#Geralt just falls more in love with him

[eternally-tired-cryptid]

Y'all would not believe the situations I can put ocs in. Rotate them in my brain microwave.

[ro-is-struggling]

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you. 

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away. 

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders. 

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness. 

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know. 

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him. 

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence. 

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts. 

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go. 

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you." 

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?” 

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves. 

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so. 

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right." 

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal. 

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had. 

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear. 

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes. 

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table. 

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died. 

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him. 

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet." 

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain. 

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him. 

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source. 

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up. 

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed. 

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it. 

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him. 

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned. 

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that. 

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you. 

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. 

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection. 

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time. 

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body. 

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head. 

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body.  You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine. 

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you. 

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock. 

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you. 

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible. 

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles. 

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips. 

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him. 

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move. 

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole." 

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock." 

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it." 

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit. 

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had. 

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you." 

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved. 

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you. 

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms. 

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

[blooms-in-april]

In Oxenfurt there is a sacred tradition, which no one dares encroach upon: no one can be arrested during a theatre performance. And the scholars of Oxenfurt, for all their learning, are a dramatic, suspicious sort, and so the law stands. It's been taken advantage of by many a drunk and disorderly student, taking refuge in the audience of the Grand Theatre to evade the guard, until inevitably, the curtain falls and their reprieve is over.

When they come to arrest Professor Pankrantz, his students won't have it. He had come back to them quiet and broken this winter, more careless with his dissent, more bold in his defiance. He did not seem to care when the warrant was put out for his arrest, as an elvish sympathizer, a sodomite, and a conspirator against Nilfgaard.

"He knows the White Wolf will save him. He always does." Essi had said with false confidence, but the weeks pass and the university's protection wanes and the White Wolf does not come.

"He's not coming." Adrien whispers, hunched over his songbook. "We must do something."

"We will," Essi responds.

When he hears the guards outside his office, Jaskier puts down his quill for the last time. He swings open the door.

"Gentlemen!" He says. The armored faces are featureless, unmoving. "How would you like me?" They grab and cuff him hard across the head, then frogmarch him down the hall. His head rings like a great bell tolling the hour. He can feel the blood trickling out his ear.

There is a great crash, and a scuffle, and a large hand grabs him by the elbow. "Geralt." He whispers.

But it's not. Jeremiah smiles awkwardly, and holds his dented tuba in one hand. "I used to be a blacksmith before this." The quiet youth says. "Never thought it would come in handy again."

"My dear boy." Jaskier says as he's pulled along. "You shouldn't have. You saved my life."

"Your tutoring saved mine during finals. I think we're even, Professor."

Jaskier is hurried in through the backstage door, crowded with students carrying instruments, costumes, sheet music, and props. They all part way to let him through. "Top box, Professor." Essi says, hurrying him. "We saved it just for you."

He sits down, bewildered, as the guards shout outside and the orchestra tunes frantically. The curtain opens just as the guards make it into the auditorium. Everything hushes in that special breath before a show.

Essi steps on stage.

"Thank you and welcome to the members of the Oxenfurt Academy faculty, staff, and student body who have come to support this performance," she says. "We'd also like to welcome representatives of various law enforcement communities who have chosen to join us in the Academy Grand Theatre tonight. In the spirit of the arts, leave all discord at the door, and please enjoy this special performance by the students of Oxenfurt - 'The Adversities of Loving', a tribute to the life and works of Professor Julian Alfred Pankrantz."

She bows. The audience applauds. The play begins.

[satorusugurugurl]

Toss a Coin

Summary: When your shows up in a full ass Geralt from The Witcher series, you’re dragging him to the nearest bathroom!

Characters: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warning: language, cursing, bathroom sex, public sex, unprotected sex, cream pies

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Kinktober Day: Thirty— The Witcher! I'm so tired, going off of three hours of sleep and I still have to finish decorating a pumpkin for work. 😩

You hummed, glancing at the clock before returning to the door. Your gaze focused back on the phone in your hand. Your sweet boyfriend told you he would be at the party soon. But there was no sign of him, which was odd, seeing that he was punctual.

Your long Yennifer dress flowed as you paced through the kitchen. The door flung open just before you could panic, and a light was strung. Gojo began strumming the strings, humming as he walked around the room.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher! Oh, Valley of Plenty

Oh, Valley of Plenty, oh, Toss a coin to your Witcher

Oh, Valley of Plenty!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you glanced back to the door, and just as you took a sip of your drink, you inhaled it down your windpipe as a tall man wearing a long white wig stepped inside the room. They were dressed in a tight-fitted Witcher costume, rippling pectorals in the tight fabric. While they looked good, that wasn't what caught your eye. No, it was the fact that your husband was in the costume! He never wore costumes!

His honey-brown eyes roamed the doom as his fingers twiddled with the prop sword in his hands before he found you. Nanami thought he would have found you rushing towards him with excitement. But it was a different kind of excitement that swirled in your eyes.

“Hey.” Nanami waved at you with a grin and approached you with a smile.

“You never wear a costume?! " But you're wearing one today! " you asked in disbelief as you ran your hands down his chest.

Nanami chuckled, shaking his head, the long strands of the synthetic hair falling over his shoulder. “I wanted it to be a surprise when I found out you were going as Yennifer. We both enjoyed the books and the television show. So it seemed fitting.”

“Ooh, the only thing I’ll be helping you with fitting is your cock inside of me.”

Even though your voice was low and barely audible, Nanami flushed as he looked around. The metal amulet rested against the leather-clad of his costume. “We just had sex this morning.” You nodded in agreement before your fingertips grazed over the bare skin peeking out from the top of his shirt.

“And?”

“Did I not satisfy your needs?” He was teasing you, but you could, too, if he wanted to play like that.

“No.” You grabbed him by the chord of the amulet he wore. “And there's only one thing that will satisfy my hunger.”

“And what is that specific thing?”

“You.” You reached into your pocket, piling out a coin, slowly tossing it in the air before catching it. “In this costume.”

Nanami looked around with a chuckle before pulling you off to the bathroom. “You're insatiable. But loud, can you promise me you’ll try to stay quiet?”

“F-Fuck!” You gasped, arching your back off the mirror in the bathroom. Kento’s hand quickly reached up, covering your mouth with his free hand while the other gripped your hip.

“Shh,” he removed his hand from your mouth, “you have to be quiet; everyone will know what we're doing.”

“I don't give a flying fuck is they hear” he dug your nails into his shoulders, winning a hiss from him. “Kento, I can’t handle the teasing; please just fuck me before they start looking for us.”

He sighed, pulling out slightly, “You have to promise to be quite tough.”

“Fuck yes, okay!” You whispered harshly, “I promise to be quite okay. Just,” you began rolling your hips, trying to get him to move again, “Please, I need you.”

“I know, Love, I need you too.” He pushed the head of his cock back against your opening and groaned softly, “You always feel so tight and so wet” He went more into you, “God knows I you so much.”

You gasped, grabbing onto his arms and fighting back a whimper as his cock stretched you, “Oh my God,” you cried out. “Kento, you feel so good, God, you look so hot! Made me feral.”

“Oh, is that what drove you mad with lust?”

“Yes!” as if your body decided to add in, it squeezed around his cock.

“Fuck you're so tight,” he growled, pushing himself further into your aching core, “you feel so fucking amazing. Your pussy clamping down on my cock.”

“Kento,” you whimpered out, feeling him continue to bury himself inside of you, “fuck.” You tilted your head back, shutting your eyes tight. You were trying desperately not to cum too fast; you wanted it to last.

He kissed along the side of your neck before sliding in and out of you slowly and gently. His hands ran down the curve of your body before resting on your hips, holding them down as he thrust. He gently took his time, making this last as long as possible.

You moaned as you threw your head back against the mirror with a quiet thud. His hands slid back up, gripping and kneading at your breasts as his cock slid in and out of you, setting a steady pace. He moaned and growled as he kissed and sucked on your sensitive skin, all while you moaned and rocked in time with his thrusts. This was amazing and exciting! Fucking in a bathroom while your friends were outside was so kinky! But, despite it being kinky, it didn't switch off the love you shared for each other.

“Baby,” you gasped out, holding his head to your neck, “fuck me, fuck me.” Grunting, he grabbed the edge of the counter for more leverage.

You closed the small gap between the two of you, shoving your tongue in his mouth. He moaned, wrapping his talented tongue around yours as he thrust in and out of you faster. You wrapped your legs around him, moaning wantonly as he pounded into you, forgetting about the party and focusing on you.

The familiar tightening in your lower abdomen caused you to rock faster against him. You were chasing your orgasm, wanting nothing more than a sweet release. “Kento, I’m close, baby.” You whimpered, nipping at his ear, “ Please baby, I need it, I need to come.”

“Come for me, Love,” he whispered, reaching down between your bodies and rubbing your clit gently in circles, “Come for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel all of you.” He rubbed faster and harder, sending you over the edge.

“Kento!” You moaned into his neck, doing your absolute best to stay quiet. The orgasm spread through your body, setting it on fire as the waves of pleasure rushed through every cell of your body. Kento grunted loudly, his cock twitching inside of you throbbing pussy sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, Darling!” he growled, milking his orgasm out, nearly sending you over the edge into a second orgasm. “Oh God, baby.”He shuddered once more before collapsing on top of you, holding you close.

The two of you remained there in the bathroom, regaining your breath. Kento’s hands lazily ran up and down your back as he peppered kisses along your neck. You chuckled, tracing mindless shapes down his muscular back, humming contently.

“God, I love you,” he sighed against your still-heated skin. You have no idea how much I do.”

“Enough to let me toss a few coins at your ass?” You pressed, flicking your eyes up and down over his body. Your husband pulled away, looking into your eyes with confusion and humor. “What Gojo told me to toss you a coin!”

“You are insatiable,” he whispered with a chuckle, kissing you as sweetly as he needed to help that.

“So, is that a no to the coins?”

He laughed again. This time, it was deep and rich with adoration and warmth. “In the spirit of Halloween, I’ll allow it.” Nanami snorted as you fist-pumped the air before slamming your lips on his.

“Best Halloween Ever!”

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Kinktober Tag List:

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[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 99

Years ago, a young viscount had his heart stolen from him, locked away in a vault deep beneath his family's estate. The teenaged boy flirted around too much, which worried his parents, for if the boy were to fall in love and be loved in return, their plans at marrying him off for more land and more riches could all be for naught. But the good thing about stealing away his heart, was that he could surely love no more, and even better, nobody could possibly love a heartless man. Years later, the boy grows into a man, who becomes a bard, who becomes The Bard. Jaskier has a history of being a bit of a manwhore. He's been told he "falls in love with everyone he meets." That isn't it, though. Jaskier loves a good dance under the sheets, but it can't be love. His heart is locked away. He knows when he holds a hand to his chest, and feels the painful magical scar marking where a heart should be, and no pulse underneath. Jaskier has worried for years and years if he's truly apathetic and only does good things to save face, but he does things when he's alone and nobody watches, so he thinks he must be doing it just to do it, right? He likes doing nice things, he likes helping, he likes liking... But surely if his heart is gone, he can't, right? And then there was the issue known as Geralt. Surely a heartless man cannot fall in love. And yet... Jaskier can't help but fall head over heels in love with the witcher. Even if it hurts every time he gets butterflies in his stomach. His chest burning and aching every time he feels something for the man. But his parents had told him that nobody could love him now that he had his heart taken away. It must've been part of the spell, along with the pain. So he loves Geralt from afar, knowing that Geralt could never love him back. So when Geralt confesses he's in love with Jaskier, Jaskier is very confused. "How? I'm heartless." "What? You're the kindest man I've ever met, Jaskier-" "No, seriously. My heart is gone. They said nobody could fall in love with me with it gone." Jaskier then realizes that it wasn't part of the spell at all, they had just assumed! Jaskier eagerly tells Geralt all about it, only to be surprised by Geralt's haunted, horrified expression. Geralt RIPS Jaskier's shirt off with his bare hands (Hot! Jaskier likey!) and inspects his scar, thoroughly. "We're going to lettenhove." "What? Why?" "We're getting your heart back."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 20

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The crackling of the fire grows clearer as the tides of sleep swirl and still. Your eyelids part to the flicker of the hearth, a figured limned in the rustic haze, looming over you, lifting you, moving you with ease. You stir and fidget, pressing a hand to the firm wall against your arm. The woolly tunic scratches against your palm as you feel the pulsing of a heartbeat beneath.  

You look up at the square jaw of your accoster. King Geralt lays you on the mattress, your disposed clothes cleared away from the corner. He's gentle as he sets your head on the pillow, caressing your cheek and your hip as he draws away. He stands, looking down on you as his fingers curl and extend, a hot breath rushing from his nostrils. 

You watch him as the the world sharpens around you and a flow rolls over you like cold water. You push yourself up on your elbows as the king's eyes rove your figure beneath the thin shift. He sways and brushes his hand over his chest, letting out a deep rumble. 

