier but it's Crimson Peak. Not sure who the mysterious sibling is. Could be Yennefer. Could be Eskel ala inexplixific's warlord AU.

#the witcher #witcher fanfic #ive been sick and shirking a few responsibilities so maybe i have time to go into a cough medicine induced haze and write #geraskier #geralt / jaskier #twn #witcher fic #witcher fic idea

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crashdevlin · 11 months

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Don't Hide (A Witcher fic)

Author’s Note: This is part three of my Witcher series, which started at Opposites Don't Attract and continued to Left In the Cold

Summary: Y/n finds herself in Poviss, living an almost-normal life in the North. A blizzard leaves her stuck.

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Word count: 2330

Story Warnings: a bit of angst, confrontation, some kissing

~~~

Poviss was cold. A Northern mountain territory with residents who weren’t used to outsiders. They were surprised when a witcher approached the gates of Tredam, but you just set your eyes on the snow beneath your boots and stepped past the guards. Your first instinct was to find the tavern, but you stopped at the town message board first. Maybe to find a job. Maybe to find a place to stay. There were several notices for missing cats and dogs, but the page that caught your attention said Shak for rint. 2 rooms plus outhous. Shit at keeping out cold but has a pit. Build a fire. Find me at Bicages Inn. Ask for Liam.

You pulled the parchment down and folded it, tucking it into your shirt. You adjusted your cloak and headed down the mud and stone covered main road through Tredam, eyes on the sign hanging from a building in the distance.

"Yer a witcher?" The man at the bar named Liam barely looked at you as he spoke and you could imagine him wanting nothing to do with you...until you realized that his accent was Skelligen and he wore no symbol of clan loyalty. An exile. An outsider, just like you.

"Yes. I'm just looking for a place to lay low for the winter."

"Ain' there a spot yer kine go ta fer the cold months? Off ta the East?"

Your lips went thin as you pressed them together for a moment. You cleared your throat and looked toward the barman, who nodded at you and grabbed a mug to fill it for you. "I'm not welcome at Kaer Morhen." You pulled your medallion out of your cloak and dangled it where he could see the cat head. "Cats are banned. Lucky me, I'm an outsider even from the other outsiders."

"Heard things 'bout Cat witchers."

"All true," you interrupted. "Foul, chaotic, rude, quite insane, the lot of us. Fortunately, I've denounced much of my teachings. Which is why I'm not in the Southlands with the Cat Caravan."

"Yew got a hundred florins?" he asked after several quiet moments. You nodded. "Yew can have the cabin 'til first thaw, then. Have yer drink an' then I'll take yew to it."

"Thank you," you said quietly before taking a seat on the stool beside him.

The cabin was deep in the woods outside Tredam and it was small, a bedroom and a kitchen and sitting area, but it was more than enough for you. Liam left you alone. You made witcher potions. You cooked in the firepit. You did small jobs around Poviss to earn coin for liquor and food. It was the closest to the simplicity of normal peasant life as you'd ever experience.

Once they got used to your presence in their town, several of the people of Tredam were fairly welcoming, offering smiles and greetings when they saw you. They knew your name. They knew your drink order at the tavern. They knew which herbs you needed before you walked into the apothecary. They knew what book you were reading that week and had suggestions for what you should buy next. They accepted you. No wonder Liam felt comfortable in Tredam.

The second storm of winter was much worse than the first, leaving you stranded in your cabin. Your horse, Daisy, was boarded in the stable behind the tavern and, though you missed your animal companion, you were grateful for that. She would have frozen in the blizzard. You, however, were at least alive in the cabin, fire blazing, bundled in cloaks and blankets.

You sensed movement outside the log walls of the cabin and your brow furrowed. The snow had been falling without stopping for hours. Who, in their right mind, would be out in that sort of weather? And why hadn't you heard them approach?

You stood and grabbed your steel, immediately thinking of Joel. It would be just your luck that Marchioness Woudsly sent another witcher your way. You couldn’t kill another of your brothers. You would die first. But if it wasn't a Cat…

You opened your door with your sword ready and gasped as your eyes fell on the white-haired Wolf you left behind months before. You froze, fingers gripping the handle of your sword as he looked down at you, snow whipping around him on strong wisps of wind.

"Are you going to kill me or invite me in?"

You blinked at him a few times before you sighed and lowered the sword, stepping out of the doorway and dropping your eyes to the wood floor. He stepped in and shut the door, shaking snow off of his hair and shoulders. You bit into the inside of your cheek as you sheathed your sword. What were you supposed to say to him? Did he come to Tredam to find you? Was he on a job? Were you the job? Would Geralt ever take a contract like that? Not against a human, but you weren't human and if he thought you murdered the Marquees…

"What are you doing here, Geralt?" you asked, pulling your cloak around you tighter.

"Did you expect me to stay in Kagen?"

"N-no," you stumbled, moving closer to the fire and avoiding the amber eyes staring at you through the dim light of your cabin. "But I didn’t expect you here, either."

"Obviously." You ignored the tone of his voice as you sat on a small wood stool and warmed your fingers near the fire. He watched you for a few moments before moving to lean against the wall. "You never came back."

"Obviously," you responded, shortly.

"Why?"

You tucked your hands under your cloak and stared at the flames. How the hell were you supposed to answer that? How were you supposed to tell the great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, the most famous witcher of the time, that you were too bloody sensitive to be baited into a heartbreak at his hands? How could you tell him that you'd never recover from the fall? How could you tell him you'd regretted riding away since the moment you mounted up?

"Why not?" was the answer that escaped you. Not much of an answer, but it didn’t get you killed so it must have worked well enough.

He let out a small sigh and shook his head. "I didn't take you as a coward."

Your eyes went wide, anger immediately racing through your blood. Rage heated your face. At least you weren't cold anymore. "Excuse me?"

"You got scared and you ran away," he accused. "You're a fucking coward."

You leaped to your feet, glaring up at him. "Nothing about you scares me, Wolf!"

He just glared back at you. "Could have fooled me, Feline."

"Oh, fuck off!" You scoffed and threw your hands up. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Can't you take a fucking hint? I don't want anything to do with-"

"Liar," he interrupted, stepping closer.

"Gods, you are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren't you? I left you in Kagen because I didn't-"

"Because you're a coward."

"I'm not a--what kind of witcher do you take me for?" He just tilted his head, looking down at you with that frustratingly handsome face. You let out an angry grunt and turned away. "You are infuriating! I came here to get away from you!"

"You admit you ran away to hide, then?" You didn't even have to look to know he was smirking.

"I'm not hiding!"

"Yes, you are."

"I am not!" You whipped back around, glaring at him again. "You need to leave. I don't want you here. I don't want you around. I don't want a wolf in my home-"

"You don't have a home, Cat." He pushed back away from the wall and stepped right in front of you. "This is just a cabin you rented to hide."

"Fuck off, Geralt." You grabbed the cold iron of the door handle and pulled it open. Snow piled up on the doorstep, halfway up the frame. In just the short time he'd been in your cabin, the storm had gotten worse. You couldn’t send him out in that. "Fuck."

"Guess you're stuck with me."

You slammed the door and looked from the fire to the bedroom door. It was the only place to get away from him, but were you willing to risk the cold?

You certainly tried. You wrapped your cloaks and blankets around you on the wool-stuffed mattress in the bedroom. You held out stubbornly, listening to Geralt breathing beside your fire, until the cold overwhelmed you. It was your fire, after all. Why should he get to enjoy it while you froze your tits off?

You refused to look at him as you dropped to the floor beside the fire, grateful for the warmth flowing into your limbs. You sat in silence for what seemed like hours, tension settled over you as the wind roared outside.

"I waited for you," he said, eventually. You kept your eyes on the fire. "I knew you weren't coming back after the second day, but I waited."

"Then you're a fool," you responded quietly.

"A fool to hope, I agree." You rolled your eyes. 'Hope'. He couldn't have really hoped you'd come back. "I waited a week. Until the bard came back to tell me you'd ridden North."