You want to say something. Anything. Just a word to break the fragile tension between you. You can't get a single noise out. He stares down at you with his gold eyes, like coins shining, forged in flame. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, snug to you as he rests his hand on the other side of you, tenting his arm over you. His other crawls along your shoulder and down to your wrist, walking back up again. His fingertips spread goose prickles along your flesh as you lay frozen in his fiery exploration. 

The haze of the fireplace, the gleam of his eyes, and the dregs of your drowsiness make you doubt the realness of it all. Are you dreaming still? Everything is so much more than it should be. His heat, his touch, the way you can feel his need radiating from him. 

You fall flat, staring at him, entranced by him. He brings his calloused palm to cradle your face. You gasp and latch onto his wrist.He lets his fingers flutter away and turns his arm, looking down at your grasp on him, cautious but firm. You see how his cheek strains and he sits up, grazing his other hand over yours.  

He covers your hand with both of his and draws it up. He unveils it like some precious treasure and kisses each knuckle. You shake as each brush of his lips tingles through you. He pulls back and keeps hold of you, lowering your hand between you. 

"You fear me," he says, "you fear what I want from you." His voice is low and sonorous, "I want nothing from you. I only want you, my summer maid." He inhales deeply and lets it out with a quaver as you feel the tremor in him, "my treasure." 

Your eyes sting and tears soften the lines in your vision. You shake your head, a knot in your throat, a pinch in your chest. He brings your hand flat to one of yours and twines his thick fingers between yours. The difference is drastic, a reflection of your status. He is all-powerful and you are a speck in the wind. 

"I have worn a heavy crown, I have raised an army, I have bled in battle, and not of it can compare to this, my treasure. You are my greatest achievement. By fates, I found you. I thought that I was destined to sit the throne, to unite these peoples, to hold it all in my hand," he squeezes, "but this is all I need have in my grasp. This is what called me to your southern plains. All of it for you. I have won it and so quickly as you bid me, I would give it up." 

Your lashes flick as your heart swells. He cannot mean it. Not any of it. You are only a maid. 

"You have your fear, little maid, and I have mine. They are one and the same," he gazes down at you, eyes wrought in layers of pain, sadness, and longing, like the sediment of the earth, worn and weathered through the years. "I fear myself all the same as you. I have withheld myself for as long as I can and yet I feel myself dwindling. I feel the rope fraying." 

You sniff and shake your head, "your highness..." you croak and your voice seems to crackle in the air, "Queen Jazlene--" 

"Do not speak her name. I beg of you. Treasure, I beg. I will beg you anon." 

He keeps hold of you and shifts off the bed. He brings himself to his knees at the side of the bed, clinging to you as he once more kisses your hand. As you lay helpless to him. 

"Do not fear me. How can you when I only mean to worship you," he rasps. "As any treasure, I only mean to prize you, to hold you dear, to keep you from those who would steal you away. To keep you for my own. Treasure, you are mine, all mine. By rights, I, King Geralt of Rivia and the Hinterlands, claim you. No other shall have you. Upon my life, I could not bear it." 

You close your eyes, ice trickling into your veins at his declaration. He is king, he is the almighty, and you are his. You are sworn to serve and by rights of marriage, you are bound to him. Even if it wrong, even it transcends the vow he spoke to another, a king may bend the laws as serve his purposes. A maid may only obey. 

"You have forsaken me," you whisper. 

He kneels in silence, lowering his head to rest on your hand. You lay in tableau, strangled and solemn, as he prostrates himself at your side. As a mourner might do for some tragic corpse. Is that not what this is? Grief for the treachery of it all. 

"I belong to you," he speaks at last, rising as he releases you. Your eyes roll open and pinpoint on him.  

He turns away and pulls at his tunic, stripping it from his broad shoulders, revealing a back ridged with muscles. He drops it on the seat of a chair and sits in another. He is patient as he unbinds the straps of his boots and removes each in turn, placing them neatly aside. He undresses piece by piece, rapt in the task of his dissembling. 

He remains only in his braies, the short garment ending at the top of his thick thighs. His stomach is as thick as the rest of his, muscles wrapping around his arms and chest, fur like the very wolf he's sewn into his cloak. He approaches the bed and you steel yourself for him. 

He lifts himself over you, hovering just above, his hands above your shoulders as he holds himself on his knees, straddling as he once did in the moonlight of your unconscious. He peers down and breathes a scalding plume upon you. You shiver and meet his eyes, unable to repress the wash of terror that comes over you. 

He pushes himself to the other side of you, folding his arm to fall upon his side. His other stretches over your stomach as he nestles against your side. He lays on his shoulder, facing you, and his nose brushes your temple. You clutch a fold of the blankets in your hand as his traces the shape of your side, playing with the seam of your shift. 

His touch creeps over your stomach and his lips dance on your cheek. He exhales your name into your ear and his hand cups one side of your chest. A whimper escapes your throat as your nipple hardens, poking him as he fondles you. He is gentle but diligent, eager as he explores your body, as if you are another map to be conquered. 

He trails up to your neck and his thumb draws a line along your throat. You feel his gaze but cannot face it. It burns hotter than the heart. He touches jaw and chin, as if he's never seen anything like you; cheekbones, nose, forehead, as if he is an artist moulding a statue.  

He presses his straight nose to your cheek and drapes his arm around you once more. He embraces you from the side. He tucks his fingers under you and you bring your hand to his thick forearm, feeling the soft hair along it. You claps onto him and shudder at the ceiling. 

"You will not always fear me," he whispers, "when you see the world for what it is, when you see me truly, you will feel as I do." He snarls as he leans his weight into you. "You cannot fight fate, my treasure. Even a king cannot bid what is written by destiny." 

You let every ounce of strength drain from you. You sink into the mattress, surrendering to his will. Whatever he might do, whatever he might demand of you, you will give in. That is your duty. 

He purrs as his own body relaxes, "I only wish to feel you, little maid. My soul needs yours close." He closes his eyes and bows his head to rest against yours. You shut your eyes once more but know you will not rest.  

You are afraid. You are terrified. All your life you've served but this is more than you've ever been asked. The peril is all yours. A king would never face the same atonement as a maid. 

⚔️

The king enshrines you in his warmth. You examine the white strands of his hair as you lay in his arms. Your gaze wanders further to his rounded muscle, the unmatched strength woven in his body. His statue matches the intangible authority attached to his very being. He is power incarnate. 

You feel smaller as you lay beside him. The night passes, as it will not matter water. Time marches on like the very army that invaded your homeland at the behest of the man now clinging to you. Just a maid. Just a deceiver. 

You turn your eyes past the king's sleeping form. His rumbling snores underline the soft crackle of embers breaking down. You cannot remove the danger buried deep in your chest. Memories only drive it deeper and deeper. 

Your remember when Jazlene was only a girl. You've known her through every year of her life. You've seen her grow from cradle to crown. She might be flawed, she might be selfish and rotten and mean, but she is still that life you watch round the duchess' stomach when you were but yourself a child. She is still a living being. 

There was a time when she did not obsess over jewels and silks and bottle. When you both were just young and naive. When she counted and you hid, then switched places. When you revealed yourself form behind your hands and she giggled in amazement. That time is gone and you only see doom ahead of you. 

You can't lay there any longer. 

You move the king's arm off of you and sit up. You put your back to him and bend over your lap. How you could melt to a puddle like the icy outside those castle walls. How you might wilt away like a flower without shade. 

You do not dare leave the bed. Your emotions cannot overrule the man behind you. You flinch as he quiets and his snoring turns to a long groan. A tickle crawls up your back as he touches you. He pinches the fabric, tugging it as if to get your attention. 

"Are you well, treasure?" He asks with grit in his throat. 

"It is morning," you say, though the shutters block out the day, "shall I fetch you something to break your fast?" 

He sighs and his hand fists the back of your shift. He pulls until you twist to look at him. He props himself on one elbow, holding his head as he looks at you. His expression is not as stony as it usually is. He is not the statuesque king, he is just a man, entirely vulnerable in nothing more than a piece of cloth. 

"I don't want you to be maid this day," he touches your hip, his eyes dipping to watch his hand. "I want to... show you something. I want you to know this land. Once you do, you will know me." 

"As you wish, your highness." 

His brows lower and he pushes himself up, sitting against the pillows, "it doesn't need be. What do you wish, treasure? Tell me and I will grant it?" 

You push up one shoulder, "I wish for nothing. A maid does not..." 

"Not a maid," he insists again, "you, what do you wish?" 

You lower your head and turn back to the chamber, "I would see your land. Show me then what I have not already seen." 

His forceful breath uneases you. He is disappointed, though you say exactly what you should. What he should want. You will heed his desire, he only need declare it. 

"Very well," he jostles the bed as he moves to sit beside you, "you will need to dress warmly. I will have gloves and a hat. Some boots," his arm is snug to yours, " 

"Thank you, your highness," you utter. 

"No, Geralt. My name is Geralt." 

Your chest racks and your shoulders feel as if there are pins stuck in the joint. Your lips part then clamp together. You try to muster your voice but it catches like phlegm. You nearly choke. 

"Will you say it?" He asks gently. 

You turn to glance at him. It feels next to blasphemy. You blink and he reaches to frame your face with his large hand. 

"To hear my name on your lips would me like a sacred melody. Please, treasure, just for me, you can say it," he pleads. 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out in a wisp, "Geralt." 

He smiles and his thumb runs along your chin to your lower lip, "again." 

"Geralt," you say louder and he toys with your lip, his golden eyes narrowing on it, hungering for it as if a starving man looking upon a fine citrus. 

"Again," he commands once more. 

"Ger--" 

You cannot finish is name as he covers your mouth with his. He smothers you in his need, pulling you against him, snaring you in his arms. He brings you over him as he falls onto his back, moaning as he delights in the taste of you, nibbling at your bottom lip. He hums and draws away as you breathless stare down at him. 

"I have never known paradise, not in the hinter or the summer, but I find it here," he growls, "upon my very chest, in my very arms. If only it could be forever." 

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

A comment I see a lot is that Jaskier’s outfits have gotten worse over the seasons, but not when you think about their relation to his character growth. Here’s a look at Jaskier’s outfits across the seasons of The Witcher.

Season one: his outfits change frequently and each is as boldly coloured and extravagant as the next. They’re detailed but also have an air of royalty to their design, with puffed sleeves, high collar, high waistline of the pants, and a slim-fit around the waist.

This is because he’s just starting out as a bard; he is still used to being a viscount, used having money and living in luxury.

Then in season two, we get the Sandpiper outfit, one outfit that is durable and layered so that it can be adjusted to suit different climates. It’s more practical but less detailed which makes it easier for him to blend in with normal people (which benefits his cause). At this point, Jaskier is more established as a bard and now pays for himself or scrounges money and uses it to help people in need, so there’s less fancy clothing or materialistic spending. His vest has a pattern to it that calls back to season one but it’s dull, faded and stained.

But what’s more, his hair is unkempt and his clothes are blood soaked and stained, a visual representation of his mental downfall since the end of season one when he and Geralt had a falling out.

And now, in the previews of season three, his hair is groomed/neat, his clothes are still the Sandpiper outfit but with a floral shirt and a detailed, open-breasted vest that calls back to the patterns and intricacies of his outfits in season one. He’s found a balance between simplicity and the elegance he was used to. He’s more comfortable in himself and has found a balance between who he was (a viscount who knew money and luxury) and who he wanted to be (the Sandpiper; someone who helps others).

Another detail is his collars.

In season one, he wears high collars that cover his chest and neck, suggesting he’s shut off and defensive or uncomfortable in his surroundings.

In season two, his collars stick up but his chest and neck are bare, suggesting he still has his defences up but he’s been laid bare emotionally and psychologically.

Finally, on season three, his collars lay flat, his shirt is unbuttoned and his vest has a wide lapel, suggesting he’s comfortable, open, and isn’t scared of being vulnerable.

That’s just my thoughts on the matter. And while I would love to see Jaskier in outfits like the ones in season one, I also like the other outfits and how they reflect him.

[annmarcus63]

The thing is that nothing is the same, not after Lambert pointed out, in a deeply impolite manner, that Jaskier, despite his best efforts, is Geralt's whore. But no, it couldn't be, could it? They have been together for over eight years now. Yes, they sort of broke up on the mountain but they're back together now, aren't they? 

But the real problem here is not the years but the way Geralt treats their relationship. In fact, Lambert has helped him to open his eyes. 

How he treats Yen and how he treats him.

The truth is that Jaskier has made peace with the fact that he'll always be second best. That Geralt lo... cares for him but not as he cares for her. 

They say that the evil is in the details.

Geralt shows no affection to him outside the bedroom. Geralt is distant, and this has never bothered him, because he always thought that Geralt was like that with everyone else. 

He never touches him, not a pat on the arm, not a caress on the cheek, just like he's doing it now with Yen. Geralt never looks at him like that, with so much fervor and devotion. 

He doesn't even look at him like that in the bedroom, not even when the witcher is fucking into him and whispering how good he feels.

So Jaskier starts an experiment. He won't look for Geralt, he'll just wait and see. 

And oh, how he observes the unspoken words of love that Geralt holds back everytime Yen is nearby. How he'll reach out to her, only to feel her, and the way he leans closer to smell her perfume, lilacs and gooseberries. 

He wonders if Jaskies smells good to him. 

Geralt catches him looking at them, a longing expression on his face surely, and sends him a quizzical look but Jaskier shrugs it off, as if his entire heart wasn't weeping. 

And Jaskier is afraid to ask, first of all, Geralt has never reacted well to Jaskier's serious talks, so... yeah, he's afraid. 

But of course, how could he be anything more than a bed warmer when it took him twelve years to get the witcher's attention. It only took Yen an hour for Geralt to fall head over heels in love with her. 

Days passed and Jaskier stood staring at the ceiling of his bedroom waiting for Geralt, tears trickled down his pillow as he heard him pass towards Yen's room.

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

The White Wolf

Kinktober 2024 - Day 9

Pairing: Insecure!Geralt of Rivia x Healer!Fem!Reader

Kink: Praise Kink

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Jaskier comes to you with a half dead Geralt and you heal him, and maybe your kind nature can see past his rough exterior.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, creampie, slow sex, soft sex, light nipple play), kind!reader, Jaskier's usual self, Jaskier interrupting, Geralt falling in love

a/n: This was my first time writing for Geralt and I hope I did okay writing his personality, and maybe my canon thoughts came out. I hope you all enjoy!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

The door to your shop banged open and a Bard carried a silver haired man covered in blood over his shoulder. You immediately stood up to look at the two men as they entered. The Bard dropped the large man onto the cot in your office. 

“Help him! He’s about to die!” The Bard wailed gesturing at the unconscious man on the cot. The man had lacerations on his abdomen, a few cuts on his forehead, and a stab wound on his thigh. “Why are you just standing there?! Help him!” 

You rounded on the Bard, “ Shut up! If you want me to help him, then sit down and let me help him.” You huffed quickly grabbing your shears and slicing his armor off and tossed it away to get a look at his wounds. He had one deep slice on his side, a few flesh wounds, and a deep stab on his thigh. You cut his pant leg off and grabbed a bucket of water and a rag. “This will be a while. Relax, Bard.” You huffed and started working on the silver haired man’s wounds. 

The sun had been down for a few hours when you had finished working on the silver haired man. He was stitched up and wrapped in bandages. You had moved him with the help of the Bard, who was named Jaskier as you learned, to your bed so you could clean the cot. You were changing the sheets and Jaskier was asleep in your office chair, when you heard heavy footsteps coming from the side room. You turned to see the silver haired man standing in only his under cloth pants. It was the first time you had seen his eyes, they were as bright as the sun and filled with apprehension as he looked at you. His silver hair was in loose strands around his face and he limped his way into the front room. 

You gave him a soft smile as you finished smoothing out the cover sheet. “You’re up.” You said with a tinge of surprise, “I didn’t think you would be up for a few days.” You hummed as you went to the barrel of fresh water and fixed him a glass. You grabbed a vial from your cabinets and handed both to the man. 

“Jaskier brought me here.” He said more as a statement than a question, and he took both of the glasses from you. He popped open the vial and drank it down and did the same with the water. You helped him sit on the cot and you sat across from him and checked his vitals and his deeper wounds. You were surprised to see that his less serious wounds had healed up completely, just leaving white scars in their wake. 

“Jaskier informed me of your healing properties but I have to say that I am still surprised.” You hummed as you finished your examination. “You are impressive, Wolf.” 

He locked eyes with you and he looked like he wasn’t believing a thing you were saying, “I’m not impressive.” He said in a gravelly voice, “If you know what I am, then you know the truth.” He huffed at you and stood back up. “Me and Jaskier have to go.” He stated as he looked around for his over clothes. “Where are my clothes?” 

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, “They’re on the line outside drying. They were covered in blood so I had the Bard wash them.” You said as you moved to block his way from leaving. 

“Get out of my way.” He grunted at you. 

“No. You came into my office half dead, almost 12 hours ago. You will stay here till you can walk straight.” You huffed and tugged him down onto the cot. “When it’s morning, I’ll have the Bard go out for food and supplies. You will try to rest or I’ll tie you to the damn bed.” You sighed and had him lay on the cot. “Understand?” 

He let out a deep sigh, “Fine. I’ll rest.”

Early morning peaked through the curtains as you sent Jaskier off to town on your horse. You handed him some money and a list of things to get while in town. To be honest, you just wanted him out of the house cause he sang everything and if he didn’t leave you would’ve killed him. Geralt woke up and you redid his dressings and made sure his wounds were healing properly. 

You sat in your desk chair and wrote in your journal about the previous day. Geralt stared aimlessly out the window as he messed with the sheets. You closed your journal and walked over to the cot with a vial of healing medication. “Here.” You said as you handed him the vial. 

“I don’t need it, I’m good.” He said and pushed the bottle away. “I should be ready to get back on the road when Jaskier gets back.” 

You sighed and pulled the vial away, “Okay.” You sighed and set the bottle to the side. You locked eyes with him and he reached up gently to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and back up to his bright eyes. “I’ve heard your stories, Wolf. My mother used to tell me about them. The Witcher who saved people. The White Wolf. The White Knight.” You whispered softly to him and took his hand with both of your hands. “You are not a monster, Wolf. You are a protector.” 

He looked at you with a softness in his eyes and he leaned down and captured your lips in his. You were surprised by his kiss but you slowly melted into his kiss. He gently cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer to him. You gently ran your fingers through his hair and he pulled you into his lap, as his hands moved to your hips. You pulled away to look at his face, his eyes were full of lust, his hair a mess, strands falling in front of his face, and his lips puffy from the kiss. 

“You’re beautiful, Geralt.” You whispered softly to him as you cupped his cheek softly. He closed his eyes and nuzzled into your palm as a light blush spread across his cheeks. 

He held you close to his chest and brought you back into a kiss. He kissed you deeply before laying you down on the cot gently, he hovered over you, taking in your body laid out for him. “You’re beautiful.” He whispered before leaning down and kissing your lips then moving to your neck. He kissed your skin gently as he pulled off your overclothes then your undergarments. 

He groaned softly as your breasts were revealed to him, your nipples hardening in the cool air of the room. He kissed down to your peaks and placed soft kisses to your breasts. He playfully nipped on your sensitive nipples making you gasp softly and arch into his warm mouth. He squeezed and rubbed your hips gently as his mouth took its time teasing your sensitive breasts. He held you close to him as he left marks on your body as his hands ripped your panties off of your body and tossed them away. His warm hand cupped your mound softly and rubbed your clit slowly, making your body jolt with pleasure. 

You cupped his face gently and pulled him up to your face, “Want you, Geralt. All of you.” You whispered to him as you hitched your leg up over his hip. He groaned softly and kissed your lips passionately before pulling off his undergarment and revealing his thick and hard cock to you. He had to be at least eight inches and two inches thick, the hair at the base of his cock was the same color of the hair on his head, his tip was weeping pre-cum, and your mouth watered at the sight. “You’re so pretty, Wolf.” You purred and kissed him deeper. He flushed at the comment and he lined his cock up to your pulsing hole. 

You whined softly and bit his lip as he slid his tip into your wet channel. Your back arched as he slid further into you, “You’re tight, love. And so fucking wet.” He grunted as your walls squeezed him tight. His arms wrapped around your back and held you flush against his chest as he started moving in and out of you in slow and languid strokes, that had your toes curling. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Jaskier exclaimed as he burst through the door with a large satchel on his shoulder. He paused taking in the scene in front of him, Geralt naked with you pressed against him, and Geralt looking like he could kill. 

“Bard! Get the fuck out!” Geralt shouted furiously at Jaskier and the Bard was quick to rush out of the house and shut the door behind him. Geralt huffed and dropped his head down onto your chest. 

You tried to suppress it but you fell into a burst of giggles making Geralt look at you funny. “He’s got timing, right?” You giggled as you ran your fingers through his hair gently. 

“You have no idea.” He huffed before starting his thrusts again making your giggle turn into a loud moan. 

“Didn’t turn you off too much.” You smirked as he continued to thrust into you with slow strokes. Your moans grew louder and your toes curled at the pleasure he was giving you. You clawed at his back as his thrusts turned sloppy, making your walls clench and pulse as your orgasm washed over you. You cried out his name as your nails dug into his shoulders hard. “Fuck! So fucking good, Geralt. So good!” You whined and arched against his chest as he thrusted deep into you. 

He grunted and came deep inside of you, “Good girl. You feel so good. Beautiful girl.” He murmured as he filled you up with his seed and he nuzzled into your neck, riding out his aftershocks with short thrusts. He rolled over to his back with you still on his chest and he rubbed your back as you laid on his chest. You traced his scars softly as he held you. 

“We may have to let the Bard in at some point.” You sighed as you drew mindless shapes on his skin. 

He shrugged, “He’s fine. The barn’s out there. He has shelter.” He said making you fall into another fit of giggles.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Be Still, Be Soft (Male!Reader x Geralt of Rivia)

@jayfeather965 Follow up on touch starved Geralt. Setting: deep winter at Kaer Morhen. Geralt is sitting in his bf’s lap. With bf’s legs around his torso so that Geralt can rest his head on his bf’s chest. And bf starts to give Geralt a neck rub. (I’m completely sure that Geralt doesn’t know what a neck rub is)

Not many people realize just how studious Geralt is.

Though perhaps this is less due to preconception, and more due to simply never getting to see him with a book in hand.

But the man is not only educated, but tends to enjoy learning information. He's a reader when he can get his hands on a book.

Currently he's studying up on Vesemir's most current edition of the bestiary he's been working on.

Geralt only really relaxes in these deep winter days, when it's a struggle even to leave Kaer Morhen for the courtyard.

The keep is well-heated, but Geralt always suggests that you huddle together for warmth because even now, even after he has told you he loves you and admitted to his brother witchers that you are his, he needs an excuse to hold you close.

You sit on the bed, patting the space between your legs, as you grab one of the books Eskel had brought for you from the Path.

Geralt gingerly sits cross-legged between your legs, awkward and stiff, and you chuckle.

"Lean back."

"I'm heavy."

"Oh? I never noticed." You roll your eyes. He scoffs and slowly leans back, his head on your chest, his broad shoulders against your stomach.

He shifts slightly, ensuring you're comfortable and his weight isn't settled on you uncomfortably, and you gently wrap your legs around him, allowing him to sort of tuck your thighs under his arms.

"Nice?" you ask.

He gives a sound partway between a hum and a growl. Definitely not a purr, not at all.

You both read for a while, before you just can't help but smile at how relaxed Geralt feels against you.

His back is literally to you, and there is no sign of tension.

"Geralt?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you ever had a neck rub?"

He pauses. "A what?"

"You know... where I rub your neck."

Geralt snorts. "Yeah, I sort of figured that part out. Is this... something people do?"

"Yes. Like a massage, but... informal?"

"I see. I suppose... that might be... nice."

You grin and gently reach around Geralt's shoulders to unlace his shirt.

Geralt tries to continue reading, but you can feel him shudder.

You gently push the neck of his shirt aside and slowly begin to rub his neck and shoulders.

Geralt has started to make those low groans of enjoyment, and you start to increase the pressure a little.

Vesemir's bestiary flutters to the ground, as Geralt lets out a sound greatly resembling a moan.

"Can I take out your hair tie?"

"Yes." Geralt almost snaps, eyes shut. His body seems unsure how to process what he's feeling - it's almost hilarious.

You expand his neck rub to a shoulder rub and scalp massage, and Geralt just falls completely limp, relaxed and not resisting at all. His head is completely against your chest, making it somewhat hard to continue.

"I love you so much, Geralt." You smile softly, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

"Hnnnnnnniluvyoo." Geralt slurs his words, just utterly relaxed.

You laugh this time, and lean back, safe and secure with your Witcher.

Brought low by a simple neck rub.

[renren-006]

Sleepovers | Geralt x Fem Reader

plot: geralt finaly came home to you again

tags: fluff, soft, love

word count: 513

a/n: hey guys, just a short little story for you guys!!

Sleeping next to Geralt was not only a luxury but also something that calmed you. He took up most of the bed but you were more than happy to snuggle into bed with him, be allowed as little space next to him if it meant being with him. He would come home to you when he could, meaning every few weeks his bed would thumbs down on the stoop and he would open the door to find you already rushing down the stairs to him, a grin plastered on your face. He loved seeing your smile when that door opened, and he loved when you would leap over the threshold of the door into his arms, not caring how smelly or how covered in dirt he was. 

Those nights and days of him being home you always savored, but you more so welcomed the crumbed bed with him. You welcomed the heat besides you, the unknowing need he had for you, and you welcomed the sleepless nights next to him. 

“Darling, are you going to stare at me all night?” he asked you, causing your hands to falter from tracing his face in his sleep, although turns out he wasn't asleep. He peeked one eye open at you causing you to smile. “How often do you watch me sleep”

“Every night your back home with me” you told him, laying down eye to eye with the man you loved

“Every night” he smiled. 