You shook your head. You told Dandelion not to involve himself in your business.

"Geralt…"

"Why?"

You closed your eyes and bit the inside of your bottom lip. Maintaining silence on the issue at hand probably wasn't feasible. Not with him stuck in your cabin. Your hiding spot...because, really, he was right wasn’t he? You were hiding from him…and here he was.

He waited for your answer, didn't press. Witchers were nothing if not patient.

"You don't want me, Geralt," you said, looking over the flames at him. "I'm just a stray Cat that you play with sometimes. I'm not…"

"Don't bring up Triss and Yen."

"How can I not?" You pulled your cloak around you tighter and hugged yourself. "You think I'm just going to ignore them? Or any of the others? You have a type, Wolf. Sorceresses for relationships, whores for fun. Which category do you suppose I find myself in?"

He hummed and focused his eyes on the fire. "Do you...know why I'm called Butcher of Blaviken?"

You didn't understand why he was asking. Everyone knew the story...and anyone with an intimate knowledge of witchers, especially of Geralt, knew that he'd had no choice. "Of course."

"I don't think you do."

"Well...then enlighten me," you urged, curious as to how that massacre had anything to do with the conversation you were having.

He was silent for a few moments before he let out a small groan and looked up to catch your eyes. "There was a woman...Renfri. Not a sorceress...not a whore...a princess." Your jaw dropped a little. "She was one of the princesses marked as harbingers of Lilit. She managed to escape when she was taken to be killed. She was...beautiful, resourceful…"

He looked back down to the fire. "When I met her, she was the leader of a group of bandits. A princess, who should have been a queen by all blood-rights, was stealing for her supper."

"The bandits that you…"

He nodded in answer to your question. "She was determined to get revenge on the mage that ruined her. She asked for my help. I asked her to…" He shook his head. "I asked her to walk away, let go of it. She couldn't. She went after him...any means necessary...go through all who stand in her way...me included. She wouldn’t stop."

You licked your lips and leaned forward. "She was consumed."

"She was the first woman I felt anything for. I didn't think I could feel before her." He looked over at you. "She made me feel...and I had to kill her."

Your throat clenched around the sudden rise of emotion, your brain replaying Joel attacking you. You looked away, tears welling up in your eyes. "I had a brother. I left him behind at Dyn Marv. He was offered a contract on me." You swallowed thickly. "He wouldn't stop either. He was so angry with me."

You took a shaky breath and sighed it out. "I feel, Geralt. And I know you feel things too, but it's different. It's different for me. I'm not a wolf. I can act like I'm just like you but I'm not."

"You don't make sense." He stood and looked down at you. "You know I feel for Yen. You know I feel for Triss. But when it comes to you, I'm a wolf so I'm heartless."

You opened your mouth to argue but he kept talking. "I do feel for you. I care about you and knowing you left me waiting for you in Kagen hurt. Knowing that you decided to hide from me hurt. So tell me, Cat, if I'm just a wolf with no emotions, why was I compelled to find you? Why did I have to see your face again? Why couldn't I stop?"

You stood slowly, on shaking legs. “It’s...just…” You licked your lips, trying to find words, but finding none.

He reached out and grabbed your shoulders, looking down into your eyes. “Don’t.” He leaned down and lightly pressed his lips to yours. He felt like fate. You reached up and wrapped your left hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you harder. “Don’t hide,” he mumbled into your mouth as he pushed you back into the wall.

Heat enveloped you as his body pressed into yours. The cold of the blizzard was forgotten. The fear of the future was forgotten. For a moment, everything was okay and you didn’t need to hide.

#cassie writes stuff #witcher fanfic #geralt x reader #witcher!reader

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tigerlyla-of-metinna · 5 months

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The Roles We Play (Fic Update)

Chapter 3 is up on AO3!

The Golden Tench

Weeks passed and the world welcomes another Feainn. The recent events didn’t stop the politicking nor slowed down the scheming. If any, the threat to Emhyr’s life sped it up. Petitions from the merchants doubled, demanding his attention, keeping Emhyr busy all day. Nobles futilely persuading the emperor to name an heir, or produce one with their kin, in case the empire is bereft of its leader. That kept Emhyr busy at night. Sarah made it known only to Emhyr her feelings for him: with covert glances and secret smiles while maintaining the utmost discretion. Thankfully, her attempts did not go unnoticed. Covert reciprocation came easy for the emperor of Nilfgaard, who, in his youth, engaged in a secret tryst with the princess of Cintra… until her mother, Queen Calanthe, got wind of it. Nobles noticed too, but interpreted the emperor’s facial cues incorrectly. During one of his audiences -conducted in the gardens- under the tightest security, Emhyr was smiling at a portly earl. The poor man cast his eyes on the ground in fear, wishing he was anywhere but in the presence of His Imperial Majesty, fretting over some slight he couldn’t recall. What did he do to earn Emhyrs’ imperial wrath? The courtiers observing the audience looked away uncomfortably as the earl blubbered his apologies, fearful of Emhyr’s ire spilling over them. They glanced at the emperor’s hands resting on his knees, waiting for one rising to beckon the guards. Unbeknownst to everyone present, Emhyrs’ smile was directed behind the earls’ left ear. Just a short distance and out of hearing, Sarah was discussing next week’s duties to her majordomo. Her arms crossed over her chest, making her breasts rise slightly above the scooped neckline of her modest dress. Her stormy curls couldn’t be tamed as they spilled outside the confines of the white coif and straw hat she is wearing. Sarah also wore a businesslike look on her face and carried an air of intelligence and superiority that belied her humble occupation. Martina pointed something written in the journal she held for Sarah, suggested something to which Sarah nodded after a brief pause. As Emhyr predicted, Sarah’s right hand went up, elbow on the back of her left palm while cupping her chin. A mannerism he has become familiar with. Sarah, purely by accident, saw him looking at her. Her lips curved slightly upwards but it was her eyes that spoke her silent fondness for him. Emhyrs’ smile rose a fraction. The earl doubled down on his placations verging on the hysterical.

#emhyr var emreis #emhyr #emhyr x oc #canon x oc #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #nilfgaard #witcher 3 wild hunt

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swan--writes · 9 months

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Geralt: "No, wait, you deserve for this to be done the right way–"

Jaskier: "Fuck 'the right way.' Either kiss me like you mean it or don't."

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smolalienbee · 2 years

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❛ my heart is so full of you i can hardly call it my own. ❜ <- literally this is 100% jaskier core 🥺

omg slinky hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. you’re so right actually

geraskier // loose continuation to this ficlet

"I don't think my heart has ever been my own."

Geralt lifts his head and stares.

It hasn’t been long since they have finally gotten it back, Jaskier’s heart and soul and the sum of his existence - finally returned to his body, finally at their fingertips once more. It has been... nice is perhaps an overstatement, but Geralt is glad that for the first time in weeks he can finally relax. Glad that the person in front of him is truly Jaskier, complete with his tender loving heart and not just a broken, empty shell.

And yet, even now, there is something not quite right with Jaskier’s expression, with the way he looks out the window, as though still searching for a part of him that is missing.

“Of course it is, Jaskier,” Geralt speaks. He has to say it because that pinprick of fear is still insistent at the back of his neck. This fear that Jaskier could be taken away from him again.

“No, you - you don’t understand, Geralt.” Jaskier shakes his head and as his gaze flickers over to Geralt, he smiles and that helps. That smile, it always helps, because there’s no one else that could smile in the way Jaskier does. Geralt exhales.

“It’s... funny,” Jaskier continues, moving his gaze back towards the window. “Hearts are such funny things. You believe them to be your own, after all they sit in your chest, they pump your blood, but then... they’re so fickle and so... easily stolen,” he muses. “And I... ever since we met, dear, my heart is so full of you that I can hardly call it my own. I believe... perhaps that is why it was so easy for it to be taken away from me, because it wasn’t mine to begin with. It hasn’t been mine for decades. Yours, Geralt. It was yours. Still is, in fact.”