“Every night, till the sun peeks through the curtains' ' you told him, glancing over him towards the window. It showed the landscape outside, the winding hills and the towns lights dancing between them. You lived just on the outskirts, just far enough away that you two had your own space. You wanted to live here, in this place with vast plains and hills and no demons or other creatures for Geralt to worry about when he left. This was the one place in the world that had proven to be safe for thousands of years. It was rumored that tree sports or feries blessed the lands and made them safe for special humans to live here, and that has been true. Everyone that found and created a home here had some form of gift, Geralt and his abilities and you…and your way with animals. Roach made it very well known how much he preferred you over his companion. Geralt refused to listen whenever you would cast the bond to him so he could hear the horse talk. Roach, now in the little barn next to your house, was sound asleep after the long journey back. 

“Tell me where you have traveled to this time?” you asked him, wanting to fall asleep to his stories. 

“Bedtime story my darling?” he asked you, knowing for the years the two of you had been married that you enjoyed every story he told you, and every sleepover you two had since you were teenagers. 

“Always” you said sleepily, snuggling into him so he could talk in your ear about the world beyond the valley. 

[jessilynallendilla]

HOME POST

FAE/CREATURE/NON HUMAN JASKIER  

I Am The Wild  T   

Years ago, Geralt meets a little boy befriending a monster. Years later, Geralt meets a bard. There's something familiar in the way he tries to keep Geralt from killing monsters. "Real monsters are human", he'd always say.  

The Shapes Of Us  T 33,142 SERIES  

Jaskier was a shapeshifter. It was as simple as that. Except for nothing was ever simple with him. Especially not since that white haired man had rescued him. Protected him. Healed him. Saved him. What other option did he have but to try and return the favor?  

We Can Do Good, Together  M 8,391  

Geralt had heard rumors of it before he'd been approached by Yennefer and asked, "How much?“  

He stared at her, unimpressed, "How much to do what?"  

"Don't play coy," she replied, "You know just as well as I do that there's been something wrecking havoc across the Continent."  

Hidden By The Forest  M 15,496 SERIES  

“Geralt, please, I... can... let me explain, please...” Jaskier’s voice wavers and he takes another step back. Geralt strengthens his grip on the blood-soaked sword still in his hand and glares at Jaskier. At who he thought was Jaskier but is clearly something else.   

Salt And Ash, Iron And Bone  EX 47402  

After Geralt’s death, Jaskier returns to the fae realm, unable to live in the human world without the witcher he loved. When he’s attacked and nearly killed eight centuries later, Jaskier flees back to the human world, where he finds himself face-to-face with Geralt. This Geralt is a redheaded, freckled human with no memory of his life as a witcher or of Jaskier. But as Jaskier gets to know his oldest friend all over again— and starts to fall in love with him all over again— a mysterious enemy threatens both their lives.  

The Red Prince  EX 72,058 SERIES  

Jaskier has lived many lives over the span of humanity's existence, and yet he's still fascinated by them. But when he catches word of Witchers, he has to know more. He follows them, befriends them whenever possible, and saves their lives. They know him as The Red Prince. Bloody-handed and handsome. Some kind of patron saint of Witchers. A legend. A fairy story. The same story Vesemir once told a young Geralt the night before his Trials. And many years later, Jaskier meets a gruff, white haired Witcher known as the Butcher. But the man is no murderer. He's interested. Smitten, even. So he follows the White Wolf on adventure, expecting that at some point he'll have to revive the legend of The Red Prince. Because Witchers get wounded. They die. He won't let that happen to Geralt. Not so long as he can retie the strings of Fate.  

Try, Please Try For Me  EX 131,979 SERIES  

Jaskier was part fae. A quarter to be precise. There was an old superstition among humans that names held power, but for fae it was so much more than that. Names meant control. If you knew a fae’s name, their true name, they would be completely at your will. If someone knew your true name you were nothing more than their servant. A slave. All it took was a single command. When war breaks out between neighboring kingdoms, Jaskier's father uses his true name and commands him to marry a witcher as part of a peace treaty. Neither Jaskier or Geralt are particularly happy with the arrangement. But as Jaskier gets to know him better he realizes that the witcher might just be able to give him the thing he's always craved. Freedom.  

Fair Folk, Or: The Difference Between Honey And Destiny Is That One Of Them Is Sweet  T 35,322 SERIES  

wherein everything is the same, except when it isn’t.  

So Can We Pretend, Sweetly  T 2,131  

Jaskier is a regular human bard, and Geralt could swear that yesterday he’d had regular human teeth. They’re just a little bit too long for his mouth, now- too white, too sharp. A predator’s. Jaskier clicks them together, experimentally, and winces when he bites his tongue. “Fuck anyone you weren’t supposed to?”   

“I don’t fuck anyone I’m supposed to,” Jaskier says, a little proudly.  

Drawing Our Destinies In Closer  T 649 SERIES  

Jaskier encounters a dangerous killer. 

Wróżka  G 2,600  

jaskier has a secret, and geralt is trying to find the clues to figure out what it is.  

When We Bloom (And We Will)  T 12,132 SERIES  

a fic in which geralt acquires a baby, jaskier saves the life of said baby, and ciri insists that she has a new sister until it becomes true.  

In Your Arms, I Am A Wild Creature  T   

A different version of Geralt and Jaskier meet; Geralt is still a witcher— it’s Jaskier who’s different.  

Fae Jaskier  G 964  

This was a request, but it's one of my favorite things I've written so I posted it separate of my ask collection.  

Pray All Ye Meet Are The Gentle Fae  EX 11,631 SERIES  

“It was remarkably foolish of you, witcher,” Jaskier drawled, his glamour gone and the picture of his inhumanity complete. “Stumbling into my clearing like this.” Or: Geralt and Jaskier take a night off to have some fun. Less fun? They're overheard. If only their dirty talk didn't sound so...incriminating.  

A Deal Which Cannot Be Refused  T  

Jaskier got into trouble a lot, that was normal. But not until he was too late to help Jaskier did Geralt ever realise that Jaskier was perfectly capable of solving his own issues. He has the ability to turn a whole argument on its head, unfailingly coming out the victor with a smile on his face, and the slightly burnt scent of pure magic in the air. Every time Geralt asked how exactly he got himself out of some new impossible situation Jaskier had just smiled and offered a well crafted but purposefully vague answer. Usually relating to a deal of some form, or a favour that Geralt didn’t really know if he wanted to know any more details of. Or - Jaskier isn’t quite human, Geralt can tell that much. What he can’t figure out is exactly what Jaskier is.  

Featuring misunderstandings, very confused and slightly oblivious Geralt, morally grey and at times ominously terrifying Jaskier and some healthy doses of angst.  

The Weight Of Life  M 25,855  

A few years after the unfortunate adventure with the dragon hunt, Geralt accidentally runs into Jaskier in the exactly same tavern, where the said adventure began. Maybe it wouldn't be that surprising (we are talking about the travelling bard after all), if Jaskier didn't look and behave so strange. How else can you describe approaching the witcher without making any indication to what has happened on the top of a certain mountain and simply paying him for killing a monster?  

Long Live The King  EX 47,450 SERIES  

Geralt placed the crown on his head before kneeling at his side, and the weight of it felt heavy on Jaskier’s brow. Jaskier’s path to becoming king, takes place five years after the fall of Cintra.  

He Fell Into A Faerie Ring  EX SERIES  

Traders are a gossiping sort. If there was a scandal within the noble houses of Posada, you’d hear about it in Cretegor by the end of the week. So, the quick spread of a rumor about a little village in the Kestrel Mountain range was not at all surprising. What was surprising was the story that the traders wove. They said that Luibhtorrach, a sad, ghost of a farming town, had miraculously become a hub for trade, as if overnight. Their lands unbelievably fertile and brimming with crop. Even stranger, each and every one of Luibhtorrach’s people professed that their good fortune was the work of a mysterious beast they’d claimed as their personal deity. Most recent news foretold of their plans to throw a midsummer festival celebrating this newfound god. In preparation, silken blue banners were erected in every corner of the town, each bearing the symbol of their new patron: A delicate dandelion wrapping around a golden sun.- Or -Jaskier accidentally becomes the god of a village he stumbled upon after Geralt’s post-dragon hunt meltdown. Maybe it had something to do with his new look.  

Honey, Where Do You Think I Came From?  M  

It was little things at first. A glare on his face, narrowed eyes and frowning lips, or a comment a touch more cutting than it needed to be. All explained away with simple enough rational: a bad day, lack of sleep. No reason to suspect what truly lay beneath. Looking back, the signs were there. But he didn’t look for what they meant. What the whispered sweet nothings shared in a corner but never taken to a bedroom meant. What the cutting glances and sharp words at an annoying lord meant. What the lack of a dagger tucked away in a boot meant In the beginning, well, he was a simple bard really. Talented, yes, but simple. And that was all.  

A Crown Of Crows  M  

There's something about Jaskier that Geralt can't place. It isn't the bard’s boldness in waltzing up to him, or how he seems strangely unswayed by the witcher's cold front, or even the way he glues himself to Geralt’s side. Jaskier makes Geralt's medallion quiver and tug at its chain any time they touch. Could be that lute of his is enchanted. But Geralt has a funny feeling Jaskier’s hiding something behind that warmhearted smile he finds himself so spellbound by.  

Rues And Bees  G  

Geralt is sick and tired of standing in front of his oak cottage door and peeking through the peep hole as Yennefer stands on the other side, beckoning Geralt to, "Open the door and let me in. It's cold out here," and replying, "You're not Yennefer, she's in the other room, sleeping. I can hear her snoring." So naturally, he does the next big thing: he falls in love with the doppler.  

Through A Field Of Poppies  T 1,060  

Jaskier dies in autumn. Geralt lays him to rest at the edge of a birch grove overlooking a flood plain on the northern banks of the Pontar. He remembers the place, now gilded in the afternoon sun by wayward wheat having made its way to the rich river soil, where his bard had once pressed a ring into his palm (“How about this,” he’d said. “You keep this near and I’ll know you still want me at your side.” And Geralt had closed his fingers around it thinking he’d take ten thousand golden trinkets just to be gifted with that smile) and he knows that come spring it’ll be a meadow thick with wildflowers. The next time he sees Jaskier, he reaches for silver.  

I Want To Know You  T 2,980  

Four questions that they ask each other over the years they spend together. Jaskier herded him to a table when their drinks were on their hands, talking more nonsense and pulling out of the Witcher the information of the monster he was after. The human seemed to take a weird interest in what Geralt did for a living considering his species who preferred to have the whole continent between them and one of Geralt's kind.  

Sunk But Sinking  NR  

He wakes up with a tightness in his chest, the reason for it revealed as soon as he opens his eyes. It’s not light yet, not exactly, but the fire is long gone and the cold had enough time to settle in his bones. He’s aching more than most mornings, but maybe it’s just the weather’s fault. Jaskier grunts and pushes Geralt’s hand off his chest, the unreasonable panic not quite evaporating from him at the same speed as the details of his nightmare.  

He Sleeps In His Bed (While He Plays Pretend)  M 34,049  

When Yennefer leaves him, Geralt comes back to Jaskier, heart in his hand, anger, hurt, and heartbreak bleeding from it. Geralt grieves his love life with his eyes closed, his body bare and fucking into his bard, Yennefer's name on his lips. On the other hand, as months pass, Geralt's begins to fall in love with Jaskier himself, leaving a huge misunderstanding his wake.  

Ensnared  EX 32,014  

Geralt is hired to hunt a creature that has been terrorising the local hunters and traders of Belhaven. He heads into Caed Myrkvid and finds more than he bargained for  

This Isn't The Beginning Of A Joke, This Is The Beginning Of A Love Song...  EX  

Jaskier sings Renfri and Yennefer to life and doesn't think enough about the effect it could have on two powerful women. And the effect it could have on him. After all; he's the first music note ever heard, not a fertility god.And everybody knows Witchers are made, not born.  

No No, Not I  T  

Geralt meats Fae!Jaskier due to a slight misunderstanding (or maybe its destiny messing with them?) and when Jaskier hurts his wing they are kind of stuck together for a while. It’s a journey that not only brings them in more and more danger and to unknown magical places but it also brings them closer together, if they want to admit it or not. The Fae is annoying Geralt to no end but he can’t just let him die, can he? Jaskier saw the jagged edge of the stone a fraction of a second too late and he couldn't stop himself from stepping on it with his bare feet. He hissed in pain, baring his fangs. “Wait, damn it,” a deep voice behind him demanded but he would not obey. He wouldn't dream of obeying the command of a monster that wanted to kill him.  

Namesake Retrograde  EX  

'Fifty years of meticulously crafted lies become dust in the wind before Jaskier can realize what's happening. Distantly, he thinks he hears the tonal crack of shattering crystal, before his mouth rushes with hot saliva and bottom drops out from his stomach.' Jaskier's glamour is obliterated. It goes worse than expected.  

Welcome, Oh Summer Love  G 2,390 SERIES  

After leaving Geralt and making a home in a fairy circle somewhere deep in a forgotten wood, Jaskier learns to move on. He makes a home in that stone ring, detached from the world and his worries. That is, until Geralt stumbles into his ring looking haggard and weary, trailing a lost princess behind him. Should Jaskier stay silent in his tree, let them pass by him as he rests? Will he finally face the love he'd run away from? 

With Romantic Intent  M 8,934 SERIES  

Jaskier decides that it's finally time to start courting Geralt. He just needs to make it obvious enough that the silly man will take the hint — and, in the process, figure out that he was never quite as human as Geralt thought.  

Of Music And Motion And Love  T 12,412 SERIES  

When Jaskier was four, he slipped his mother’s watch and went to the field to gather a bouquet of dandelions. He climbed back into the yard, as stealthy as a child really cared to be, and crept over to the barn. In the barn, lived a secret. (The man he thought his father said the secret was a monster, a plague. His mother said the secret was his sister.) OR Jaskier comes from a far humbler background, and would really like to know why Yennefer never came back for her youngest brother.  

I Come Round Back To You  M 15,567  

He is fifty and there is a man in the corner of a tavern in Posada who hasn’t moved save for the rise and fall of his tankard to his sculpted lips. Julian knows what he is before he knows to know. He should have started chasing monsters sooner.  

Where We Belong  T  

Geralt had many uses for the parasite living inside him. Jaskier could heal bones and regenerate a limbs like it was nothing, could eat the heads of monsters faster than a Witcher could draw his sword; even help Geralt breathe underwater if they so wished. Jaskier was a blessing in disguise if one forgone the constant hunger that came with hosting them. It was not, however, nearly enough to have to sit through the twice-damned singing and chatter inside his fucking skull.  

There's Magic In A Bard's Song (O Lei O Lai O Lei O Lord)  T   

There’s something different about the way the bard sings. There is something underlying his voice, his music. It bothers Geralt.  

As Daylight Dies  T  

The Witcher keeps to himself, gaze downcast, gloved hand extended to his tankard to keep within his lips' reach.  

"Are the stories true?"  

"Depends." The voice that comes from under the hood is deep, a wolf's growl and grunt. The White Wolf, an apt name for the man. A different, darker meeting between Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier. It's going to get darker.  

Once Written In The Stars  EX  

When Geralt accidentally trespasses on a fae forest, only the unexpected kindness of one of the forest's inhabitants saves him. Unfortunately, it also leaves him saddled with a travel companion who has never really met a human, let alone thought about how to play at being one. It goes about as well as you'd think.  

Will You Be Coming Home?  M 52,104  

At fifteen, Julian hires a bodyguard and runs away. At twenty, he's quite happy. At twenty-five, he's fucked.  

(Don't Ask Me) To Follow Where You Lead  M  

Bitter irony that Jaskier had fallen for him despite knowing that his freedom was linked to Geralt wanting him gone deep down more than he wanted him to stay – if Jaskier ever got what his heart yearned for, he'd lose even more than Geralt's affections in the same breath. In that sense, Geralt's words on top of that mountain were a blessing, for all that Jaskier did not at all agree with being blamed for things that were in no way his fault. For someone who had held someone else's fate in his hands for almost all of the years he had walked this earth, Geralt was surprisingly scared of destiny and way too concerned with running from it in vain. Jaskier could and actually had sung several songs about how escaping destiny was impossible – her cruel claws would sink into you one way or another, running from it was nothing but a waste of breath. 

Honey, Bread and Summer Flowers  G 910  

Geralt and Jaskier meet at a crossroads. Neither is what he seems.  

Can’t You See I’m Unholy?  T 1,006 SERIES  

Jaskier was dead. Oddly enough, that’s the part he could handle. The part he couldn’t handle, the part that he’s never been able to handle, is the aftermath. The rebirth. -In which Jaskier is a demon that can’t ever fully die and Geralt is witness to his resurrection.  

Upon The Waking Of The Spring  T 2,074 SERIES  

When Spring comes along, and brings with it new life, Jaskier finds the man with white hair asleep on a bed of violets. And, though they’re not meant to meddle with the Fates of humans, Jaskier just can not resist.  

Like Real People Do  T 3,989 SERIES  

“Are you hiring me, girl?”  

After a beat of silence, the two staring at each other, she stands tall and scoops the coin into her apron pocket and shakes her head. “No, Witcher, I don’t believe I am. Just thought you should know is all.”  

He sighs out a breath through his nose, looking away. He grips the mug still in his hand a bit stronger and brings it to his lips.  

“It’s the wood near your professor is why I thought you should know.”  

Not Quite Right  M   

The meat suit ages around him. He can feel it grow every passing year, stretching and contorting over a too-big entity. The original soul died far before it was born into this world. It allowed him to step in and takes its place. His brethren are like vines that choke out trees, retaining their shape even as the mighty oaks or pines wither and die beneath them. He is like a weed with a lovely flower atop it. Mistaken for something meant for a bouquet, but even when identified, still plucked for flower crowns or innocent gifts. He calls himself Jaskier.  

The God Of Scraped Knees.  M 8,342 

Jaskier’s been pretending to be human for so long now that he hardly remembers what it feels like to be a sorcerer. He doesn’t want to remember what it feels like to be a sorcerer. But people still murmur his name with reverence in certain dim halls; Dandelion, Dandelion, destroyer of worlds.    

Blue And Yellow, Blue And Gold  T 4,292  

There is a blue-eyed boy living in Geralt's shadow.  

Fallen For A Lie  T 6,995  

It was a long time before Geralt suspected anything. Geralt had been trained to notice such things at Kaer Morhen, and had gone years, decades even, without missing something as large as this. He could hear Vesemir shouting now at Geralt’s blindness, unexplainable aside from the locked away knowledge that this had escaped his attentions because he liked the way Jaskier chattered at him, the coin he brought in from his little tunes, liked him. Any bizarre incident that arose was brushed aside in favor of Jaskier’s easy company. And there had been many incidents.  

What's Mine Is Yours  T 7,506 SERIES  

Jaskier had always had a set of lungs to rival the North wind. By the time he was old enough to put words to his wailing, his poor mother’s head was grey and her heart torn by the babe who had never once stopped crying. There wasn’t a healer or witch she took him to who didn’t say the same thing: there was nothing to fix. They could treat a bruise, bandage the reflections of another’s injuries that sometimes echoed onto his skin, but there was no curing pain that wasn’t his.  

Edge Of Nowhere  T 1,361 SERIES  

Jaskier needed no introduction to Geralt of Rivia, not when he knows who this Witcher is on sight. On the other hand, this is his opportunity to make a new and different name for himself, a guise within a disguise, and perhaps fame that'll hide the secrets that he keeps.  

Wolf & Songbird  T  

“Do I not warm you when it’s cold?” asks Geralt. “Feed you when you’re hungry, carry you when you’ve had too much too drink?”  

“Well,” says Jaskier. He gulps. “But you never said anything.”  

They may be destined to meet in every universe, but they always stay together by choice. 

And The Seasons, They Go Round And Round  T 2,938  

Taking hold of his emotions enough so he won’t begin shouting, Geralt stands before Jaskier, arms crossed protectively around his beating heart. “What are you?” he growls.  

With a heavy sigh, Jaskier leans on his elbows and peers up at Geralt. “Do you know the story of the seasons Geralt?” Jaskier inquires.  

In which Jaskier isn't all he appears and his rivalry with Valdo Marx is a bit more complicated than Geralt realized. 

Dear Fellow Traveler  EX 39,567  

Geralt had a rule: he refused to accept anything but coin for his work, no matter what was being offered to him. So when a man offered him a creature by the name of Jaskier, he elected to say no. After several incidents left the two no choice but to become traveling companions when they are forced to go on the run, things begin to change between the pair as they struggle to find a way for Jaskier to return to his home. 

The Man From Oxenfurt  M  

Jaskier is an assassin from the school of Oxenfurt, assigned a target with no name, picture, or any information besides the target's species (witcher) and the fact that he trained under Vesemir. His luck changes when he meets another witcher from the same school in a tavern in Posada, and he vows that he'll build a life with Geralt with the money from this last assignment. If only it could be that easy. 

Granted  EX 12,314 SERIES  

Jaskier feels it the moment the words leave Geralt’s lips. A rush of energy flooding from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. ‘Oh no,’ he thinks. The magic spills from him like wine from a glass and before he can grab it, it’s done. He’s bound. Geralt’s wish has been granted.  

Lord Of The Forest  NR 7,521 SERIES  

Jaskier is not human, he is Lord of the Forest, and post season 1 episode 6, he returns to his natural form to wreak vengeance on Geralt.   

Pathway To Your Lips  EX 5,5145 

Geralt meets with Lord Pankratz about a monster in the forest of his duchy. In the process, he meets Jaskier, the Lord's son who is always dressed in a most extravagant manner. Amidst chaos at the dinner time and troubling thoughts, Geralt gears up to fight the monster he has been hired to kill.  

Into The Woods  G 1,318  

Geralt gets lost in the woods. But there's someone -- or something -- else following him.  

Like Real People Do  G 55,687  

A twilight that refuses to wane, the lingering scent of clean, bitter dandelion milk, and a strange man buried deep in the soil of a peaceful bog. Or, Geralt finds a traveling companion in the strangest of places.  

Muse Of White And Gold  G 1,573 SERIES  

It’s been a week and the person is still following him. What’s more, they haven’t attacked yet. Geralt isn’t quite sure what to do with this. OR Jaskier sees Geralt slay a beast and is instantly drawn to the stunning man of white and gold.  

Play Out A Spell In Your Sequence Of Chords (To Inspire And Sharpen Our Rusted Swords)  T 10,813 

Geralt cocked his head to the side curiously to regard the chittering fox caught in the hunter's trap. The beast had deep chestnut fur and eerily bright blue eyes. He knelt, and the creature hissed at him, baring his teeth in fear.  

"I mean you no harm," he rumbled, hands palm-up. His swords were at his campsite, regardless. He reached forward slowly, and the fox didn't move, though it's teeth remained bared. It was a simple matter to pry open the trap, and the fox leapt away, chattering its teeth at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, amber to fantastical blue, and the fox dashed off.  

Sighing faintly, hands resting on his knees, Geralt bowed his head tiredly. He rolled his neck to crack it, and rose to his feet to shuffle his way back to his camp.  

Set out neatly next to his bedroll were three cleanly gutted rabbits, and Geralt paused in surprise. Roach whinnied softly, and stamped a hoof. A crown of golden wheat rested primly between her ears.  

Ah. Fae, then. Services paid for services rendered. Hopefully the fae would consider them even, now, but something in him doubted it.  

Left Alone  T 7,026  

There's almost something between them, Jaskier can see it. An almost relationship. Almost love. That's why the sight of Geralt and Yennefer shatters his heart, leaving him broken and alone and in pain. And well, all there's left to do is go home.  

While Jaskier reunites with his siblings and remembers what's it like to hold his blades, Geralt looks for a way to break what the djin made. And well, Destiny wants them together so, in the end, they always come back to each other.  

Farewell Wanderlust  T 1,124  

After being left on the mountain, fae!jaskier goes dark. Geralt is contracted to take out the dark fae tormenting the village, unbeknownst to him that it is his old friend.  

Of Home And Gentle Hands  G 1,582 SERIES  

It’s been almost a year since Jaskier started travelling with Geralt, and he still can’t believe his luck. Geralt is having trouble understanding the way he’s feeling. Meanwhile, Yennefer shows up with a job offer. Travelling with Geralt, Jaskier decides, is far better when he’s allowed to walk next to him rather than stuck to following him from a distance. From this close, he’s able to see different things, things he never noticed from afar.  

Normal Human? Never Heard Of Him.  EX 6,955  

Three times Jaskier acts suspicious and one time Geralt gets his mind blown.  

What Is A Monster?  G 996 SERIES  

“You’re not a monster.”  

Geralt sighs, and puts his sword away. Kissing Jaskier’s head, he wants to say a million things, I’m not a monster to you, you make me feel normal, I love that’s how you see me but reality is different, I love you, but he understands that what would make Jaskier feel better is none of that. What he wants, needs, is far simpler, “I know.”  

Welcome To The Storm, I Am Thunder  EX 4,239  

They've barely left the tavern in Posada before Geralt has made up his mind about Jaskier. He's annoying and persistent, has zero sense of self-preservation, talks too much and is, first and foremost, painfully, vulnerably human. The next few weeks prove almost all of those things to be true—all but one.  

Look What You've Done To Me  M   

Jaskier can't ignore who he really is, and Geralt's not sure he can either.  

A Rose, But Only One  T SERIES  

A retelling of the ballad Tam Lin wherein Jaskier is Tam Lin.  

Witness Me, Old Man, I Am The Wild  T 1,787 SERIES  

Jaskier always asks to stop whenever they reach meadows, to cut as many flowers as he can manage. He usually aims for white heather and feverfew, and Geralt usually ends up with some threaded through his hair. He assumes at first it’s just Jaskier’s restless fingers and part of his campaign to change Geralt’s image. It takes him nearly three years, and a fight with a higher vampire, to realise there's more to it than that.  