And Geralt, struck by the intensity of Jaskier’s words, moves. He crosses the room at nearly an inhuman speed because he has to, he has to, he has to feel him.

Jaskier laughs when he’s being lifted up and into Geralt’s arms and his laughter is a song that accompanies the beating of his heart.

“And so is mine,” Geralt admits, his voice muffled as he presses his face into Jaskier’s hair. “It’s yours.”

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winters-mistress · 3 months

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It all starts so quick, that's perhaps why Geralt is so frustrated with himself that he didn't notice it earlier. He's a witcher, for fuck's sake, he can hear a butterfly's wing from miles away, so why didn't he notice this?

He, Jaskier, Yennefer and Ciri had left the safety of Kaer Morhen after the girl was recovered from her fever and fainting, post Voleth Meir attack. Perhaps he thought she was okay, that she was healed? He hadn't even considered the fragility of a human child when graced with the almighty power that his daughter possessed. In truth, his denial makes the hole in his chest only deeper as he looks at her. He should have noticed sooner, they'd been riding on not-Roach together for days, he should have noticed the warmth of her skin and the haze of her eyes long before she'd fainted into the same arms that used to keep her so tightly bared in when they would ride, eager to keep his daughter safe from that who would harm her.

How hadn't he realised that there were so many dangers that didn't include Mages, Kings, Nilfguaard and the Wild Hunt?

Because his daughter, who was so strong and brave, was laying limply at his side, covered by cloaks and blankets and whatever Yennefer could conjure, her skin deathly pale apart from the two large blotches of red upon her cheeks. She looks so small, a folded blanket underneath her head to make a pillow, buried underneath a mountain of rags in an effort to break the fever that was simultaneously impressive and deeply concerning.

He didn't know what to do. Nilfgaardian soldiers that wishes to take his child? Simple, kill them. Mages? Yennefer can handle them. Kings? Jaskier can charm them as well as any courtesan, but this? Geralt had never felt more helpless than he did now, watching her lay there, large drips of sweat trickling down the sides of her neck. He listens to the wheeze of her breath, comforted by the confirmation that she's still here, still okay. That she's still with him, after all they went through.

The air is cold, because of course it is. It's January, they're in the North, inches of snow burry the four of them in, circled in a camp that Yennefer had cleared when they'd realised that the girl was unwell. Geralt can see the breath in front of his face, leaning back against the tree that mirrors his spine, glancing at his girl once again, before passing a glance at Yennefer and Jask.

The bard is sleeping loudly, snores echoing in the small orb of protection that Yennefer casts every morning. Are they invisible? Do any passers by see themselves, or just an echo of the woods.

Geralt had Axii'd the bard into sleep. He was exhausted, but worried enough to fight it with his worry of the girl he had grown fond of in their brief time in the witcher keep. The white haired witcher is a warrior, born and bread, and has the capability of staying awake for days at a time. The bard, as human as he was, was not, and all it took was a quick cast until the bard snored happily.

Yennefer is a different equation all together. The first few days, post betrayal, Geralt hadn't let ciri out of his sight, too worried that she would be taken away again. It's been almost three weeks, and Geralt still cannot find peace in sleep with Yennefer so close to his child. And now, with Cirilla being as vulnerable as she is, the last thing on Geralt's mind is to take rest. He had never felt a purpose like this, to protect his child with everything within him. The only time he had let her slip to being second in his heart, Yennefer had taken her away and was only stopped causing the girl's death by the girl herself. He would never make that mistake again. Asleep, Yennefer may be. Yes, she may have had a hand in defeating the demon and freeing his girl. But never again will he let his guard down when the sorcerers is so close.

He has too many thoughts of the girl being dragged from his arms, the scent of lilac and gooseberries high in his nose.

No. Geralt decides, clenching his fist, the other hand laying protectively on Cirilla's stomach, feeling it rise and fall. He will never let her be take from him again.

The girl's breathing changes suddenly, shuddering and stuttering like it does when she's trapped within the depths of her own mind, of the horrors she'd endured since the slaughter of her homeland. Her head moves to the side, sounds falling from her throat even in unconsciousness.

Geralt's full attention snaps to her, he shifts foreward to be on his knees next to her, the backs of his fingers sliding down her cheeks, accompanying the tears that fall.

Too hot. Still far too hot.

Her heat can rival his own, and it feels like a fist in his gut.

"Cirilla." his voice is gruff from lack of use, deep and raspy, while her own is choked and throaty, speaking of thirst and congestion. "Cirilla, I am here. Do not be afraid, little one."

Slowly, the girls jerking limbs cease movement, and she settles in her makeshift bed of rags and moss and bark. So much less than what she deserves.

Her breathing changes again, and she looks towards him, eyes still closed.

"Cub?" He asks, licking his lips. "Pup?"

Her breathing is shaky, her heartbeat slightly quicker. And much to his relief, she opens her eyes.

"Ciri," Geralt breathes. Thank Melitele. She's here, she's safe, she's with him still. A hand slides to her cheek, the other laying on her ribs.

Ciri says nothing for a moment, looking around at the dark woodlands, before she looks at him again.

"Gr'alt" she whispers. He smiles, relief flooding through him.

He knows, he should get Yennefer, wake her so she can whisper spells to heal the child, wake Jask so he can sleep without worry or magical influence, but he cannot bring himself to remove himself from her just yet.

"Ciri," he smiles. "Sweet girl, we've been worried."

Ciri says nothing, only shifts to sit up. He helps, a hand supporting her back, the other supporting the weight of her front.

She slumps against him, exhausted from sickness. Her head falls to her neck, and he presses a kiss to her sweaty hair.

"Gr'alt" she whispers again, tilting her face to meet her own.

"I'm here, sweet girl. I'm here." Geralt says, pressing his waterskin to her lips so she may drink the cold water.

Ciri does so with eagerness, although her sips are small, no doubt due to a sore throat.

She slumps against him again when she's done, a hand finding his.

It's a strange impulse he has, to kiss her fingers, but he does it anyway, because it must bring her some sort of comfort, right? People like that sort of thing.

"It's alright, pup. We'll get you feeling better soon" he says, pressing his hand to her brow once again. Too hot and clammy, but he can fix that with willowbark and lavender.

Ciri opens her mouth to speak, but her eyes flutter shut before she can.

"It's okay, Ciri. Just sleep, you must rest." He says, laying her back down in her nest.

Before he can turn to get her another wet rag for her brow, the witcher feels her hand at his wrist. Small, with the start of callouses from the blade training.

He looks at her, earnest.

"Papa." she whispers. "'nk you" she mumbled, before falling into sleep once again, her grip on his wrist going slack.

Now, Geralt's chest feels like it's going to explode for a different reason.

#witcher #post season 2 #sickfic #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #fanfiction #witcherfanfiction #geraltandciri #dadralt #ciri is his baby #geralt is the best dad #worried geralt #geralt and ciri #the witcher netflix #witcher fanfiction #fanfic #witcher fanfic

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underpreparedbard · 8 months

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Soft Geraskier/Yennskier/Geraskefer fics please? I’m in need of some comfort today❤️

#the witcher #witcher #witcher netflix #the witcher netflix #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #Geralt #Geralt of rivia #yennefer #yennefer of vengerburg #Geraskier #yennskier #geraskefer #witcher fanfic #Witcher fanfiction #Witcher fandom

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jeanblack2056 · 16 days

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Geralt: wants to be good

Jaskier: awww, for me? Lemme check my diary, yep, I do have time for two years of no strings attached rn

Jaskier later: oh, fuck, how the heck did all of my strings tangle into your hair...

Lambert, watching from the rafters: omfg they are such disasters

Aiden, watching from next to Lambert: I told you they'd be

#basically this is my fic in summary #witcher #jaskier #witcher fanfiction #geralt #witcher fanfic #kaer morons #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #geraskier #and then they fuck

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officerjennie · 1 year

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For a rainy day :)

Lambert hugging someone awkwardly? (3?) Whoever you want that someone to be 😉

No CWs. Lambert is a disaster. Lambskier. Taglist at the bottom!