Surprises Surprises  T 2,832 SERIES  

Yennefer isn't sure what's so special about the human bard that the Witcher cares so much, but she intends to find out. They meet again and again and again, and each time she sees more and more. Turns out there are more than a few surprises there  

Changeling Jaskier  T 1,022 SERIES  

Jaskier was far more observant and aware than most people gave him credit for, after all he had grown up among the fae and had gotten himself his freedom. He also knew Geralt better than the witcher thought he did, and he was not above using that knowledge when the man was doing something stupid.  

I’m Lost, I’m Found In You  T 1,190 SERIES  

Meeting Geralt of Rivia had initially been quite the shock. The man offered up his name so easily, thinking nothing of it, and everything in Jaskier’s body screamed mine mine mine. It wasn’t as if he didn’t get first names on a daily basis. But that was from humans, gullible creatures that had forgotten the tales of the fae, the warnings, choosing to live in blissful ignorance. But Geralt was a Witcher. Surely he could smell what Jaskier truly was, if not see through his glamour entirely. And yet…Jaskier felt his instincts awaken and tingle with joy - his mind was begging him to take, use, own this beautiful man with his name. But Jaskier gave up that life long ago.  

I Am Flesh And I Am Bone  T 2,601  

Geralt is pretty sure Jaskier isn’t quite human. He has a list of evidence, really, he does. And it starts with a petty challenge issued by Jaskier one night at a tavern. The list grows from there.  

His Love, Soft And Sweet  G 754 SERIES  

"I'm going to die," he says, voicing the thought aloud. "This is the end of me, dear heart. My final moments, the finale, the fine. Remember me fondly as you continue your journey down the Path—"   

"You're not going to die, Jaskier," Geralt interrupts him with exasperation. "It's a fever, that's all."  

A Wilted Warning  T 1,071 SERIES  

After the initial discussion, Geralt decides it’s best if he explores the woods surrounding the village. There’s only one issue…  

“I told you to stay in the room.”  

“And I told you I’m coming with you. How else am I going to write my songs?”  

OR Jaskier and Geralt search the woods for the culprit. Geralt gets to learn more about Jaskier, even if the bard is acting a bit strange... Well stranger than usual.  

Day By Day  G 1,261 SERIES  

Jaskier has been alive for a long time, has met his fair share of witchers and sorceresses and even Princesses. Some were dumb, some were smart, and some were somewhere in the middle. However, none were so completely dense that they didn't realize he wasn't human by the end of a five-year friendship. He's known Geralt for twenty years. Geralt still hasn't caught on. Now, Jaskier isn't saying Geralt is dumb because the man is obviously very intelligent, but Geralt is…. Well, he's dumb. Jaskier loves him, would sacrifice immortality for him, but his witcher is very stupid.  

The Curse Of The Fae-Child  T  

“I… there’s an estate, half an hour up north,” Jaskier started, avoiding Geralt’s questioning gaze. “It’s not on the map, but there’s a chance they won’t kill us if we ask for shelter. Don’t ask me to elaborate, if I am wrong we’ll simply find somewhere else and forget about it forever.” Forced to go back to his childhood home, Jaskier is soon tasked with some fae nonsense, because fairies do not exist... right?  

A Midwinter's Daydream  G 1,396  

“Either I mistake your shape entirely, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite called Julian Goodfellow?” Her laugh tinkles on the breeze, shrill to his ears. “Are you not sheep-stealer, milk ruiner, or wife stealer? Come sprite, I recognise thine face.” Her pale hand stretches out to pluck a delicate yellow flower from his hair, “or should I call you Jaskier, or sweet puck, and then will you bring me luck?”  

He matches her pitched giggles with a sharp strum of his lute, bowing low in mockery. “Thou speak’st aright! I am that merry wanderer of the night."  

Check Mate, Valdo Marx  T 1,227  

The sanctuary of Kaer Morhen was broken so much sooner than Geralt had hoped. He had a sorceress and three other witchers on his side to fight the whole army of Nilfgaard. All while a bard hid out in the pantry with his child surprise and a dagger in hand with instructions to use it when their last defence had fallen. Except, Jaskier was going to have none of that. He had won this round fair, Valdo was just a sore loser.  

The Voice Beloved By The Trees  NR  

“Why do you not like the forest, mama?” Julian had asked her once, age nine, knees pressed in the mud beside her. His mother sat demurely upon a rich blanket of gold and sky blue—the colors of their house. He remembered, briefly, how her fingers stilled at his question, though careful not to bruise the bud of the flower she was attending.  

“It’s not safe,” His mother had said simply, her blue eyes much too bright. She plucked the scissors up off her white saffron gown and quickly snipped a mature bloom, placing it tenderly in her wicker basket. A basket that was always full of flowers: roses, forget-me-nots, orchids, and the handfuls of dandelions that Julian snuck in—his mother's favorite name for him. For the wild boy with mud on his shins and rumpled riches. Her little Jaskier.  

On The Wings Of Love  EX 5,420 SERIES  

After spending the winter in Kaer Morhen, Geralt and Jaskier get on with their travels again, and Geralt gets to see Jaskier in all of his Fae glory - the good, the bad and the weird. Somewhere along the way they get married, acquire a child and meet a djin. Somehow, they're all good things.  

Wolf's Temper  M  

Geralt never expected himself to be stuck traveling with a werewolf, but when one night of drinking with Jaskier turns into a secret being revealed Geralt realizes what this means for him as a person and as a Witcher. He needs to protect Jaskier at all costs.  

You Don't Have To Hide From Me  T 1,737 SERIES  

Geralt had always known, something was different with Jaskier but he hadn't been able to say what it was until the day they slept together for the firs time  

Curiosity And The Cat  T 2,834  

Jaskier had always been different from everyone else. Odd, loyal, and a touch too curious for his own good. Or Geralt isn't sure what kind of being Jaskier is but one night while hunting a werewolf, his bard's persistence leads to a great deal of trouble.  

Through The Desert  M 3,397 SERIES  

Jaskier is hungry for the world - even before he flirts with the wrong woman and gets turned into a vampire. Jaskier is not a bard anymore, he is a creature. (And witchers kill creatures, don't they?)  

Could Be, Will Be, Maybe?  T 6,445  

“Do you want to hold her?” The princess doesn’t really wait for Jaskier’s answer; simply deposits the little babe into his arms, and Jaskier scrambles to hold her right, sneaking a hand to delicately cradle the head. She’s so small, he thinks to himself a little hysterically, and then, in quick succession, Geralt is going to love her. Or: the story of how Jaskier visits Cintra over the years, and carves lasting bonds with Pavetta, with Ciri - and finds himself as bound to Geralt as if Destiny herself had twined their fates together.  

A Buttercup Plucked From The Side Of The Road  NR  

Alfred Pankratz is barely two years into his professorship when he finds a boy passed out by the side of the road leading to Oxenfurt. A small, adorable child with a buttercup tucked into his hair. Alfred Pankratz is 27 years old and can be described as many things, whimsical, flighty, headstrong but not as father material. He's not fit to be a father, he's not. He'll take Jaskier to the healer and then the orphanage as soon as the healer is done with him. Aforementioned healer raises an amused eyebrow, “You’ve named him?” Fuck he's already named him. Mentally, he rearranges his plans for the next decade or two. By sunset Alfred has already filled out the necessary papers, informed his colleagues, bought new children's clothes and cleared out a room in his quarters. He brushes his new son’s, Jaskier’s, hair out of his sleeping face and sighs a deeply resigned sigh. It will be the first of man  

The Heart Is A Muscle  T 31,045  

The one where Jaskier is fae, Geralt can’t connect the dots to save his life, and, with some help, the pair discover what it means to find your true family.  

Masquerade As The Love Of Your Life  EX 20,667 

“As you know, Nilfgaard is pressuring Kaedwen borders. Our lands are struggling.” Vesemir has his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony. “We have a very promising solution but it’s also our least favourable.”  

The Highest Reward  T 2,240 SERIES  

“What do you want in return?”  

The fae’s smile was anything but reassuring. “Oh, nothing you will miss. Nothing you have ever wanted. I only ask for your first child.”  

His Bard, Eternal  EX 3,678  

Geralt is just about to Kaer Morhen with Ciri when he comes across a village that desperately needs his help. He continues taking Ciri to Kaer Morhen so she is safe before turning back to take the job offer. There, he comes across a familiar bard that he had not seen since the dragon hunt with Borch. Can he make things better? Is Jaskier willing to forgive him? Find out here!  

Make Them Hear You  M 2,514 SERIES  

The first year Jaskier goes to Kaer Morhen, he's struck almost dumb by the pain of the keep, the losses it's seen, and the cries of the land. There's little he can do to help, but what little he can, he will.  

Thomas The Rhymer  T 37,401  

Jaskier, heartbroken and banished from his Witcher's side, finds himself employed by the Fae Queen for seven years. In return for teaching music lessons and performing for guests of the Seelie Court, she promises the bard a longer life, knowledge of the Faerie Tongue, and an escape from the pain that haunts his shattered mortal heart. After seven years of searching the world over for his bard, Geralt stumbles upon a familiar face in a clearing. A man with cornflower blue eyes, wavy brown hair, slightly pointed ears, and absolutely no memory whatsoever of the White Wolf.  

Iron Blood  T   

It’s inevitable that it would’ve happened, sooner or later. He’d imagined that it would be at the hands of some mercenary or a hunter, though. He presses his eyes closed, hissing against the smell of burning flesh as it tears through his throat. In which Jaskier pretends Geralt doesn't know anything, and Geralt tries to court a fae.  

Love/Home/Heart T 34,851

Jaskier remembers his birth. Or rather he remembers his first breaths in this world. A woman, unrelated to him by blood but his mother all the same, pulls him wailing out of the ground. He feels her joy and the stench of old magic in the air, the… the knowledge is gone. Contrary to popular belief, thank you Lambert, Geralt was not stupid. As soon as he’d walked into the Tavern in Posada, he’d known something was different about the bard. After an encounter with a Djinn, Yennefer finds herself with a Fae indebted to her. They keep running into each other.

Fingertip Distance. NR

People didn’t like to touch Geralt unless it was for a purpose. To hand him coin so he could deal with a couple of pesky monsters, to try and best him in a fight, or to lay with him for a night after they’ve been paid. People didn’t like touching Geralt, but Jaskier isn’t people. Jaskier touches him all the time, when he’s drunk and trying to regain his balance, when he’s tired and needs someone to lean on, when he needs Geralt’s attention he will press his fingertips to Geralt’s elbow. And Geralt? He finds himself fixating on those fingertips. Yennefer has warned him, told him that his control wasn’t as good as he thought it was, but as Jaskier stares at him, wide eyed and open mouthed Geralt can only hide his head in shame and blame the summer heat. For all the times Jaskier might have touched him, this is the first time Geralt reciprocated.

Escaped My T 17,005

Jaskier followed Geralts wish, of course he would grant his friends' one final request to leave. Jaskier was done with singing, after all his friend hadn't thought much of it, instead used his silver tongue for other things- much less honourable things. What did it matter Geralt was gone anyway so no one could tell him to stop.

His Name Means Air T 7,062 SERIES

Always too loud and too bright, Jaskier believes that he’s a changeling. He also believes that if Geralt finds out, he’ll kill him.

Out Of The Night That Covers Me EX 37,820 SERIES

Jaskier has begrudgingly agreed to accompany Geralt to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He has not, however, agreed to being up front about his true nature. Meeting the family is stressful enough without the threat of a painful death.

You Wingless Thing M 26,650

So, Geralt saves the terrorizing for the actual noble lord, and makes himself as unthreatening as possible. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t a savage, bloodthirsty beast, and he’d rather this boy not be raised under that falsehood - though, it’s likely no matter what Geralt does that he will.The boy’s voice stutters as he looks up at Geralt, words coming out too fast and heart beating rabbit-fast. “S-sir, Lord Erynd requests your presence.” Geralt gets a contract in a town called Eristan, but it turns out the only monster there is human.