Lambert didn't do hugs.

Namely, he didn't do touching. Of any sort. The thought made his skin crawl, his face twist into itself, and just the thought of all the gooey feelings that were usually attached to hugging made it all even worse.

That said, he wasn't sure what else he could do when Jaskier was giving him that look.

Somewhere along the way, the bard had attached himself to Lambert's side. A barnacle of a human, suction cupped to him, traipsing along the path in Lambert's wake despite the amount of times Lambert had thrown his boots at him. For all the years Lambert had made fun of Geralt for being stuck with him, destiny or karma or whatever bullshit must have been getting back at him, because Lambert could not shake the damned bard no matter how hard he tried.

And he mainly tried because he liked Jaskier's company. Didn't do for a witcher to get attached to a human, after all.

But he tried and failed, and hated every time Jaskier gave him that look - though there were a dozen 'that look's that made Lambert snarl or storm off away from the bard. Like the one where Jaskier's eyes lit up at whatever story Lambert was telling, or the one where Jaskier's face turned haunted and dangerous when someone said something snide about witchers.

Or the one where Jaskier's whole face softened, and his voice turned quiet, when Lambert stumbled back into their camp bleeding.

Right at that moment, he hated the tears in Jaskier's eyes, and he couldn't run away from them.

He'd caused them. Worst of all, he hadn't caused them by being mean. All he'd done was replace Jaskier's leather bound notebook, the one the damned idiot had dropped in the river the week before and had spent at least a good hour wading around in the water for. And it hadn't even been out of the graciousness of his heart, nor because he felt bad for him when all Jaskier had to scribble on were spare sheets of paper he picked up off of the streets when they passed through a town.

...okay maybe he had been trying to cheer the bard up. His moping was worse than his cheer, and it grated on Lambert's nerves in a way that was dangerously close to suggesting he was fond of him.

So he'd bought him a notebook. And Jaskier had started to sniff, and tear up, and barely managed to whisper out a hoarse "thank you", and Lambert didn't know what to do.

The first thing that came to mind was hug him. He didn't know why, he hated hugs, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Jaskier was tactile, always running his hands over soft things or worrying his thumbs over rough surfaces to feel their texture. Fuck, he'd hug a stranger if they were kind enough to him, and Lambert could see him squirming in place, hands clutching the leather notebook and his coat swaying behind him.

He wanted a hug. Was holding himself back from flinging his arms around the witcher because as much as Jaskier wasn't the greatest with boundaries he knew which ones to keep and which ones he could push.

And Lambert didn't know what to do except hug him. So he did.

Jaskier let out a small eep as Lambert put his arms around him, holding the bard loosely and glaring off to the side like the wall had personally offended him. He couldn't help but stiffen and grind his teeth, and Jaskier just held his breath, not moving an inch as they stood there in complete silence.

It was awful. Lambert hated every second of it. And then Jaskier slowly wrapped his arms around Lambert's back, and Lambert hated it for an entirely different reason.

"Thank you, truly."

Lambert growled, feeling heat building on his cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to bolt and never see the bard again.

And also wanted to hold him closer, and wanted to kiss him until Jaskier lost his words and just shut up for once.

"Alright, that's enough, shut up about it." Lambert wriggled right out of the hug and bodily held Jaskier at arms length for a moment, glaring at him though it didn't even make the bard flinch. He then huffed and dropped his arms, turning on his heel and snatching up his swords to go find something to kill.

"Should I wait up for you?" Jaskier called out, his voice still touched with softness, and Lambert needed to run before that made him think too much on whatever feelings were rattling around in his chest.

"Don't make me knock you out," he snapped, and jumped out the window before Jaskier could say anything else.

He hated hugs. He hated touching. And he hated how Jaskier made him want to admit he was lying.

#lambskier #lambert #jaskier #the witcher #mywriting #fanfiction #witcher #lambert x jaskier #jaskier x lambert #lambert/jaskier #jaskier/lambert #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction

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