The Price Of Wanting M

He hadn't the imagination to build a human from scratch at the time, when he decided that no other shape would truly suffice, so he acquired one in the grand tradition of his people. He had offered the mortal a trade, as one did, and in return for his aid, he was granted his name: Julian Alfred Pankratz.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 137

Jaskier and Geralt are imprisoned by some sort of foes of Geralt, Jaskier isn't sure. He and Geralt have been a bit rocky recently, to say the least. Jaskier is really only half-lucid. He's only just begun to hear and see, again. His head hurts quite a bit, and he's pretty sure his hands are chained, but he can't move his eyes down far enough to check. Geralt is chained like werewolves in storybooks, to the point Jaskier thinks it's a tad overkill. Geralt is sitting there, looking lovely as ever. His hair is falling into his face, poor darling.. Jaskier wishes he could tuck the strands behind Geralt's little pointy ears.. His eyes are extra reflective in their current dank housing. It's a wonder nobody kidnaps you to a lovely seaside manor. Jaskier would be much more interested in talking to someone in someplace nicer, perhaps with hor d'oeuvres and wine, but no. Instead he's slumped against stone, and the only lights are some torches and candles. There's a man in rather dull robes talking to Geralt. He's quite loud, Jaskier thinks, but he can't tell if it's his head or if the man really is of such volume. He can't quite make out the words, but he can tell they're beginning to make Geralt angry. He's doing that little 'I'm pissy' mouth quirk of his. Jaskier busies himself with dissociating, until the man talking to Geralt is suddenly the man yelling to Geralt. Very loud. Ouch. Jaskier tunes back into his surroundings, and funnily enough, he can begin to understand what they say now! Hooray! "If you won't speak when you're threatened, butcher, what if your greatest love was, instead?" Not hooray. The man dumps a bunch of colored glass onto the floor, making a horrible noise, but Jaskier can't even focus on why the man would be doing that, he's too busy thinking about the threat. Clearly Geralt's greatest love is... Regrettably, Yennefer. No matter how much Jaskier loves Geralt, he knows Yennefer is first in Geralt's book. Jaskier's thought long and hard about it before. He supposes it makes sense, they're both immortal, she's gorgeous, she's a woman, she's even snippy like Geralt. Sometimes he wonders if he was born a woman if Geralt would've fallen in love with him. Perhaps not. Perhaps he'd still be seen as his annoying little friend. Maybe if he was a meaner woman? Is the woman part the main issue? If he got bitchier would Geralt love him? Maybe he should try it one day. See if he can make Geralt love him. He'll never beat Yennefer, damned witch got a headstart, but he could at least be loved more, right? "Oh~" The man that speaks to Geralt suddenly coos, looking at the floor. And really, why must the man focus so much on Geralt? Jaskier knows he's the witcher, but he's a world famous bard! Why doesn't the man talk to him? He can't help but be a little jealous. Does the man not know who he is? Jaskier very well can't sing for the man, but he does think of doing so. Even for just a second. "What's this?" The man says with a cruel little chuckle, pointing to the ground, and Jaskier finally moves his head enough to see what they're looking at. The glass he threw earlier has magically rearranged itself to make a little portrait of.... Him. Jaskier. The man holds out some sort of amulet next, and if he wasn't gripping onto it, the amulet would've hit Jaskier in the face. Jaskier doesn't quite understand. These all seem like ways to track down Yennefer. He has an amulet that seeks her out, and the glass will provide him with an image of what she looks like. So why do both point to him? Geralt doesn't love him. Surely not as much as Yennefer. "Don't you dare hurt him." Geralt snarls, the first time he's spoken since Jaskier gained consciousness, he believes. Jaskier finds the protectiveness quite sweet. He'll be sure to thank Geralt for it later. It's nice to know that he's cared for. Apparently even loved! Could he truly be Geralt's one true love? His most beloved? His dearest one? He has so much to ask Geralt when he can make his mouth move!

The man begins stalking towards Jaskier and suddenly Jaskier regrets his earlier jealousy over the man not paying attention to him. The man is quite intimidating, and has a look of pure hate in his eyes.

"Will you speak up for me if I cut up your songbird, I wonder, butcher?"

The man whispers, as he looms over Jaskier. Jaskier tries his best to say 'I'm sure we can figure this out if we put all our heads together, no harming necessary' but all that comes out is a pained little groan. Great. Wonderful. Thanks, mouth. That was exactly what he wanted.

The man suddenly draws a sharp twisted blade, and holds it to Jaskier's neck. Jaskier can't see anything but the man's shoulder, but Jaskier can easily hear Geralt struggling in his restraints, growling. He liked when Geralt growled. It was either very cute or very hot, depending on the situation. Jaskier can't decide which one it is right now, however, as there was a knife to his neck.

The man withdraws the dagger from Jaskier's throat, and instead uses it to slice across his chest. Jaskier cries out in pain, and sounds rather pathetic. He'll be sure to write himself more stoic and… with-it when he writes about this experience later on.

There's a loud sound that hurts Jaskier's head, and suddenly the man with the knife is dead on the floor. Geralt stands above him, panting, covered in the man's blood. Gods, he was magnificent.

"H'llo d'r'ling, 'Love y'."

Jaskier manages to croak out, smiling at Geralt, even as his eyelids start to droop. Geralt stares at him for a moment, and that just makes Jaskier smile bigger. He likes seeing Geralt.

"Jaskier, you need to stay awake. Stay awake for me."

He snarls out, and Jaskier pouts a bit. He thinks not. He thinks it's a lovely time for a nap. Geralt will get them out. He's a hero.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 16

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I didn't sleep very well but I'm here.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you move North, the sunlight fades sooner and rises later, the nights cooling with each mile. Nearly a fortnight on the road, and you return to the service of the queen. Bryce escorts you between the carts, gesturing in passing to his comrades, other times letting past another body on their own mission. You reach the front of the train where men with swords pace and keep watch over the surrounding lands. 

“Evenin’,” Bryce greets the guards outside the queen’s tent and they grumble back. The weariness of travel has overcome many of the travelers. 

You dip your head down and approach the tent flap. Before the card can pull it back for your entrance, it sweeps open from the other side. You step back as another figure falters before you. The king keeps hold of the silk and his eyes skim over you. He tilts his head and moves to hold the fabric open, beckoning you through with his large hand. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

His jaw squares but he says nothing. As you enter, the fabric falls heavily behind you. The king’s expression lingers in your mind, his silence even more. The tick in his cheek was hard to miss and you can hear his heavy footfalls as he stalks off. 

Within, the queen sits on a bench, playing with the tassel of her belt. Her father, Lord Dustan, stands to the side, arms crossed as he makes small steps back and forth. He tuts and chews his thumb. 

“Your husband does not behave as son-in-law,” the duke gripes lowly, “he would have let Debray fall to those vandals. He cares only for his frost lands.” 

“Father, he is only eager to be home. As much as I dread the cold, I cannot help but feel as such. I tire of this endless road,” Queen Jazlene yawns into a cupped hand. 

“Ah, but you must be a loyal wife. What of mine? What of your mother? She was alone in the castle.” 

“And you rode out to save her, didn’t you?” Jazlene prompts. 

“I am a lord of the summer lands, I am past my warring days,” Dustan snarls, “he would risk my flesh on an uprising he could crush with his left hand. He tests me!” The duke circles around as he jabs his finger in the air, “I deserve more dignity, more respect. I delivered him his kingdom.” 

“Yes, father, he is a frigid man,” Jazlene bemoans, “as icy a husband. He does neglect us both.” 

“Neglect?” Dustan faces his daughter, “does he not see to his contract?” 

She frowns and bats her doey eyes as she looks away, “it isn’t that he doesn’t fulfill his duty, it is only... how might I get an heir if I lie with my husband only once in a moon?” 

“Does he mean to deceive us? A son will bind us. A son is what we need. Does he think the summer lands will follow a king who does not sow his seed?” 

“I do not know, father. I... I have tried all I can think of.” 

“Mm,” the duke hums darkly, “that won’t do at all. Not at all. When I married your mother, she was swollen with you almost as soon as the vows were said. No, no, it won’t do. I will have word with the king, make certain he does not treat my daughter, his queen, so coolly.” 

Dustan stop and twiddles his fingers. You try to imagine him confronting King Geralt. Surely it is bluster for the sake of his daughter. 

“...we are ruined without an heir...” he mutters. 

Jazlene sits forward on the bench, “ruined, father? I am queen--” 

“Yes, yes, you are queen, but a queen has her duty too,” Dustan insists, “and it cannot be done with a negligent king. Leave it to me, daughter. The next I see the king, I shall handle our business. As I have ever done. Do you believe in me? For I did deliver you a fine marriage, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, father.” 

The duke goes to his daughter and rubs her shoulder. He leans in and you shrink against the tent wall, making yourself small. 

“Should it prove poor judgment,” his whisper scratches from his lips, “I will figure a way out.” 

He kisses her hair and turns to march out. He takes not notice of you though that is expected. Jazlene sighs as the flap falls and she leans back on her hands, swaying her leg. 

“Ah, the maid,” she cheeps, “you will fetch hot water for my feet. They ache.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

She grins, a catlike expression and sits up straight, “yes, that is right. I am a queen and soon, the king will be certain to treat me as such.” 

You flit off to your duty. As you emerge, your chest stirs with unease. Something about their conversation has you unnerved. Though they said nothing outright, it feels as if there is more laced between the words. The queen and her father hardly sound as allies to the king. 

You try to wipe the apprehension from your mind. You are but a maid and not so well-versed on noble matters. It isn’t your place to unpiece their declarations or untangle their riddles. You are to get the water to sooth the daughter of Debray’s feet, it may yet save you a box to the ears. 

⚔️

You shiver as the cart bounces over the hard ground. You count a month or so since your departure from the capital though the days blend in a fog. The gradual creep of the chill has advanced upon the part, slowing the wheels, and sending the riders to pause and cover their horses. You keep the fur cloak over your lap as you lean into the corner of the cart though Bryce seems enlivened by the atmosphere. 

The dim sky harkens the crossing of the intangible barrier between the summer and winter lands. Sprawling plains and rounded feels give way to rocky passes and jutting mountains, interspersed with lumpy tundras speckled with patches of mud. Several times, your soldierly escort has had to help yank free the wheels from some rut or another. 

“Are we there?” You ask through as chatter, blowing into your hands. “The Hinterlands?” 

“Mm, by my guess, we are at the Fox’s Tail. You see, it is the little strip of land where no man lives, summer or winter,” he explains, reaching to scratch his beard. You envy the warmth it must give to his cheeks. “Isn’t so cold yet, mouse, better brace yerself.” 

You nod and look ahead at the grey, brown expanse. There are dustings of frost but not snow, only on the distant caps of rugged mountains that shadow the horizon. You hug yourself as Daisy’s breath plumes in misty clouds around her head. 

“Why does no one live here?” You ask. 

“There are no trees, no grass to feed the livestock or game,” he shrugs, “it is barren...” he sucks his teeth and thinks, “there was a war. Hundreds of years ago, maybe more. The summer folk spilled upon the winter lands, some squabble over a slain lord... they put salt to the earth. They did not only want vengeance on the living, they wanted their descendants to suffer for their misdeeds. Starve out an entire people.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “what the summer people didn’t understand is that the winter skinned do not stay still. They move with the winds. You’ll see, mouse. You haven’t done the last of yer scurrying.” 

You huddle down as another cold breath sweeps through the air. You’re not used to it but you will be. That’s how it always is. You just have to take what you get and make it work. You can’t complain for what you have; a warm cloak, a cart, and a kind companion. 

⚔️

Your teeth chatter as you hold closed the front of the fur cloak, the hood over your head as you walk the frozen earth. More often than not, you’ve left the prized cape in your cart for your return. It is too heavy to wear while serving the queen but the weather permits you no mercy. It is far too bitter to forgo the extra layer. 

Bryce is unbothered in his mail and the simple fur trim the collar of his wool cloak. He only seems to thrive in the dipping temperatures, stoking a fire for your nocturnal return so that you may sleep in its warmth. His constancy keeps you from mourning the lost summer sunshine. 

He stands behind you as you cross to the queen’s tent, now raised with several layers to insulate the walls. You enter as you do every night, unnoticed as Queen Jazlene mindlessly stares into the pages of a book. She’s grown quiet these last weeks as the travel wears on her, even her wardrobe showing the effects. 

You feel a gust from beneath the tent wall and step away from it. You watch the queen, huddled beneath a blanket on a stool, shaking as she tries to warm her hands in each other. She wears several satin cloaks layered over each other but the fabric is too sleek to garner much heat. 

She puffs into her palms and groan.  

“Damn this cold,” she mutters, then sits up, “maid, tea!” She demands, “Something warm! Anything!” 

You utter a small “your highness” and spin away to your task. You step out into the cold and go off to find a fire and a pot. The queen has some berry tea in her chests.  

You acquire a cup of steaming water from a cluster of servants around a flame. You linger for a moment to absorb some of the fire’s haze then set back toward the royal tent. As you near, a shadow nearly collides with you. You keep the cup balanced as you scramble around the figure. The torch light catches the king’s golden eyes as they meet yours. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

He grunts as he stops fully. He stares down at you wordlessly. You cannot read his expression as shadows dance around his features, flickering various emotions across his face. He bows his head and presses on. You turn to watch him go as concern rolls up your throat. 

In those last weeks, months you believe, you’ve not seen much of the king. You’ve wondered after his elusivity. At first, you thought it might be due to the combat at Debray, perhaps he was disheartened by the last act of resistance. Then you surmised it might be evasion of his own wife. Alas, you could not guess and fathomed it was not your place to do so. 

This brief encounter further perplexes you. You can’t help but question if it is you. You recall the last day in the capital, the grit of his voice casting you out. Go. The memory ripples through you. 

You think much of yourself. It wouldn’t be anything to do with a paltry maid. You focus on the hot water in your hand and continue on to the queen’s tent. 

You enter and wrap the dried berries and leaves, steeping them in the steaming water. You hover over the cup, waiting for the water to deepen in hue and cool enough to drink. When you bring it to the queen, you feel her gaze upon you. 

“Your highness,” you hand her the cup. 

She hesitates to take it, only doing so after deep consideration. She holds the tea in one hand as her other tugs on your cloak. She makes an ugly noise. 

“And where did you find this, maid?” She sneers. “Hmm, I sit her in my summer garb and you wear a bear’s skin?” 

Your lips part and you raise your shoulders. You look at the tent wall and frown. You poke your hand outside the cloak and touch the soft fur.  

“Your highness,” you look down at the cloak then at her trembling grasp on the cup. “Would you like it? You look awfully cold.” 

“Yes, I want the damn cloak!” She yanks it hard, “I am the queen and you did not think to offer me a proper cloak? How stupid are you.” 

You bow your head and reach to unbuckle the cloak. When it is loose, you shrug it off and hand it over. You will find a spare blanket. There must be some left among the luggage. 

She shoves the cup at you and stands. She swings the cloak around her and hums as she pulls its snug around her figure. She sits again and rubs her chin against the fur. 

“Much better,” she says, “I’ve been suffering this damnable place for far too long.” 

She takes the tea back, spilling a drop on your hand. You back away, the liquid cooling and sending a new chill through you. You cover one hand with the other and clutch tightly, locking your jaw against the tremor that crawls up your spine. 

The queen slurps from the tea and makes a face. She sneers, “I want wine,” she pouts, “how long must I be deprived? Wine!” She snarls down at the cup, “but I must drink this bile. Oh, but the king bids it,” she raises her voice mockingly, “you must obey your husband.” She shakes her head and takes another gulp, “at least it is warm. At least--”  

She holds the cup away from her suddenly as her face twists. She drops it and recoils, panic washing over her. She keels forward, holding her skirts out of the way as she spews onto the rug spread over the hard ground. She wretches loudly, spasming with the horrid sounds snagging in her throat. 

The smell of her vomit permeates the tent. She stays bent over her lap as she pants. You come forward and offer her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. She sits up and gulps tightly, her features drawn. She pats her lips. 

“Well, clean it up,” she turns her feet away from the puddle between them. “Stupid maid.” 

She pokes a sharp nail into your arm and you wince.  

“Your highness, are you unwell?” You ask, “shall I fetch a physician? Or some ginger?” 

“No, you stupid cow, I am not unwell,” she flicks her fingers at you before waving away the stench of her bile. She stands and walks away from it, her hand settling on her middle. She faces you and smiles broadly, “I am carrying the king’s son.” Her face darkens as she wrinkles her nose, “I told you, you twit, to clean that up. You best do so before I make you eat it.” 

You nod and bend your neck, “yes, your highness, I will fetch water.” 

“I don’t care, just do it,” she snaps and rubs her stomach. She lets out a shuddery groan and turns her back to you. You watch as she draws tight the cloak and sways with a trill, “I will be a true queen now. He cannot deny me any longer.” 

[imagineredwood]

25. Finding comfort in their scent

These prompts are making me so soft 🥲

Miguel sighed as he leaned back against the headboard, eyes strained, head pounding. He'd been pouring over this paperwork for nearly two hours and he was beat. New land developments came with a lot of permits and contracts and he'd neglected them yesterday when he should've had them done by now.

He had been with you though.

He'd had his day all planned out, Nestor aware of the time schedule and making arrangements.

And then it had all gone out the window when you had called, your voice cheery and hopeful.

"Hey! Do you want to come with me to that farm today? Maybe feed the little goats and get some veggies?"

Did he want to be outside smelling animals and tossing feed to them? No, not really. But he did want to be with you, in any way he could, so yeah. If that was what you wanted, then that was what he wanted too.

And he'd gone. Spent the entire day with you, rifling through the piles to find the perfect bell peppers and holding your bucket while you scattered feed for the little animals. Watching you as you laughed and grinned, interacting with the livestock. And he'd loved every second of it. Whatever this was, it had started as a friendship, and maybe you still thought it to be.

But it was more for Miguel now. He was falling in love with you. He'd tried to convince himself that he wasn't. That he simply enjoyed your company. Eager to have a friend who had no idea who he was or what he did. Just someone who enjoyed spending time with him. He swore he'd never do it again after his divorce, but here he was. Enamored with you and all that you were.

He looked over to the side of the bed, down at the cardigan you had bought him at the market attached to the farm. He smiled and grabbed it, holding it in his hands as he sat there before lifting it up to get a better look at it. The motion wafted your scent towards him and he took it in, closing his eyes as he felt it soothe him.

You had clutched it to your chest the entire time you both had walked around, not wanting to drop it or put it in the basket with the produce. Now it smelled just like you, and Miguel chuckled at himself as the thought crossed his mind that maybe he wouldn't wear it, so it would continue to smell like you.

And he knew then that he was done for. He dropped the gift down into his lap and reached for his phone, hoping that he wouldn't wake you. The line rang twice and he smiled as soon as your voice came through.

"Hey."

"Hey. What are you doing tomorrow?"

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[storiesforallfandoms]

destiny ~ geralt of rivia;the witcher

word count: 1749

request?: no

description: after a long, rough journey, the princess feels safe enough to sleep, so her mage talks with the witcher

pairing: geralt of rivia x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was a long, tiring journey to bring Princess Ciri to find her destiny; the Witcher. The poor girl, only a child, had seen far more than anyone her age should ever see. Her grandmother had been smart enough to send a Mage with her at least, but there was only so much one Mage could do against the threats they had faced. When they had finally found him, stood alone after his own battle, and Ciri ran to embrace him, (Y/N) sighed in relief and finally allowed her body to relax.

They set up camp for the night. Geralt promised them he would find them somewhere with an actual bed for the next night, but Ciri could care less about where she was sleeping. (Y/N) knew she felt relieved, too. And finally the young princess could sleep knowing that she was safe.

Ciri was sound asleep next to a fire (Y/N) had built to keep her warm. The Mage was sat against a tree nearby, just watching. Knowing that Ciri was safe, that she felt safe enough to finally let her guard down, gave (Y/N) such a sense of relief that she felt like she could finally breathe again.

“You should be sleeping as well.”

(Y/N) looked up to see Geralt stood over her. She was surprised a man of his size was able to move so silently, but then again it was probably a skill he had to pick up as a Witcher.

“I would imagine you are just as exhausted as she,” he said.

“I am,” (YN) confirmed. “But not so exhausted that my body wishes to rest just yet. I guess it hasn’t realized yet that there is no threat anymore.”

“There are still plenty of threats.”

She shook her head. “Not tonight. Tonight, she rests soundly, and she is safe.”

Geralt looked over at the sleeping girl. For years he had been trying to deny Ciri. He didn’t believe in destiny, and he was the last person who should be looking after a child. But now that she was here, unharmed and at peace, he couldn’t deny that he felt relief as well. There were still plenty of threats out there, that much was still true, but he decided to agree with (Y/N) just this once. Tonight, they were all safe.

Geralt sat across from her. “You did well in protecting her. She likely wouldn’t have made it this far on her own.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” (Y/N) admitted. “I promised her grandmother that nothing would happen to her, and I am not one to break a promise.”

“I was unaware that Queen Calanthe had a Mage in her kingdom.”

“I’m not a royal Mage. Just an old friend that she asked a favor of.”

“A very good friend to risk your life.”

(Y/N) smiled and shrugged. “I have known Ciri since birth, and her mother before her. I would do anything to keep that girl safe.”

She was gazing at Ciri again. Geralt noticed the look on her face. “Do you have children of your own?”

“Oh, Gods no. Those are very uncommon in my line of work.”

“No lover either, then?”

She chuckled. “Also very uncommon. It’s hard to let yourself fall in love when you are immortal.”

Geralt wasn’t sure why he even asked. It felt like the logical next question after asking if she had children, but Geralt cared very little if she had said yes to having a lover. Or, so he thought anyways.

(Y/N) looked back to him, a sly grin on her face. “Queen Calnthe told me about your ties to Ciri.”

Geralt grunted. “I’m sure she did.”

“She could hardly tell the story without a string of profanities.” (Y/N) giggled. “No one has ever made the queen more angry than Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt found himself smiling as well.

“Well,” (Y/N) said, tilting her head a little. “Would you look at that.”

“What?” he asked.

“The Witcher smiles. And he looks quiet handsome doing so.”

(Y/N) was nothing if not forward. One does not live for many decades and not become bold and forward. She felt a little delight when she saw a brief look of shock on Geralt’s face. She certainly wasn’t lying, though. Anyone with eyes could see that Geralt was good looking. She was sure he was able to use that to his advantage as well.

Silence fell over them. The only sounds were the wildlife around them and the crackling fire. Both of them turned to check on Ciri at the same time, as if some sort of instinct kicked in for them both. (Y/N) took Geralt’s distraction as an opportunity to really study him. She had seen a look in his eyes when Ciri had run to him earlier, but it was so brief that she couldn’t place it at the time. He had been wearing his tough guy mask since, except for this moment. As he gazed at Ciri, (Y/N) could see two emotions on his face: relief and worry.

“The queen also told me,” (Y/N) said, drawing Geralt’s attention back to her, “that you weren’t going to claim Cirilla at first. She said you called Law of Surprise without truly believing in it.”

Geralt grunted. “All that bullshit about destiny. I didn’t believe any of it. I called Law of Surprise because they insisted on something for me saving Urcheon’s life. I didn’t actually believe I would get anything.”

“And yet...” (Y/N) glanced towards the sleeping princess.

He nodded. “I didn’t want a child by any means. This is not a life for a child. If destiny is real, it has played a cruel trick on her.”

“Or it has given her a father that she so dearly needed after her own passed.”

“And a mother?”

(Y/N) smiled. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t thought about the next step after Ciri was united with Geralt. Truthfully, she didn’t want to think about it. The thought of being separated from Ciri hurt too much, but she didn’t expect Geralt to want her to travel with them. He had been travelling alone for so many years that she was sure it would take time for him to get used to Ciri being with him, let alone if (Y/N) joined as well. She felt full of joy hearing Geralt insinuate that he wanted her to continue travelling with them as well. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Ciri just yet, or to Geralt for that matter.

“What a family we’d be,” she laughed. “A Witcher, a Mage, and a princess. Sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke.”

Geralt chuckled as well. (Y/N)’s smile broke as she let out a yawn.

“You should get some sleep,” Geralt told her.

“As should you.”

“I will.”

(Y/N) nodded. She wasn’t in any position to argue with him over whether or not he was actually going to sleep. She could feel herself finally being bogged down by her fatigue and knew it wouldn’t be long until she gave in completely.

Geralt’s eyes followed her as she moved to her knees. Instead of rising, she leaned towards him to close the gap between them. She lightly pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving a gentle kiss there before pulling away. He tried to keep his face unchanged as she sat back to look at him.

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

~~~~~~

The sun was high in the sky when (Y/N) woke the next day. The fire had gone out and the heat was instead replaced by the scorching sun. (Y/N) blinked a few times, trying to get her eyes used to the brightness of day. When she finally managed to clear her vision, she noticed she was alone at the camp.

She quickly sat up and looked around. There was barely any signs that anyone else had ever been here. Just the kindle left over from the fire she had lit for Ciri. She felt herself beginning to panic. Had they left her? Had someone taken Ciri and Geralt went after them? Had Geralt changed his mind about having her join them?

She was getting to her feet when she heard the sound of horse hooves against the ground. A horse broke through the clearing in a fast trot before coming to a stop. (Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief when Ciri jumped down from the back of the horse.

“Good morning,” the young princess said, walking up to wrap her arms around (Y/N). The Mage was taken back by the gesture at first, but then happily hugged Ciri back.

“More like good afternoon,” Geralt commented, jumping down from his horse as well. “You’ve been asleep for hours. We went on to find food without you.”

“Forgive me for being tired,” (Y/N) said, playfully glaring at Geralt. To Ciri, she asked, “Did you sleep well, princess?”

“The best I’ve slept since we left Cintra,” Ciri admitted.

(Y/N) smiled and cupped her face. “You are safe now, princess. The Witcher and I will look after you and make sure no one will cause you any harm.”

Ciri looked between (Y/N) and Geralt, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “You’ll be staying with us?”

“Of course. I’ve come too far in this journey to let you go on without me. Although, I will need something to eat in order to continue on.”

She eyed Geralt. He chuckled and said, “Alright then, let’s find you something to eat as well.”

They went on foot with Geralt leading his horse behind him. Ciri was between the two of them, protected by her Mage and her Witcher.

“I was thinking,” Geralt said after some time of walking, “about our discussion last night. About destiny.”

(Y/N) looked over at him. “Yes?”

“Maybe there is such thing as destiny, and maybe it isn’t as bad as I once thought.”

“And what brought you to that conclusion?”

“Ciri was meant to be my destiny, but she wasn’t the only good thing that destiny brought to me.”

He looked directly at her when he spoke. She felt her heart flutter in her chest. She had no good response, so she just kept walking, a smile on her face.

She would have to thank destiny for bringing her to Geralt as well.